Life at the Bottom

So here I was, minding my own business, lamenting my pitiable existence, when what I considered to be three walking shit stains approached me. They weren’t exactly the most offensive visually(much to my dismay), but they certainly made up for it with their demeanors. The lead hooligan(a term my father seemed to love oh-so-dearly), a blonde paragon of arrogant assholery named Damian, was exactly like every blonde asshole and every asshole named Damian in popular media. Loud, mean, unfunny even though he swore he was, and _really _nice. Physically, I mean. His lack of emotional pleasantry has been gone over. Like, damn, he was good-looking, and he was lucky for it, too. His Greek God looks were about the only things keeping him at the top of the social ladder. Hell, his twin sister(a much nicer, and thankfully not identical, person) was nearer to the middle of the ranks. I never did quite get what made him so overinflated with self-importance. His family was quite nice.

Anyway, I’ve gotten off-track. We had Damian and two of his rotating cast of goons. Their names aren’t important, but I always called those two Crabb and Goyle, just to have a little fun with my pain and suffering(Crabb being the shorter and wider one, and Goyle being the taller and thinner one).

So Damian sauntered up to me, using his fairly impressive frame to attempt to scare me. Despite my diminutive size being perfectly designed to become victimized by this, my mind was desensitized to said sort of event from years of being the object of various forms of bullying. Having already convinced himself of his inherent superiority, he smirked. “So, twerp, what are you doing out?”

“Ooh, twerp? That’s a new one! Did you move up to second grade reading, Ol’ Damey Wamey?” I asked. Yeah, I was an ass. Compensating, I guess.

“Oh, you little-” he began, instantly pissed off. He wasn’t stupid or anything, His intelligence was perfectly average. Mine, however, wasn’t, and I was a fair bit arrogant about that fact. Partly because I didn’t have much else to be arrogant about. But I was arrogant about being smart, and I used it to push Damian’s buttons, along with some learned peeves of his, such as teasing with pet names.

My arrogant sass was soon interrupted by a **** and debilitating pain to my right arm. I mean, it was just a punch, but my pain tolerance was low as hell, so it was pretty damn bad to me. But anyway, the punch was from Damian’s muscled arm.