thanks for the meme-ories -- finn & kit blitz
Jan 9, 2021 20:54:34 GMT -5
Post by fox on Jan 9, 2021 20:54:34 GMT -5
k i t
I'm now pretty sure Finn hates me.
Mr. B is sitting under the shade of the tarp over the bleachers, arms crossed, staring at us out on the track with the seething energy of someone who is five-six and balding and looks like a bee. The afternoon sun is gold, and its metallic taste is burning on the roof of my mouth as we circle around on the thirty-seventh lap. It's been months since track season, and I’ve forgotten how the torture of sport feels.
Why did I break the beaker.
Why did I draw that picture.
It is so much worse running in uniform.
Finn is somewhere behind me, footfall and the scraping of the gravelly ground -- the track is worn out from the summer and the squirrels and the birds. I'm too scared to look at him, the rhythm of his footsteps in stride with my heart that's pumping feebly in panic with the thought that maybe I made my first enemy or something like that.
I would be enemies with me if I got me into double detention and I wasn't just me but also me -- am I having heatstroke? Did that make any sense?
I slow down, falling back to match his pace and please don't hate me, let me make it up to you, just let me apologize, but there's the sound of skidding shoes and a thud that rings in my ears and shakes me to a stop.
Finn is lying motionless, just a cloud of dust rising from where he stood a second ago.
Holy shit, I killed him.
Mr. B is sitting under the shade of the tarp over the bleachers, arms crossed, staring at us out on the track with the seething energy of someone who is five-six and balding and looks like a bee. The afternoon sun is gold, and its metallic taste is burning on the roof of my mouth as we circle around on the thirty-seventh lap. It's been months since track season, and I’ve forgotten how the torture of sport feels.
Why did I break the beaker.
Why did I draw that picture.
It is so much worse running in uniform.
Finn is somewhere behind me, footfall and the scraping of the gravelly ground -- the track is worn out from the summer and the squirrels and the birds. I'm too scared to look at him, the rhythm of his footsteps in stride with my heart that's pumping feebly in panic with the thought that maybe I made my first enemy or something like that.
I would be enemies with me if I got me into double detention and I wasn't just me but also me -- am I having heatstroke? Did that make any sense?
I slow down, falling back to match his pace and please don't hate me, let me make it up to you, just let me apologize, but there's the sound of skidding shoes and a thud that rings in my ears and shakes me to a stop.
Finn is lying motionless, just a cloud of dust rising from where he stood a second ago.
Holy shit, I killed him.
