Fallen Kingdom

?Space Boy Showing?

"What's up, dude?" He shouts back.

I block it out, everything.

I feel so uncomfortable, so...out of place. This isn't my territory. My territory ends at the chemistry lab, after that's all his.

And soon enough Mr. Fuckboy is running off to get his shit because the "huddle" has ended and now practice is over.

I hop up and run down the steps, jumping off the bleachers and run to him. He's kinda in a rush and I want to catch him.

"Peter!" I yell and he turns to face me.

We're just about outside of the football field. I follow him as he walk along the sidewalk to the parking lot.

We don't really ever interact.

We interacted back when he was a sophomore and I was a freshman—and that's when this whole "kingdom" concept started. We hate each other. But I haven't talked to him in at least a few weeks and I'd being lying if I said I'm not nervous.

"Oh hey, Patrick," he laughs cruelly, "what do you want?"

I frown, a bit angered.

"Nice to see you too," I put a hand on my hip, "um, have you noticed that some Bloods have been messing with my Punks..?"

He snorts. Fucking snorts.

"Patrick," he puts a hand on my shoulder, "I'm not talking to the jocks—if that's what you're asking...deal with it yourself, fat-trick."

And now a section of my heart has broken into pieces.

Fat-trick?

"Fat-trick?" I say mad.

He chuckles. "Get out of here, kid. This isn't your territory and you know it."

I'm trying not to hit him.

"Fuck you, Wentz."

He smirks.

"You'd like that wouldn't you, Stumpy."

I shake with rage.

And I'm not going to hit him.

And I'm not going to hit him.

And I'm not going to hit him.

And I'm not going to hit him.

And I don't.

I just walk away with my arms folded and my breathes rigid. I can hear him laughing behind me, sick medium-pitches sounds that are flooding my ears.

I hate him.

And I still hate him.

This was just last week, and the bullying thing is still an issue and just fucking hate this guy.

I swear I'm gonna just punch him someday; but I swear I'm not a violent person.

I'm quite kind towards my Soul Punks. I'll accept anyone, or any clique into my "kingdom." A jock has a change of heart? I'll take him. A goth decides that they want to hang around the artsy kids? Welcome to our kingdom. The whole cheerleaders clique wants to switch sides and become Soul Punk? Gimme gimme. That's actually how I acquired the stoner clique—they were sick of Pete's kingdom. And I damn right happily took them in.

And Pete would never do that.

He's never accept a musician into The Young Bloods kingdom.

And somehow he has just as many cliques in his kingdom...how sad so many people are blinded by his evil spirit.

I fucking hate that guy.

I hate everything.

Oh, and by the way my name is Patrick Stumph, pronounced Stump.

And holy hell, there's only a few months left of the school year.

I hope this goes well.