I'm a bully.And I enjoy it.
Weak people disgust me — all whiny, soft, and painfully useless.They think I pick on them because of how they look.Nah.
I hate incompetence.They can't run, can't study, can't draw a straight line — hell, most of them can't even hold a proper conversation.
You call that a human being?I call it wasted oxygen.
I'm good-looking. Strong as hell. And damn near perfect at football.I'm top of my class too — straight A's across the board.
So yeah, I have the right to look down on the pathetic.
One time, I was messing with this pig.Fat. Ugly. Weak. Dumb. Short.The kind of guy who should thank the gods if people even remember his name.
And this loser? He had the balls to flirt with my girl.
My girl.
What kind of filthy insect thinks that's okay?
So, I beat him up after school.
He screamed and cried like a damn pig — snorting and wailing.Honestly? Hilarious. I couldn't stop laughing.
I kept it going for a few days. Just for fun.
Then the bastard pulled a knife.
Stabbed me.
From behind.
Cheap, filthy move. I couldn't even react.
I was bleeding out.On the cold pavement, holding my side, vision blurring.
That bastard ran off.
I could barely move.But my hand reached back—
And I yanked the knife out of my own damn back.
My whole body screamed. My vision turned red.
I saw him running, his fat little legs wobbling like jelly.
I threw it.
The blade spun through the air—
—and sank right into the back of his skull.
He dropped like a sack of shit.
I laughed.
"Karma will get you, Melvin"
That was the last thing I said.
Then everything went dark.