Hostile Environment (by Rylan Hunter)
Every time I see him, I clench my fists. I want to hurt him and kick him and slam his head into the concrete over and over until I crack open his skull like a raw egg; until the perverted insides spill out and we can see all the poisons that he’s trying to infect us with. It feels like no matter what I do it could never be enough to take away these feelings until he’s gone forever. Do you really need a reason why? And what are you going to do about it anyway? You won’t do a fucking thing and I know it because you’re just as weak as everybody else. You might say things behind my back about ‘kids today’ and shit like that but it’s not like you’re actually going to stick your neck out, right? What if you miscalculated? What would people say about you going to bat for a faggot? I know what I’d like to do with that bat. He walks around like some freak and every time he glances at me I know he’s thinking things about me and I can’t have that. I’m not a coward and I’m not afraid to step up while everyone else wishes they could be like me. You can stop the fucking dirty looks because you know I’m right. The laws say I’m right. My church says I’m right. And people like you will say that somebody should do something but then you’ll climb back into your hole and pretend that somebody took care of it because you don’t want to get involved. And I’ll go back to laughing at him, fucking with his head, hurting him … destroying him.
Run away, old man. You aren’t going to do anything to help him so get the fuck out of my way before I decide you’re just like him; a threat to my world.
Photography by Terry Smith
(this piece is paired with “Fallen” and should be read together)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]Hostile Environment (by Rylan Hunter),