05-04-2015, 01:22 PM
Movement caught his eye, stealing it from watching the ribbons of water coursing down the unfrozen middle of the river. One of the girls approached the icy shore and shouted a message for him.
Girls did not come up to him. More, they went out of their way to avoid him. The few times he deluded himself into thinking a girl liked him they always stabbed him in the back in the end. Thus, he sat forward ever so slightly, intrigued, and wondering what she wanted. The feeling didn't last.
The insult in her demands briefly clenched his heart angry. Who was she to judge him? Who was she to assume he was going to leave the trash along the river? Who was she to assume the can wasn't biodegradable? Granted, it was regular tin, and she was right. He had no intention of carrying a trashbag on this trip. Served him right to think some stranger miles from anywhere was going to treat him civilly before getting to know him. They all judged. If he was some blonde rippling jock, the bite in her words would have been playful, not demanding and cruel. These girls, all of them, they preferred he leave them alone, or better yet, leave the surface of the world altogether. Screw them. He had as might right to walk the earth as anyone else, and a hell of a lot more right than a bunch of animals. And leave behind whatever he wanted in his wake.
With the self-reminder the insult released his chest of its former anger to the cold-air of country freedom again. He breathed resigned and glanced over the edge of the rock that served as his seat. The can must have hit a smaller one sticking out of the snow, which likely explained the noise of its fall before being caught in the icy fluff of powder.
He stuffed fingers down into the powder to retrieve the sunken can, which he shook off and raised into the air. He yelled back his reply, "You mean this?"
The sarcasm in the gesture was obvious, even if the look on his face was still as ice. An evil grin followed as he dropped the can back to its former spot in the snow. "You're welcome to come get it,"
he said, knowing she'd be unable to cross the river without an abundance of help - primarily on his part. He would have thrown it to her, but the distance was too great despite the memory of having hurled a football out of sight the day of his uncle's demise. He had no idea how he'd done that and he doubted the ability to reproduce the effect without practicing, and really, he didn't care enough at the moment to put in the effort.
Girls did not come up to him. More, they went out of their way to avoid him. The few times he deluded himself into thinking a girl liked him they always stabbed him in the back in the end. Thus, he sat forward ever so slightly, intrigued, and wondering what she wanted. The feeling didn't last.
The insult in her demands briefly clenched his heart angry. Who was she to judge him? Who was she to assume he was going to leave the trash along the river? Who was she to assume the can wasn't biodegradable? Granted, it was regular tin, and she was right. He had no intention of carrying a trashbag on this trip. Served him right to think some stranger miles from anywhere was going to treat him civilly before getting to know him. They all judged. If he was some blonde rippling jock, the bite in her words would have been playful, not demanding and cruel. These girls, all of them, they preferred he leave them alone, or better yet, leave the surface of the world altogether. Screw them. He had as might right to walk the earth as anyone else, and a hell of a lot more right than a bunch of animals. And leave behind whatever he wanted in his wake.
With the self-reminder the insult released his chest of its former anger to the cold-air of country freedom again. He breathed resigned and glanced over the edge of the rock that served as his seat. The can must have hit a smaller one sticking out of the snow, which likely explained the noise of its fall before being caught in the icy fluff of powder.
He stuffed fingers down into the powder to retrieve the sunken can, which he shook off and raised into the air. He yelled back his reply, "You mean this?"
The sarcasm in the gesture was obvious, even if the look on his face was still as ice. An evil grin followed as he dropped the can back to its former spot in the snow. "You're welcome to come get it,"
he said, knowing she'd be unable to cross the river without an abundance of help - primarily on his part. He would have thrown it to her, but the distance was too great despite the memory of having hurled a football out of sight the day of his uncle's demise. He had no idea how he'd done that and he doubted the ability to reproduce the effect without practicing, and really, he didn't care enough at the moment to put in the effort.