The Purest Hate

There once lived a sweet little boy. He lived in a typical neighborhood in the American west and he was picked on by a typical bully who lived in the neighborhood too. This bully told the sweet boy things like: “You’re ugly,” “You’re poor,” and “Your mom works at Denny’s for one cent an hour and fucks the manager.” The sweet boy was too young and naive to really understand the insults but he felt them in his bones. His stomach began to hurt when he thought about going outside, even though it was finally cooling off and he could play in the leaves with his new dog.

Like all sweet people, the boy thought the situation was his fault and so he suffered. His mother, who was also sweet, did work at Denny’s and she liked to bring home mozzarella sticks and chicken strips that she would reheat for him. This was his special meal he would eat as they watched that week’s episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation together. The sweet boy loved this ritual but it was ruined because of the bully. The food seemed somehow tainted to him, worth of scorn, despite its deliciousness. The show was different too; the friendly aliens became smug and mocking and the mean ones were extra scary.

One night, while watching their show and eating their food, the sweet boy looked at his mother. His mom, with her hair up messy on the top of her head, wearing pajama pants and icing her sore shoulder, was perfect and brave and good. This thought was his first truly adult thought; a hot rock in the gut made of love. It would inform the way he regarded women for the rest of his life, for good or ill. In that moment, he decided he would get revenge on the bully and he knew the path forward would come to him naturally, as this grown-up thought did.

A few days later, the bully was back. He had written “A Faggot’s House” on the sidewalk in front of the sweet boy’s duplex. An arrow pointed up at the driveway to indicate exactly where the Faggot lived. The bully had written the message in pink chalk and it was all over his hands and shirt as he said:

“It’s not illegal that I did this because it’s not actually on your driveway; it’s on the sidewalk. So I can come back and do this whenever I want and no one can stop me, even if you call the cops.” The sweet boy thought of his mother having to drive over that message every day on her way to the job that hurt her and made her tired, And, as he knew it would, the knowledge of revenge came to him.

The next day, after school, the sweet boy waited at the front window for the bully to come by with his pink chalk to touch up the message. Indeed, the sweet boy’s mother did have to drive over it to get to work, but she didn’t seem to notice. It was fine that the message was still there. It would draw the bully back and make him feel powerful. His mother would understand.

He waited and ate Oreos, scraping the insides of the cookies out with his bottom teeth. Eventually, the bully walked into view. The sweet boy watched for a moment as the bully began to draw a Dick and Balls next to the message. The sweet boy put the plate of cookies down and went into the backyard.

In the backyard were patches of grass and dead leaves and weeds his mother called summer mint and a scattering of the new dog’s toys. From these toys, he selected an orange rubber oblong shape that was supposed to represent a carrot. This was the new dog’s favorite and she had already almost chewed it to ruin but the sweet boy knew it was still full of her dirty power. He put it in his mouth and bit down, sucking the putrid dog air out of it. He felt the cookies lurch in his stomach but he ignored the feeling and slipped around the side of the house with his cheeks puffed out. The autumn sun shone red and crept ever westward.

The bully looked up from his work and saw the sweet boy approach.

“Hey, fucko, I’m drawing a dick for your mom to suck!” he called and the sweet boy ran at him as fast as he could. He grabbed the bully by the waist and slammed him to the pavement. Vomit, made black with Oreo slurry, spewed from between his lips and all over the bully’s face. The bully’s florid mouth formed a perfect ring of horror that made the sweet boy laugh. The revenge was turning out flawlessly, just as the sweet boy had known it would. His small fists hit their marks every time and he had never felt stronger. It was time for the coup de grace. The world sighed and looked away as the sweet boy bit the shit out of the bully with his good and righteous dog’s mouth, over and over.