You Can't Hurt Me

Where its clean and green and pretty

Jack stared at the blossomed colors in front of him, on a sheet, hung across the wall, was a beautiful drawing of Antarctica.

Well would be beautiful if it weren't for the fricken bland white look it possessed.

"Damn you Antarctica and your lack of colors." Jack had tried adding blue, purple, even a bit of green. It lead him nowhere, the painting still continued to look empty, almost like the painting was the negative space.

Right now Jack was suspended over the floor hanging from a rope and a rusty lead pipe he had hastily screwed on. It was sort of dangerous but Jack was too hasty to continue his art to wait, and Mama Medda wanted this one asap.

Stupid Antarctica Children's dance showcase, Stupid ballerinas, stupid art, stupi-

"Hello?"

Stupid hello?

Jack looked down and saw Race peaking through the door, peering in. He smiled wide and pulled down the rope of his hasty suspension and walked over.

"Ain't anybody taught y'a to knock?" He said, with a smile on his face.

"Why would I need to knock?" Race asked almost too earnestly, but Jack knew the cheeky bastard was just playing with him.

"Yeah yeah, youse friends and family. Go eat a cookie."

Race's eyes lit up and he ran towards the kitchen, Jack had The Cookie Jar out. It was a collection of Crutchies best cookies from the bakery he owned down the street, he sent the shape rejects to Jack and after Katherine named the belly fat he gained " Fullivan" he started putting them in a jar and resigned to one a night.

However Race took no such cautions, stuffing his mouth with seven, crumbs falling all over the place.

"Hey hey! You clean that up, I just cleaned out the roaches."

"There's literally two under your coach."

Jack gasped, and ran to his couch to in fact see two cockroaches- uh- getting friendly. Jack scowled and grabbed the blow torch.

"Those sons of-" he looked at Race, "... a gun."

Race nodded sympathetically.

The roaches ended up running out terrified, to which Jack screamed bloody murder and lit them on fire.

"Not in my apartment!" He screamed out, waving the flames everywhere. Truth be told he wondered if burning down the building would benefit the people living here, anywhere's gotta be better and Jack quickly learned most of the residents were either drug dealers, mob bosses, mafias, or gang members.

The drug dealers kept knocking on his doors offering to sell him drugs, like some sort of damn Girl Scouts.

"Good job Jack," Race praised, stuffing another cookie in his mouth.

"Alright that's enough for y'a, you'll get fat." Though looking at him, Jack wondered if a boy that skinny could get fat. He almost looked sickly, with his slim figure and bony chest. His muscles majorly depleted.

Race quickly stuffed another cookie in, and ran out of the kitchen, mouth full.

He stopped at the painting, truly looking at it for the first time, his mouth fell open a bit, mushy spit cookies falling out.

"Ew," Jack commented looking at them on his newly mopped floors, in a solum loss.

Race swallowed the cookies, stepping forward with a childlike wonder. Fingers almost grazing the painting, tracing the lines and splatters like a critic.