Fucking emo

The fucking mud

He was panting, rain pouring down on us. I grabbed his wet high-top sneakers from the shoelaces, spun them over my head like a flail, and threw them far. They landed right in the middle of the pit. He was already a sorry sight.

The white Supreme hoodie he was wearing now lay below my feet, protecting my shoes from getting excessively dirty. His black "panic" shirt was ripped from the sleeve down to his wrist, and you could see his ribs. His heavily distressed jeans were completely soaked and sagging, showing his almost bare ass. His underwear had been stretched far over his head, front and back, and hung ripped over his head, gagging him.

I took hold of his damp hair, and people cheered for me from the halls that faced the yard, which was now a mess of mud. They jeered as I dragged him by his hair and he crawled on all fours to try and keep up and the pain to a minimum.

The varsity team was with me, and they had formed a kind of walking gauntlet around him. They were kicking him on the legs and ass as I walked him through. The deepest mud puddle was on the other end of the yard, and once we got there, my shoes had gotten significantly dirty.

"Clean them," I commanded. The varsity boys echoed me. We were all soaked, but only he looked truly pathetic. He stuck his tongue out, as if he was made for this. He knew what I meant at every turn without much of me explaining.

In only seconds, he was giving them a full treatment, and people seemed to love it. I didn't wait for him to finish licking them clean when I got my feet over his head and pushed it into the softened mud where my shoe was before. I stomped on his head, and more cheers erupted.

I let him look up, and then I slowly placed my feet on his messed-up hair and slowly but firmly pushed down, mushing it in the mud again. Eventually, the guys wanted a turn, and I let them. Some kicked on his arms and legs, so he fell face-flat on the mud, covering his shirt and neck completely. He always tried to get back on all fours, and the guys would just kick him and trip him again so he would fall.

I laughed, childishly and stupidly, like I was laughing at an old children's cartoon. As if I had not grown up and had become dumber and more immature. I was worse. It was his fault, and I didn't know how, but it was his fault.

The ripped boxers over his mouth made him look even more pathetic. He was pretty, and I knew that. His looks made him prettier, and I knew that too. Why was he more desirable now?

Broken.

☆