(Lucifer's Perspective)
"Hey 'Lucifer'." One of the more popular kids mocks as he passes by me. As he walks I flip him off, I've never really gotten along with jocks an sluts, I could but it's a choice I've made ever since my fall to not trust those who are on the throne; metaphorically or not.
When this said asshole notices my finger raised in his direction he backtracks towards me.
"Hey dickweed, I'm sorry but my eyes must be playin' tricks on me. Did you just flip me off?"
"No asshole. It was the wind." I say as he walks up.
"Ohh. Now that's funny. Gotta say, you have some real big balls startin' shit with me kid." He replies with his finger on my chest
"Move your finger or I'll move it for you. Bitch." I respond with venom in my words.
The larger Senior replies with a grin then punches me in the face. I could have stopped it, of course. I could kill him in so many ways it would take days to tell. But, being a force of normality I must restrain myself. So, I take the punch and move back a few steps.
He throws another punch and I duck my head moving away. My friend told me that if I don't hit back then I won't get in trouble, so, I decide to just stick to dodging the poorly thrown assaults.
"Why don't you fight me?!" The jock yells frustrated as he continues to try to land a hit.
"Because I don't feel like fighting." I reply blankly.
At that moment the throng of people has split to let in a security guard who's trying to restrain the enraged child in front of me.
As a protocol we're both asked what happened. After due explaining I leave back to class and the sharp clacking of my boots hitting the ground can be heard from the classes aside me as I walk. I grab my sleeveless vest from my locker and throw it on over my smaller tank-top then adjust myself as my jeans pinch my..."manhood".
When I get back to class my math teacher greets me and I nod sitting down.
"First day and already a fight. Nice one bro." My friend hits me in the shoulder as I look back.
He's a Mexican but is more golden tan than dark. His straight black hair curves around his head as if he used a bowl to do his hair. It flows down past his red and black checkered flannel that's covered by a grey sports jacket matching his slightly darker grey jeans.
"Shutup ya cactus nigger." I retort smirking.
He shrugs and goes back to his work.
