Revolution || Lashton AU - boyxboy

o n e

After reading this whole story over a few months later, I can tell you that I honestly, physically cringed probably around 173 times. I can also tell you that this story has progressed significantly, and I mean that in the least pretentious way possible. This was such an awful way to start a story, this chapter was complete shit. Like, wow, it was such an awful idea, and this chapter just sucks so bad. But it really has gotten better, so please, if you could bare with me past this chapter (and maybe a few more after that) I promise it gets better.

There was a boy in the crowd during my English class, whom I'd never really noticed before. I mean, yeah, I'd seen him around, but I never really acknowledged his existence or anything.

It's funny how that works, isn't it? Like, your brain takes notice to the fact that yeah, there's a person right there. But it doesn't function to the point where it actually takes in the details of that person's utter existence. Like I guess to some extent I noticed that boy in my class, but I never actually processed his gender or his blonde hair or his blue eyes. Like, your senses are completely misdirected and you don't actually process any of those details. It's actually slightly intriguing.

He's rather quiet, I think. Or I just never really noticed him speaking, since I spend most lectures in my own world. I probably shouldn't do that because it's quite a hassle having to chase my friend Nate down after each lecture to copy his notes, but you know, what're you gonna do?

Anyways, I'd never really taken notice of this boy until just now. We weren't sitting through a lecture today, which was probably the most thrilling thing to happen all year in this English class. Instead, we were presenting a project about a topic about anything that had meaning to us.

Originally, I thought this was going to suck ass. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's still college work and that's no fun, but it's kind of a relief getting to work on something you actually give a damn about. For example, my project was about punk music, the only thing that kept me sane these days. Or something like that.

And this boy whom I'd never even taken notice to, couldn't just leave me be. His lanky arm shot straight up in the air, and I completely dreaded whatever his comment was.

I'm a generally nihilistic person. I don't like to look at it that way, though, more like, realistic.
You're born. You get a few good years of being treated like an angel and having people slave over you and not having to do anything but eat, sleep and shit yourself. Then, you're thrown into this shithole excuse for an education system. You go to school for thirteen years unless you decide to go to college, quickly making that thirteen a seventeen, granted you only go for the conventional four years.

You go to school for all these years listening to people tell you you're going to be great when your older, yet you're surrounded by people who obviously failed at achieving their goals and were forced to live out a life of something that most likely, used to make them miserable. And once you finish all this school bullshit, you're thrown out into the world without a single clue what you're doing. And you think now that you're done, the fun stuff comes and you can finally go explore the world when really, you're just gonna get stuck working some shitty full time job that you hate, in order to go on living a life that you hate. You work your ass off until you're completely miserable, so that you can continue living a life doing things that make you miserable. So in the end, it's just all retch and no vomit.

So being this nihilistic person that I am, I'm not too often passionate about things. Punk music just so happens to be one of those few things, though, that I am passionate about. If there's one thing in this world that I care about at all it's not family or friends or any of that dumb fucking shit, it's my music. It's the Sex Pistols and the Ramones and Dead Kennedys and Black Flag and Misfits; the list goes on. They add the only bit of light in this dull life of mine.

Ergo, it's hard enough as it is for me to get up in front of a bunch of ignorant, arrogant, happy-go-lucky, brainwashed bunch of eighteen to twenty-two year olds and try to explain to them the utter beauty of the ugliness of punk, and the countless ways it's changed the way they all live today, that they so entirely take advantage of. Which is why what this guy that I'd never even noticed before said, made my head almost explode right off my body.

"Honestly, whatever your name is, I disagree. I don't see the point of the whole punk subculture. It was just a bunch of sadistic teenagers who thought completely disrespecting everything around them made them cool." He asserted, sounding oh-so-sure of himself.

"You're kidding me, right? Punk was a god damn revolution! It wasn't about the right winged people who twisted and manipulated punk into some lame excuse behind their neo-Nazism or racism or sexism. That's ridiculous. Punks were the people who got up off their asses and challenged the big cultural issues! There was music and literature and art all speaking out against social injustice, economic disparity, gender and sexuality oppression, racism, sexism, homophobia, capitalism; all the things normal people were too afraid to fight." I responded, bitterly.

"Maybe. But I don't understand why the ripped clothes and burning the country flag and everything was necessary. How does disrespecting your country help fight gender oppression?" He questioned. How is he not getting this?

I chuckled dryly. "It's punk. Punk was about rebellion. That's what I've been trying to explain to you ignorant fucks this whole time." I spat, gratingly. "Punk was fighting the system, the system that was responsible for all these issues, the system that is this country. How fucking dumb are you?"

Professor Winters stood up from his chair and jogged over to me, resting his old, calloused hand on my bare shoulder exposed through my black, sleeveless Misfits shirt. "Now, now, Mr. Irwin. There's no need to disrespect Mr. Hemmings for his opinion. Just as you wouldn't want anyone to judge you for yours."

I jerked my shoulder from his grip and scoffed. "Don't give me that mawkish bullshit. This kid ought to learn to shut his mouth. " I demanded.

I shoved the notecards I had prepared in my pocket and threw my black backpack over my shoulder. I marched over to the stairs and ran up them a few at a time, ignoring Professor Winters' demands that I sit down.

"I'll come back when that dickhead learns to shut his mouth!" I hollered gruffly, throwing my hand up in the direction of the blonde haired, blue eyed asshole who was sitting there smirking at me after his failed attempt at arguing with me.

And God, I think I might kill him.