Amyplier: When we were young

Sean

Another great day at Cincinnati High. Not. It's so fookin' cold. Ireland, obviously, wasn' mooch better, but it was home. An' I miss it. I'd grown oop there.

Things sook here in America. The food's fatty as all get-out, the serving sizes are colossal, an' everythin's called soomethin' else. Y'know, jam -> jelly, jelly -> jell-o, etc.

I've been gettin' a heap of sh*t from these dipsticks Sam, Jake and Tristan. I think they also beat oop and bully another kid. 'Fishface' or somethin'. Don' really see him around mooch, as he's a year older than me.

Anyways, so I'm walkin' home, an' I come across this huddled figure lying in a pooddle, jus' a liddle ways pahst the oval. I walk over slowly, takin' in the single unswollen eye the size of a dinner plate starin' at me, his bloodied nose, split lip, and badly dislocated shoulder he's sportin'. There's a broken pair of glasses, an' a very muddy an' beaten oop bag lyin' nearby. As I edge closer, I can see he's wearin' the same uniform as me, except his is a lot more beaten oop an' old lookin'. Just as I reach his side, his eyes flutter shut, and he seems to pass out. I crouch down beside him, wonderin' what to do. I don' wan' to hurt him further, bu' I also wan' to get him outta the rain. So, I do the only thing I can think of. Call my friend Amy.

A/N: Sorry if I goofed with Jackaboy's Irish accent. I tried.

Hugs for everyone!

~Typ