Beautiful & Battered

There are various times when I feel a strong urge to hug the dead Charles Darwin for his famous phrase, “survival of the fittest.” It depicts the success in terms of living of only those organisms that fulfill the definition of fit; stone-hearted, adamant, and vicious.

And there also comes the time when I want to stab all the doctors for treating a patient. I mean, what’s the point in saving someone who is going to die anyway? When the patient isn’t the fittest, then why try to save him? 

Alas, we all are damn well hypocrites. 

Whatever Darwin presented in the nineteenth century is put aside just to read and to awe. Even in this twenty-first century, his theory remains too good to implement. However, I don’t want to just read and awe. Where’s the benefit in that? 

Therefore I skip Mr. Harrison's history class every day and do something that actually benefits me; smoking cigarettes in the parking lot. I hide behind my white-colored, old GMC Sierra 1989 and relish every puff of smoke. Although it is a cheap car and pretty much busted, it provides me with shelter. And this battered Sierra is a beautiful example of survival of the fittest. 

Once my thirst for smoke feels somewhat quenched, I crush it to death under my boots and head inside for the last period. I pull my grey beanie over my ears and walk at a brisk speed to warm myself up. That was until a putatively blind and certifiably illiterate boy comes from somewhere in the left and crashes into me. A sharp pain radiates from my two-day-old bruise on my chest. It must be bleeding again. 

Both of us lose our balance and stumble. However, only he falls down and I get a hold of myself. As I expected, the students around us stop to watch and whisper. Sadly, I don't like much drama. But drama follows me. These students love drama and action. It gives their feeble minds something to discuss and they all know me, except for this buttinsky. He is still unaware of whom he has invaded. 

I observe his movements as he is sitting on the floor, gathering the few pages that have fallen along with him. He is slim and white, like me, but his cheeks are rosy. He must be fed well at home. There is a thin line of a newly grown, light-haired mustache above his lips that he’s constantly biting.

The mess of curly black hair on his head reminds me of my own hair. Except that mine is brown and not even a centimeter long. I keep my head unfailingly shaved. Dusting his jeans, the busybody finally gets up and slides his bag on his shoulder. 

“Don’t run in the hallways, dude.” He still has not seen me and I snicker inwardly as he advises me. 

When the silence around us finally reaches his ears and he is done dressing himself up, he peers at me. He gets stunned for a minute and his mouth hangs open on its own accord. Cautiously, he takes a step back. 

“Oh, N-Nio…” He trembles under my burning gaze. 

“Yeah, me.” I scoff. “Are you really blind or do you just act like one?” 

He scratches his forehead nervously and looks around. He has probably sensed what’s to come and is now looking for someone to rescue him. Fucking weakling. 

He can’t even defend himself. How will he survive once he graduates? 

“How old are you?” I step towards him and brush away some dust from his shoulder with my long slender fingers. 

“Fift—” He shakes his head. “Turned s-sixteen last month.” 

“Looks like you forgot your age as well as your manners.” I click my tongue with dismay taking a step back. 

“Actually we b-both bumped into each other. Y-you and I both were running in the h-hallway.” He states as if quoting some text of his rulebook. 

“Stubborn, aren’t you?” I crack my knuckles. 

“Or maybe just copying you?” He replies monotonously without a single stutter this time. 

His sudden bold response shocks me much but he is far more shocked than I am when my fist lands on his cheek and he crumples on the floor. 

Surprisingly, this isn’t it for him and he decides to backfire. He trips me to the floor and I fall flat on my face beside him. I taste blood in my mouth and my chest hurts more than it already was. All I asked for was a simple apology from this dickhead as he ran into me first. But he wanted a good dose of beating for himself. 

I hear a crack from his bleeding nose. 

A bruise is forming under his left eye too. 

Either way, I am the asshole. 

I am Plinio Murray and I am nothing but a bully.