Everything in my life has been a joke since I’ve moved here- Ocean Shores, California. Surf, sun, sand, skaters. I remember my first day here like it was yesterday. I was eleven years old, short, chubby, and lonely- but not desperate. When Mrs. Stimpelton walked me over to the “Rockets” I knew there would be trouble.
Let me start out by saying, I hate skaters. I just fucking hate them. Any “extreme sport” I’m not too fond of really. To me, skaters are the most ignorant and judgemental people in the world. Don’t accuse me of being judgemental, cause I’m not. I just have this ability to see inside other people. It’s not telepathy or some shit like that, I’m just able see a person’s true character no matter how they act around other people.
Back in Kansas there was a group of skater kids who always teased me and knocked my books to the ground as they skated past me. They skipped class to grind picnic tables in the playground and didn’t give a damn about school. One day, they pissed me off so bad, I just snapped. Like something had been brewing deep down inside of me; I grabbed the nearest skater by the shirt, flung him to the ground and started beating every square inch of his body with his own skateboard. I cracked a few of his ribs, bloodied up his face real bad and left bruises all over his body. I also shattered his knee, as well as his hopes of becoming a professional skater.