Rex hailed from the kind of household that had not one single sliver of refuge. His parents, negligent and nagging, were so poor and ill that they had forced their malnourished son to steal food for them as soon as he was old enough to understand what was going on, which from what Rex can recollect, was sometime around seven or eight years old. He had missed school often, shunned by his peers for the odd behavior that results when your stomach is empty and don't know the meaning of the word "comfort," and was destined for either a future as an incarcerated criminal or a dead man.
His ticket out had come with a hefty price- Murder, abuse, manipulation.
Even at the tiny, tender age of twelve, Rex had questioned it.
The morality of murder.
But he had wanted so badly to be good.]
Oh, no?!
[The gymnast spits out each and every word, volatile, venomous.
He's said too much and he knows it. Shit, shit, shit.]
Well, then! Would you happen to know who's in charge of the "sunny skies" over Chicago?
[The real answer, in Rex's mind, is the government. Specifically, the local branch of the Global Defense Agency, which is more concerned with maintaining the status quo, of which the poor and the starving are an important part.
The wretched have no real saviors. The forces that be aren't in their place, so the unfortunate are left to fend for themselves.]
It Jesus? Or one of his little lackeys?
'Cause if it is? I'm kickin' that guy square in the 'nads. Screw that "Love thy neighbor," baloney.
[There's no use in giving love away so freely.
Not when there isn't anybody who would ever love you.]
I put my life out on the line every day for the kinda titty-suckin' turds who can't even get my name right.
no subject
Rex hailed from the kind of household that had not one single sliver of refuge. His parents, negligent and nagging, were so poor and ill that they had forced their malnourished son to steal food for them as soon as he was old enough to understand what was going on, which from what Rex can recollect, was sometime around seven or eight years old. He had missed school often, shunned by his peers for the odd behavior that results when your stomach is empty and don't know the meaning of the word "comfort," and was destined for either a future as an incarcerated criminal or a dead man.
His ticket out had come with a hefty price- Murder, abuse, manipulation.
Even at the tiny, tender age of twelve, Rex had questioned it.
The morality of murder.
But he had wanted so badly to be good.]
Oh, no?!
[The gymnast spits out each and every word, volatile, venomous.
He's said too much and he knows it. Shit, shit, shit.]
Well, then! Would you happen to know who's in charge of the "sunny skies" over Chicago?
[The real answer, in Rex's mind, is the government. Specifically, the local branch of the Global Defense Agency, which is more concerned with maintaining the status quo, of which the poor and the starving are an important part.
The wretched have no real saviors. The forces that be aren't in their place, so the unfortunate are left to fend for themselves.]
It Jesus? Or one of his little lackeys?
'Cause if it is? I'm kickin' that guy square in the 'nads. Screw that "Love thy neighbor," baloney.
[There's no use in giving love away so freely.
Not when there isn't anybody who would ever love you.]
I put my life out on the line every day for the kinda titty-suckin' turds who can't even get my name right.
That's enough.