=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Afraid of the Ball ------------------ I remember age 10, playing kickball at the playground. I was picked last for the team, since I was neither popular nor normal. The freshly mowed grass tickled my allergies, and I wanted nothing more than to plant my admittedly chubby butt in a swing and finish reading Romeo and Juliet while I gently rocked back and forth on the swingset. I was way out in the field because I was afraid of the ball. I swore to myself that the ball was naturally attracted to my bulky frame through some gravitational trick that could only be explained with a complex physics formula, since I always managed to get slammed in the face with it at least once in every game. I didn't want to admit to myself that the magic was probably the result of malicious intent from my playmates. So I stood there, hands slightly curled at my sides, waiting for the inevitable long kick perpetrated by one of the more athletic boys with a mean frown etched into his forehead. It came, and even as I winced I raised my hands to catch the orange projectile aimed right at me. Instead it slammed me in the gut, and all of the air in my lungs was expelled in one microsecond, and I doubled over trying desperately to force oxygen into my constricted throat, my wounded diaphragm struggling to operate my lungs. I didn't cry. Not in front of them. I was afraid of the ball, and it had hurt me, and I couldn't trust it. At that point I realized that I was being abused because of who I was, and that there was no computational conspiracy against me. Once I reached the point where I could elect my gym classes, I always chose non team sports. Diving, swimming, running.. As long as there wasn't a ball, and the only person I had to count on was myself, I wasn't afraid. Now I am older and less physically repugnant. Nothing has changed. I am still afraid of the ball, afraid of getting hurt, and nothing about the way I am treated by anyone who supposedly cares about me has proven me wrong. Yet. The glimmer of hope that I secure within myself fades a little more each time my parents decide to apologize for offering assistance, or someone I love betrays me. It happens more often than I care to admit. I dared a few to toss me a good one, but I always end up 10 again, struggling to breathe through the pain, cursing myself for offering anyone the opportunity to injure me. But I plow on, fingers slightly curled at my sides, waiting to catch the next ball - one that will float as if by prophecy into my waiting hands and nestle securely into my palms. Someday soon, though, I will no longer stand in readiness. Instead I will turn and walk away, avoidance as armor. demonika demonika@demonic.com =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = Questions, Comments, Bitches, Ideas, Rants, Death Threats, Submissions = = Mail: jericho@dimensional.com (Mail is welcomed) = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = To receive new issues through mail, mail jericho@dimensional.com with = = "subscribe fuck". If you do not have FTP access and would like back = = issues, send a list of any missing issues and they will be mailed. = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = AnonFTP FTP.DIMENSIONAL.COM/users/jericho/FUCK = = FTP.SEKURITY.ORG/pub/zines/fucked.up.college.kids = = FTP.DTO.NET /pub/zines/fuck = = FTP.ETEXT.ORG/pub/Zines/FUCK = = WWW *** http://www.sekurity.org/~fuck *** = = http://www.dimensional.com/~jericho = = http://www.reps.net/~krypt/fuck.html = = http://www.simunye.com/fuck = = http://www.dis.org/se7en/fuck = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = (c) Copyright. All files copyright by the original author. = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=