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Thoughts of Hate; Dan Forrest, Freshman year
Topic Started: Aug 31 2009, 04:32 PM (289 Views)
ElTejon
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That Guy You Know
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Making his way through the crowd was not as easy for him as he thought it might be. Even though he stood over most of the other kids, their sheer numbers made the hallway a site of chaos that nothing short of a tank could pass through. Of course, there was always the tempting option of using a little muscle work to wade through the mob, but he wasn't going to risk hurting anyone just because he was in a hurry.

Besides, it was only his first day here, and he didn't want to give anyone the wrong impression. The last thing he wanted to be called was a bully. He could stand a lot of idle namecalling -- after all, it was the nature of man to indulge in petty displays of cruelty, as it had been since the time of Noah. A bully, on the other hand, was something he just couldn't tolerate, and anyone who knew him well enough had the better sense to learn that wanton brutality was one of the few things in life that truly and utterly pissed Dan Forrest off. His first fight had taken place back in Kindergarten, and he still felt a trace of anger at the thought of what he'd seen occur on the playground outside the school.

He was never much for remembering anything, but the events of that day were still as clear as one's memory could ever be. Some kid whose name he'd already forgotten, a big, foul tempered black boy with curly hair and a fondness for cussing to the other kids just to show he knew how, had come up to another, smaller student and, for what may have just been plain meanness, kicked dirt in the other boy's face before following up with a swift boot to his chin. The other boy had fallen flat on his back, wailing like a banshee while blood trickled from his mouth, which had only gotten the bigger kid mad. As Dan and all the other kids on the playground had watched in shock, the bully had started kicking the little fella in a panicked frenzy, punctuating his blows with a frantic demand to the other boy to be quiet.

This went on for a while, with no one raising a hand to stop anything. Most of the other kids had been too scared, and, truth be told, Dan was probably pretty scared himself. He couldn't remember exactly how he'd worked up the courage to go over to the other boy, or even how the fight had gone on. All he could remember was the spanking he'd gotten from his dad after he came home from school that day. But then, that was just the way his dad did things -- as far as the patriarch of the Forrest household was concerned, "Spare the rod and spoil the child" was the first and only passage to be taken from the Good Book, and any act of insubordination, no matter how justified, was to be met with a swift punishment.

Of course, that had been the first of only three fights he'd ever gotten into. The other two had largely been forgotten, now little more than a few blurry instances that had ended in a day or two off from school and what had probably been a pretty stern talking to from his parents. Now that he thought about it, however, he couldn't remember his father ever giving him such a lecture after his first fight with the kid from Kindergarten. As a matter of fact, he remembered the look that had come over his father's face when he'd heard the other boy's name.

"The Morris kid, huh?" His father had said in an oddly smug see-I-told-you-so way. Of course, he'd still given Dan a whupping, but it seemed a little easier when compared to the other punishments he'd received. His dad had even gotten him some ice cream the next day, which was odd, considering how the usual follow up to a spanking was a day spent alone in your room, where you were expected to read and study the Bible in an effort to build what his dad considered to be "good character."

Looking back now, he knew all too well why his dad had gone easy on him. That look he'd given Mom right after saying "The Morris kid" had spoken volumes; he might as well have said, "See, I told you those black kids are trouble."

Now what would dear old Dad think about this place, he wondered as he passed through the crowd. There were quite a few black kids, most of them dressed in the baggy, one-size-too-large clothes that seemed to be in style with everyone nowadays. He could even see some of them holding up their pants with a free hand while they walked to class, which had always gotten a laugh out of his dad, who never could resist making some crass remark about whatever rapper he came across while channel surfing. It was always stupid stuff like that which made Dan glad he wasn't a --

The word was muted in his thoughts almost as soon as he'd created it. In spite of himself, he felt a deep shame and some resentment, aimed not at himself, but more to the memory of his dad. For a moment, he wanted to pray right here in the middle of the hallway fro divine guidance to help strip his mind of these hated thoughts that kept plaguing his spirit. But it wouldn't be that easy; he knew that from experience, as he'd struggled to keep that prejudice from his thoughts, if only to avoid the bitterness he'd sometimes caught underlying his dad's offhanded remarks. Such anger wasn't good for his soul, especially if he could count himself among the chosen of God.

God's love can't flourish in a heart filled with hate, his pastor's words reminded him, speaking out to him from a thousand miles away. With that in mind, and the P.A. system blaring out a nasal-toned announcement that was barely audible over the din of the milling crowd, Dan kept his attention on the scrap on paper he held in his hand.

"Mr. Garvey, room 1034." He read aloud. Looking around, he saw a door marked "1050". Must be down the hall from here, he thought. Hopefully, he could find it soon -- he only had eight minutes until his first class started, and he didn't want to be late.
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