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Post by Charles Landen on Apr 11, 2007 6:09:37 GMT 7
Charles had a lot of problems in the library. Or rather, he had one reoccuring problem in the library. The librarian. If Charles Landen had a tumor, he would name it Mrs. Whateverthefuckhernamewas. He had his spats with people, his petty arguments, but nothing quite like what he had with her. What he had with that librarian was something special. It was a sort of animosity that was hard to match. He wasn't really a likeable guy, but it really took something to have a relationship like he did with her.
It took a certain bitterness -- it took something on both ends. It might have been the brash combination of their personalities. She was a cantankerous, old, passive agressive harridan and he was a cynical jackass. Her baggy skin, the way her 'spanx' were visible from above her a-line skirts, her faux pearls. She was disgusting. He didn't understand why he bothered going into the library anymore. Everytime he came in, he felt his blood boil. Don't get me wrong, he had enemies. He had people who annoyed him to no conceivable end, and certainly visa versa. But god. This librarian.
She had stripped him of his Starbucks. She had yelled at him for studying. She had the gall to critique the websites he was visiting. Out of all the mediocre days he'd had at Rutherford, today was the worst. And worst of all, he had this hag breathing down his neck. So now he was just going to sulk. In the reference section, reading about some monotonous bullshit he wasn't sure his professor even cared about.
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Post by Charles Landen on Apr 12, 2007 7:55:08 GMT 7
It might have been the atmosphere. It may have been that his day had not been going his way. Whatever the case was though, whoever had shoved Charles Landen had just gotten his fist to their face. He didn't know where, he didn't know how much force he had put into it, but he had done it. He had single handedly -- he had punched a girl. He had "risen his hand" at a girl. As the fog of anger began to clear and he gained perspective Charles Landen realized he had punched a girl.
He had punched a girl. He had punched a girl in a library. Without much warrant. All she had done was elbow him. Fuck. He just punched a girl. In one swift move, Charles punched a girl. A girl. Someone with female anatomy. He had broken the golden rule of being a boy. The one rule that triumphed over the rest. The rule. He had let his fist meet the face of a woman's. He had punched a girl. Fuck. Fuck. There was no way-- it was one of those thi-- He had actually punched a girl. He stood there, hand still balled up in a fist by his side and stared at her. Fuck. He had punched a girl.
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