Story Time: Gold Lion

Well, I learned that moving really puts a crimp in regularly putting my deposits down here on the ol’ blog. I get a back log of blog-bog.

Nothing quite like a Wendig flash fiction challenge suppository to get the blog words unstuck.

Go words, GO!

The world wanted to make prey of us. The adults said we were children. The strong said we were weak. The experienced said we were naive.

We were supposed to be scared.

But we didn’t listen. We laughed at their painted faces and ran out into the night.

We saw the drunks that couldn’t drive home, stumbling to navigate their way through the maze of arteries under the city. We saw the poor that just wanted to stay in the pungent, humid air until morning. We saw the cast-offs that would never fit in and the rebels that refused to.

And in our way, we loved them all. At least they were real.

During the day, everyone was always telling us who to be. We spent eight hours a day getting brainwashed and form packed into “productive members of society”. I mean, sure, we were born in a century that allowed us choices and life options, but everyday was a reminder of our limits.

I think it made us crazy.

Sure, blame it on hormones or youth or whatever. If it makes you sleep better, say it was “a phase”.

All I know is that we were invincible.

We were feared. We were hunters.

We were lions.

Sixteen year old girls aren’t supposed to ride the subway at night. Or drink whiskey in public. Or get in fights with wannabe gang bangers. Or lose teeth in said fights.

At prom, Samantha had the smile of a hockey player and a dress that she stole from Macy’s. She was happy out on the dance floor, even by herself. When the maths teacher told her that the slow dances were for couples, she told him to screw off. He kicked her out. I helped her light his car on fire.

Yeah, so we learned that there are consequences for breaking some of the rules. But we also learned that a lot of the rules are just handed down by the fearful. Like the gazelle telling the lions what to do.

We were labelled because it made them feel better. We were diagnosed so that it wasn’t really our fault. If there was somewhere to put the blame for our behaviour, then the system was still functional. God save the system.

Kaylee was expelled for continuously wearing a shirt on which she had printed with the phrase, “I like sex, but I don’t like you”. It was her favourite thing to say to guys when she broke up with them. She said it was the same thing guys were thinking when they broke up with girls.

We burned every bridge we could just to prove we could build our own. Some things worked out. Sometimes we failed spectacularly. But at least it was spectacular. We wouldn’t do mundane.

We roared like lions.


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