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NINE MONTHS AGO…
There are a few things to know about me:
While there are undoubtedly good and decent people out there, I’m not one of them. On a good day I’m indifferent. On a bad one, I’m petty and vindictive.
I don’t like fish. I don’t care how you prepare it—fry it, bake it, boil it, smoke it, serve it to me raw while using the ass cheeks of a naked Hemsworth brother as a platter—I will still, one hundred percent fucking hate it.
I have seven birthmarks just beneath my right elbow in the exact shape of the Big Dipper.
I, Lake Oliver Bates, did not kill my father.
Okay, in the interest of full disclosure, I’m not saying I’ve never looked at a sharp object and thought, “That pointy end could do some damage…” but that’s as far as it’s ever gotten.
I don’t think I’m cut out for cold-blooded murder.
Mainly because of the jail part of the equation.
On the one hand, free food and no rent.
On the other hand, said free food and no rent would come with a side of toilet-by-the-bed and a cellmate with an I-heart-Mom tattoo on the side of his face.
So no, I did not kill my father.
But at the same time, as I watch his casket being lowered into the ground…
I’m sure as hell not sorry he’s dead.
ABOUT SIX MONTHS AGO…
LAKE
The vending machine is mocking me. Technically, this whole fucking day is mocking me. Or maybe there really are some higher powers out there who are currently perching on a cloud, snickering, trying to see how far they can push me before I break. Based on how things are going for me right now it’ll most likely happen sometime this week. And I’m being optimistic with that assessment.
Place your bets, people.
I slam my fist against the side of the vending machine, but the granola bar refuses to move. It teeters on the edge, the mechanism that’s supposed to drop the bar into my waiting hands stubbornly still. Everything was going fine a second ago, but then the stupid thing just froze. My stomach growls and my shoulders slump while I give the vending machine one last kick for good measure.
Still nothing.
That granola bar was supposed to be lunch, but it seems I’ll be having some gourmet air instead. I take a huge gulp.
It’s goddamn bland.
