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  • Arnold Slamdance was the king of schoolyard taunts. He jerrysquirreled the little kids, calling them bongoeyes and juicytits, wankturtle and googlebomb. None of them knew what anything meant yet. They kept their spellers clean or not, played the video games for the 4-6 crowd, could read single syllable words like cat and dad, identified most of the primary colors when asked, but knew nothing yet of the cruel turn of phrase because they hadn't yet been told what their deficiencies were. A true state of natural innocence. Arnold, at ten, knew everything about evil. Came to school bruised and burnt in places no one would look even though his mother, if he had one, rarely seemed to bathe him and never to wash his greasy head of tangled hair. In class, he nodded off, coming to life only at recess and only when he crossed the Big Kids for the Little Kids playground. Another year would find him dead in the alley near the Port Authority, head bashed in, clutching a St. Christopher medal in his small grubby hand.

    179 words. 7 minutes.
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