Harly
There was this kid who listened to Death Metal all the time. His name was Harly Chesterton. Sometimes he’d put on a Freddy Krueger mask and went around with this blonde wig on too that was all curly and long like Bette Midler kind of. He talked to girls in a low voice, like almost a whisper. Sometimes they didn’t hear him. He had to repeat stuff a lot, like when the teacher called on him in class. A lot of time grownups told him to speak up. Not many kids would play with him. His front teeth were all bucked, and his breath smelled like Play-Doh. His jean jacket was too small on him. It had a big old rip in the sleeve and was all frayed at the bottom. Sometimes he’d pull his socks up all the way to his knees, and they were those white striped socks, the ones with the big blue and red stripes on them. In the summer he’d go around in OP shorts that almost went down to his knees, and his socks were pulled up all high almost to his knees, so there was only like these little knobs of his knees there showing. His legs were like twigs and his knees knocked together sometimes. There was a tornado on the day he was born. His mom had to have him in the basement. There wasn’t a doctor there, but his dad used a pocket knife to cut the umbilical cord. Harly didn’t have any trophies. Cats hissed at him. Once he put a stray cat in his microwave and cooked it in there for 4 minutes and 12 seconds. He said it smelled like bacon and burnt hair.
