I was screwed up beyond all repair by then. Only reason I hadn’t been to Juvie was that I had an extra something the other delinquents didn’t have, not that I realized it at the time of my crimes. All I knew was that I was lucky. Yeah, cursed more like it. But back then, it sure was nice to be sitting in the shopping mart contemplating stealing some magazines or candy bars or Chinese-assembled electronics when a display magically fell apart to be a distraction I desperately needed.
Cigarettes and electronics had been my steals of choice right before I was co-opted into another life and if it wasn’t for the Asylum, I’d be well on my way to lung cancer by now, or dead twenty times over. Not from hard stuff like you’re thinking—worse I can admit to is bumming some weed when I could—but from fighting. I loved to get into a fight. Still do.
Here I am twenty-one years old and I’m lucky to hit five-foot-eight on some very generous tape-measures. Back then, middle school and elementary ****holes with babysitting teachers and cruel lunch-ladies, it was even worse. Some district counselor got all doctor on me and diagnosed it as a Napoleon Complex; that I was trying to prove I was tough despite my size. But it wasn’t that.
I liked to fight.
Read more on King Henry in The Foul Mouth and the Fanged Lady by Richard Raley: available on Amazon and Smashwords. Or just type "Foul Mouth" into your Kindle...they'll know who you're talking about...