Snippet #2414693

As usual, Wulan Lestari's thought process that day was largely taken up by thoughts more or less along the lines of "Everything fucking sucks".

Shit had been goin' good. She'd thought she'd had a chance. She'd only ever done what she'd needed to do to survive-- anything and everything that entailed. Hell, given just a little while longer, Wu was certain the cops woulda simply given up and stopped giving a shit, and then she could... well, she probably wouldn't have found herself livin' the high life. But at the very least, she woulda been living at all.

Now she was the one who had given up and stopped giving a shit. They'd caught up to her. Given her a choice. Some academy in who the fuck knew where, or prison. In both cases, she'd end up with her freedom restricted, stripped of her most valued possessions and passions, hurled into an unfamiliar place that was almost certainly as dog-eat-dog as the rest of the world. The only difference was, if she went to prison, she'd'a been there a hell of a lot longer than if she just swallowed her pride and came to Alexander's Academy for Faggotry or whatever it was called.

And oh, the multifarious methods this shithole of a school employed in testing her patience. Taking her music from her was one thing. One agonising, wholly unhelpful way they went about it. Telling her she couldn't fight... shit, that was like telling a painter that they couldn't paint, or a scene kid that they couldn't whine about how nobody loves them. Some people are painters. Some people are poets. Some people are musicians. Wu? Wu was decidedly a fighter. That was her calling, as far as she could tell. Well, everybody's got their own way of contributing to society. That's mine.

... that statement made more sense the less Wu thought about it.

The Indonesian delinquent scowled, and turned her attention back to the book in her hands, sweaty from the summer haze that had infiltrated the building. This was how she wiled her days away now-- every day, she'd try and make it through her classes without headbutting somebody, and then when it was all over with at last, she'd come here, pick up a book, and read. Stay the fuck away from other people. Other people didn't do her no good. Other people would only test her patience further, provoke her into violence-- and then she'd be fucked. Then she'd be sent to prison, languishing behind bars for years, and she'd probably get shanked in her sleep by a crackhead for good measure.

Fuck, did she wanna punch somebody right now. Just-- anybody. She wanted to do violence, dammit. All this fuckin' rage and distress was building up and she had no way to get rid of it. Man, there were so many times the urge to just give everything the metaphorical finger and haul off and beat the shit outta one of the teachers was so great, Wu's fist was already pulled back for the beating when she actually stopped to think. She couldn't let herself get caught up in the moment. That was how she'd ended up here in the first place. She'd have to keep her eye on the future.

And as usual, it looked ugly as fuck.