Recent reviews by snithy

syzmanski moment

My Bad Rats likes to beat people, well, I say people, but I mean kids, innocent, young kids. He gets his best thrills from spanking children, the idea of him being able to dominate young people with no challenge or obstacle in his horizon makes him feel powerful and consistent.
I've had my fair share, across the face, in the stomach, cranked in my leg.
Home is supposed to be safe and secure, warm and snug, loving and caring. But in my case, it's the exact opposite, you can't expect life to be safe and secure with a child abuser living under your roof with the claimed title `Bad Rats`.
You can't expect any love or care from a psychopathic game with no friends or family, just as much as you can't grant any warmth or comfort in a locked clustered basement underneath laminate flooring and wood fitted with carpet.
I would like to take a moment to ask you, the reader, what would you do in this situation? Got an answer? Good, because I can guarantee you my response was much worse.

It was Monday 14th July 1998 at around 3PM when I finished the school day, the sun was gleaming down onto my spotty and greasy face leaving me with heat annoyance and a brush of sweat on the top of my forehead.
I continued to walk, with no enthusiasm from my bruised body. What could possibly be wrong? I walked so miserably because I knew in at least twenty minutes or so my bruises would become cuts and then evolve into blood stains.
Like magic? My copy of Bad Rats would say after he pasted my face into a whole new appearance. If only he knew what was coming to him.
I soon walked upon my house, oh how I can remember them dark days up in my room. My stomach felt like blood beaten butterflies floating motionlessly in my unfed stomach.
I swallowed. I took a second swallow.
My heart was beating in such an inconsistent manner it made me feel sick. He made me feel sick.
With one last gulp I proceeded toward the house, but then, the oddest object occurrence entered my view. Laying there on the summer green grass was the object that would change my life for both the better and worse.
My mother used to slit her wrists with the very same object until she ended up taking her own life to escape this tragedy that we all refer to as `life.`
Only I wasn't taking my own life, I was taking Bad Rats life. I scooped the object up with pure determination and raged anger.
I will avenge my darling mother even if it is the last thing I do.
I clutched down the door handle like a psychopathic lunatic until I entered onto the hallway.
“Is that you boy? Because I've got a big surprise waiting for you!”
So have I, you dirty faced prick, I thought almost seemingly out loud.
I heard his trying to be intimidating footsteps from his groggy rats come closer... And closer.
He towered over me, glaring at me through his black rat eyes.
“Ain’t you gonna ask what it is, you ungrateful brat!” He exclaimed cockily, making himself stand more straight in a proud sort of manner.
“I was just gonna ask you the same thing. Bat Rats.”
With a flow of confidence, I slid out the knife from beneath my left sleeve, I impulsively rushed the knife into his stomach just about 2cm below his chest,
He screamed out in shock and pain, his legs buckled as the blood trickled down to his purposely ripped jeans.
“Or would you prefer me to call you noob, you prick!”
I grinned like a little child on my birthday, the blood squirting out of him like a fountain made me feel in control, made me feel powerful.
“Y-you a-a-ain't gett-ing a-away fr-fr-from m-me!”
My game crashed, trying to approach me, trying to end me.

10/10 GOTY