He flicked his cigarette and narrowed his eyes—his jasper-colored eyes.He hated that fucking gemstone. He hated the humid breeze, caressing his fles... with nothing but chill. He hated the sounds coming from below him and the rattling of the windows like monkeys in cages. He hated so much these days.He hated himself. He hated his scars. He hated his blonde hair and it's course curling. He hated being sober, and he hated lying to his "parents." He hated them. He hated his red bedroom and the cold. She is the smartest girl I know, even if people do stupid stuff like talk to her real loud. I mean, come on, right? She is blind, you morons, not deaf, not retarded, blind!We had a host of foster homes that didn’t work out for one reason or another. In one, I caught the dirty bastard beating his meat as he stood in the door of Ames’s bedroom. Her nightshirt had worked its way up and he could see her little boobies. I mean, she was ten, she didn’t have any more boobies than I did, but he was. More

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