Information

Massacre_346 has a minion!

Arnie the Fauxull

Massacre_346
Legacy Name: Massacre_346

The

Chibi Telenine
Owner:

Darkveiled

Age: 17 years, 9 months, 6 days

Born: July 28th, 2006

Adopted: 17 years, 9 months, 6 days ago (Legacy)

Adopted: July 28th, 2006 (Legacy)

Nominate Pet for Spotlight

Statistics

Level: 83
Strength: 73
Defense: 66
Speed: 60
Health: 60
HP: 0/60
Intelligence: 96
Books Read: 96
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Unemployed

" Playful • Caring • Murderous "

“I don't know what I did wrong,” the little boy, no older than seven, said as he looked up at his mother. His eyes were wide and expectant, a little shiny with tears of frustration, and he hoped that she could explain to him exactly why he'd been sent home from school that day, because it just didn't make sense to him.

One minute he'd been attempting to get back a firetruck that'd been snatched out of his hands by a kid in his class when everything had gone dark, as if he'd fallen asleep. Then, the very next, he had found himself alone, sitting in a cold office, a man – the principal, it had turned out – staring down at him with disapproval etched all over his face.

It wasn't the first time it had happened, either. Massacre – a name so lovingly bestowed on him by his parents, one that seemed to give the boy more of a reputation than his behavior itself did, or so he thought, and it was one that he hated – had a habit of being sent home due to what his school called “destructive and dangerous behavior”. But he never knew what that meant. All he did know was that he'd end up in a chair, listening to another lecture about rules he'd broken, things he couldn't remember doing, and then he was taken home, suspended for any given amount of days.

“Maybe they just don't like me,” he said, biting his lower lip, as a fat tear rolled out of his eye and down a reddened cheek. “Maybe I didn't really do anything bad, and they just don't like me, so they make up these things, a-and... and I get in trouble for them!”

His mother simply smiled at him from where she stood at the kitchen counter. She reached into a jar of chocolate chip cookies, took one out, and handed it down to him. “Oh, sweetie,” she said, her voice kind, as it always was in these situations, “you didn't do anything wrong at all. You did great in school today, so don't let it bother you that they've sent you home. You're probably right, and they just don't like you, so they're making things up is all. Now go and run along. Take Arnie and go out and play.”

Arnie, a little Fauxull, scampered to Massacre's side, as if on cue. The boy sniffled, looked down at his pet, and reached out a hand to ruffle his fur. His mother's assurance that he hadn't done bad eased his worry a little... But there was still a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach, one he couldn't explain.

All he knew was that he didn't want to do bad things. He'd never wanted to do bad things, didn't want to hurt others or make them afraid of him – as many of the kids in his class actually were - and he'd been trying his entire life to be good, to stay out of trouble. He wanted to be good.

So why, despite the encouragement of his parents' that he was in the right, to not worry, that he was doing exactly as he should, did he feel so wrong?

Wonderful story by User not found: difficult!