Date: Mon, 26 Nov 2018 08:29:24 +0000 From: Bogan Subject: Former Street Rat 03 For the safety of everyone involved (especially me), everything I am going to say is false, made up, and delusional. DONATE to NIFTY. If you can afford it, please donate to nifty. We all like this site and we don't want it to go away. I hadn't meant this to be so autobiographical. I really just meant to kinda write a guide to what it was like to be a street rat. At least from my perspective. Give some sort of advice to how it was. If you want to use any of this stuff to write your own story, go ahead. Just 2 things tho. 1) If I happen to write a story about this, than you better not try to sue me. I won't be tried for plagiarism for my own fucking memories. 2) If you do write a story using anything from here, please let me know. I would really like to read it. Thanks. ********************************** I think that one of the things that seems so unreal to me, is the way that kids on the street are portrayed. It's difficult to explain why this is, cuz I'm not sure myself. In my group we were a family. But it wasn't a sit-com type of family. We were brothers and did all the things brothers do. That included arguing. And fighting that sometimes got physical. And sometimes you didn't talk to someone for a bit. Caz and I fought. Often when he would push, I'd push back, even if it wasn't me that he was pushing. So, yeah, there were times when we sat as far away from each other as possible. And everyone else just ignored us. But when I needed to cry into someone's chest, it was Caz who held me. So there were times when someone took a prank too far. And sometimes someone snapped while being teased. But you knew you could trust each other. You knew that they would fight for you. And that was important. Crying was dangerous. Crying made you weak. See, you had to always be on your guard. You had to hear every sound and see every motion that was around you. You can't do that when you're crying. You're lost in your grief. And when someone holds you, not only are they trying to make you feel better, they're also keeping you safe. So we were mostly teens. And I think that in a lot of ways, we were just like other boys. We read comics. We ate crisps and drank soda and argued Star Wars. We played football (soccer) a lot. We popped pimples, checked our underarms for hair and compared dick size. But sometimes it seemed like we were living in a different world. We didn't know what was happening in the outside. Didn't know about disasters or politics or the latest TV shows. Sometimes something really bad happened. We'd run to find a newspaper to see what everybody was talking about. And then there was the really dark side. I don't think any mainstreamer can really understand. Not truly. The times when you are crushed. When turning over in your sleeping bag seems like too much effort. You stare at the wall and you realise... this is it. This is your life. To be fucked by one man after another just to buy some greasy take-out. Until the day you disappear. When you end up in some psycho's basement being tortured. And you're buried in an unmarked shallow grave. The times when you think about all the people you've lost. When you think about Jeff. Just a 16 yo boy. A beautiful 16 yo boy. And when you die, there will be no-one to remember him. It would be like he never existed. And you understand that his life didn't matter. And neither does yours. But than you hear Brian's high pitched scream. And you see him running toward you. And Petey is following in a rage. And someone hands you a whiskey bottle and you take as long a pull as you can. I'm gonna go lie down. Bogan nifty.bogan@protonmail.com