Striker Bugbear: A Short Story

I never knew that passionately loathing someone I had never met in my entire existence was a possibility. Yet as I am surrounded by the mountains of Kleenex tissues that are filled with the tornado of fluids that are violently bursting through my poor peasant of a nose, I am quickly starting to believe that this possibility is in fact quite plausible. Well that, and the fact that the blue cough syrup I just generously gulped down has given me some much needed liquid courage.
It all started with a cup.
I believe the day was a Monday. Or a Tuesday. The tiny details are a bit fuzzy at the moment. Anyways, I woke up to the ringing of my phone.
“When you were over, did you drink from the ‘The World’s Greatest’ cup?” My mom asked on the other end
Striker Bugbear. Yes, Striker Bugbear, a name that would beckon the soon to be damage that will plague any unfortunate victim who would ever come across his path. I could see his strawberry blonde hair sashaying in the wind as he walked in slow motion, the surrounding passerby unaware of his destructive powers. He’s probably a scrawny seven-year-old kid, but by no means should anybody underestimate him as a result. If this experience has taught me anything, age nor physical build should ever correlate to the dire impact a person is capable of inflicting on the world, or my case, on a person. Even something so small, so inexperienced and so young can cause colossal damage. He probably has what his aunts and uncles have deemed as cute, pinchable cheeks that when aggressively caressed in a pinching fashion make his mushroom haircut dance side to side.

But where was I? Ah, yes. The slow motion walk. I could see his apple red lips chewing on the remnants of a lollipop that are clinging onto a white stick that is poking out of the right corner of his mouth. Perhaps it was cherry flavored or watermelon. No, not watermelon. Too pink. Either way, if Striker Bugbear were to smile, his teeth would be stained with red and he would look like a vampire child, stalking his next prey in that slow motion walk of his. I think about what creatively-condescending comments I could make about that white
I also know you think that my status of being a bad person is elevated by the fact that I am trying to tell you what you are thinking of me. But I am not. Woah, did you feel that? My head feels like a herd of grape stompers is trying to make red wine out of my brain.
What I’m trying to say is that what really gets to me is that this kid is completely unaware. Plans were canceled, hours of work and school were missed, and time that could have been spent with my family were lost. My monthly paycheck is going to be lower because of him. Does he want to write my teachers emails for missing all those days of school? Tests will have to be made-up at a later date because of him. He needed to know this. He needed to see the damage he had caused in a stranger’s