IT WAS NEARING SUNSET in the light hearty township of Fillmore’s Grove when Josh Russell pulled his truck up beside one of the gas pumps at ‘Hales Gas & Auto-Body Repair Shop’.

  As the high school football playing PRODIGY passed the time by going through his UPhone, a very disgruntled John Hale Junior (his former teammate and BEST FRIEND) came stomping out of the ‘General Store’ portion of his father and uncle’s business.

  He still wore faded jeans, black and white basketball sneakers, a tight black sleeveless shirt, his light blue, unbuttoned work shirt and turned around work cap.

  Also, John was covered head to toe in grease smudges and gasoline stains.

  “Ugh... Great. Just what I fuckin’ needed,” the troubled High School Senior muttered to himself whilst keeping his fists tightened as he approached the driver’s side window of Josh’s Truck.

  TAP! TAP! TAP!

  “HUH? Oh, uh… WHADDUP, J?!” Josh enthusiastically greeted his former best friend/teammate after he rolled down his driver’s side window (which John had just tapped on three times with the knuckles on his callused left fist).

  “Hey, Russell,” John greeted in a bitter tone whilst glaring at the All-American Running Back.

  “How the hell have you been, brother?! SHIT, MAN! I haven’t seen you, like, for fuckin’ EVER!”

  “We have THIRD and SIXTH periods together.”

  “HUH? We… We do?”

  “Yep… But I never go to either one of them.”

  Josh then bursted into an awkward laughing spell as John stood firm and emotionless outside of his driver’s side door.

  “Heh, heh… Fuck, that’s funny, bro,” Josh continued to snicker. “So, whatcha been up to, man?”

  “Oh, y’know,” John replied whilst trying to keep the rage and hatred he felt towards Josh (and his presence) held within. “Bummin’ ‘round this GODFORSAKEN SHITHOLE we call a town. Pumpin’ gas for SHIT PAY while bein’ on the FINAL EDGE of gettin’ kicked outta school. Doesn’t get much ‘better’ than that, y’know?”

  “Oh, uh… That’s cool… I guess. So, yeah... Couldya do me a solid, bro, and fill me up with…”

  “Diesel?”

  “Uh… Yeah, yeah. That’s right. Diesel, please.”

  “Sure,” John nodded as he then walked over to the other side of the truck.

  While John unscrewed the gas cap to the truck’s fuel tank, Josh stuck his head out of the driver’s side window to look back at his former best friend.

  “DAMN, J! You’re still lookin’ JACKED AS FUCK, dude! Y’still been hittin’ the Weight Room back at school since...”

  “NOPE,” John bluntly replied as he placed the Diesel Pump Nozzle in the Truck’s Gas Tank porthole and started filling up the fuel tank

  With almost a whole minute of silence between the two former teammates/friends, Josh broke the dead silence by asking, “So, John… Anything ELSE been goin’ with you, dude? We haven’t…”

  “LOOK, JOSH,” John sternly snapped at the Running Back as the diesel fuel continued to be pumped into his truck’s Diesel Tank. “I’m just here to fill up your truck. THAT’S ALL. I don’t wanna ‘talk’ to you about anything or ‘catch up’ so just do us BOTH a favor and stop flapping your fuckin’ gums.”

  Josh’s eyes then widened as John kept his eyes pinned on the gas stall’s gallon/money tracker.

  With a drained look on his face now, Josh wordlessly nodded and sat back in the driver’s seat.

  About thirty seconds later, John had finished refueling Josh’s truck.

  Placing the pump back on its holder, John screwed the cap back over the opening to the truck’s diesel fuel tank until it clicked three times. He then closed the tank and trudged back up to the driver’s side door

  “Your total comes up to EIGHTY-FIVE BUCKS and EIGHT CENTS,” John gruffly said.

  “GEESH! REALLY?!” Josh erupted.

  “Yep.”

  “Ugh… Jesus… ALRIGHT. No problem, dude. Urgh… Except for the fucking PISS POOR STATE OF THE ECONEMY that we’re all currently trying to survive in.”

  Pulling out his debit card, Josh handed it over to John.

  Taking the card with his left hand, John looked down at it for a brief moment before saying, “I’ll be back in a few.”

  “Okay, man. Sounds good,” Josh replied. “Thanks.”

  John did not reply. He just turned away and headed back towards the General Store.

  _

  “That the ‘Russell Boy’ out there?” Big John asked his son who was doing everything that he could do to ignore him.

  With no reply from ‘Little’ John as he ran Josh’s Debit Card in the store’s Main (and only) Cash Register Card Swiper, Big John glared at him.

  “OUCH! URGH… WHAT THE FUCK, DAD?!” John shouted after his father hit him across the backside of his head with an oil and greased stained towel.

  “I ASKED YOU A QUESTION, SHITHEAD,” Big John shouted in his son’s face. “AND YOU IGNORED ME!”

  “No I didn’t! I didn’t even HEAR YOU, Dad!”

  (He really did though.)

  “BULLSHIT! Don’t be lyin’ to me, BOY, or else I’ll RIP YOUR FUCKIN’ TONGUE OUTTA YOUR SHIT-FILLED HEAD AND STRANGLE YAS TO DEATH WITH IT!!!”

  John now glared at his abusive father, who asked in a more ‘leveled down’ tone of voice, “NOW, I’m gonna ask you again since you fuckin’ IGNORED ME last time…”

  “I didn’t ignore you,” John defiantly stated.

  “What’d I JUST SAY about lyin’ to me, you little fuckface?”

  John rolled his eyes.

  Keeping his ‘angry eyes’ pressed on his son, Big John demanded, “Is that the Russell Boy’s Truck out there? YES OR NO???”

  John didn’t respond.

  “FUCKIN’ ANSWER ME!!!!”

  “URGH… YES! IT’S HIM! IT’S JOSH! Are you hap--”

  Big John then shoved his son backwards, nearly knocking him down to the floor if he hadn't had caught himself on the service counter.

  As John recovered from the aggressive shove from his father, Big John looked back out at Josh’s Truck and huffed, “Hmph! That’s what I thought! Ugh… That’s TOO MUCH TRUCK for a SPOILED-ASS PUSSY like that. Heh, heh…”

  Stolen story; please report.

  As John now stood back up to finish running Josh’s Debit Card, his arrogant father scorned, “FUCKIN’ RUSSELLS!!! They fuckin’ think that they RUN this whole goddamn town just because they were all so damn good at high school football. WHADDA CROCK O’ SHITOLA!!!”

  John just shook his head as his obviously JEALOUS drunkard father continued to spitefully spout, “Y’know, back when I was in school at K.H.S., everyone used to call Russell’s punk-BITCH ‘daddy’ ‘MEAN JOE’. Y’believe that shit? They called him that ‘cause he was supposedly some ‘big, HOTSHOT’ on the gridiron… BUT FUCK THAT GUY!!! Mean Joe. HMPH! WHAT A LOADA SHIT! That ‘preppy boy FUCK’ shoulda tried out for a REAL SPORT like Wrestlin’! YEAH! That’s where TRUE BADASSES are made, boy! Not fightin’ over fuckin’ BALLS while wearin’ fuckin’ PUSSY-ASS PADS AND HELMETS!!! HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!!!!!!!!”

  “But isn’t that what wrestlers do, Pop?” John asked.

  “Huh? Do what???”

  “Wrestle to see who can GRAB one another’s BALLS first??? Heh, heh, heh…”

  Dropping the hand rag to the floor, Big John immediately grabbed his son by the front of his shirt and SLAMMED HIM up against the service counter.

  “KEEP IT UP! C’MON! KEEP IT UP, FUCKER!” Big John shouted in his son’s face whilst keeping him under his firm hold. “Keep on talkin’ shit to me! GO ON! DO IT!!! Keep on flappin’ those FUCKIN’ LIPS OF YERS and I’ll put you in a FUCKIN’ COMA, SHITEATER!!!”

  “URGH… LET ME GO! LET ME FUCKING GO, DAD!” John demanded angrily as he tried to free himself from his father’s grip.

  “NOT UNTIL YOU LEARN SOME FUCKIN’ RESPECT, BO--”

  “HEY! WHAT’S GOING ON IN HERE?!” Josh demanded after walking inside of the General Store to see what the hold up was with his card… Only to find Big John pinning his son up against the Service Counter.

  Big John then immediately released his son from his powerful grasp, causing him to stumble off to the side whilst the crazed drunkard greeted, “WELL, I’LL BE DAMNED! JOSH RUSSELL!!! THE PRIDE OF KEOKUK FUCKIN’ IOWA HIMSELF! How ya doin’, son?!”

  As his father tried and FAILED MISERABLY to cover his ‘abusive tracks’, John stumbled off to the side whilst straightening up himself (and keeping his rising emotions held at bay).

  “Would SOMEONE like to explain to me what’s going on in here?” Josh asked with his brow lowered.

  John kept his eyes looking downwards now as Big John lied, “Oh nothin’! Just havin’ a bit of ‘fun’ with the boy is all! Heh, heh, heh… Gotta keep’em ‘tough’, ya know?! Heh, heh...”

  Big John then slapped his son on the center of his back, which made both him and Josh cringe.

  “SO, SON! Can I help ya with somethin’?” Big John asked Josh excitedly.

  “NOTHING, MISTER HALE,” Josh sternly replied. “I just came in here to get my Debit Card back from John.”

  Looking directly at ‘Little’ John now, “Have you run it through yet, J?”

  “Yeah. You’re good,” John replied through gritted teeth as tossed the debit card back over to Josh.

  “Thanks, man,” Josh said to his former teammate/best friend.

  John didn’t respond.

  “SON, aren’t you gonna ask him if he wants his receipt?” Big John angrily asked John.

  Seeing the rage burning in John’s dark eyes, Josh said, “IT’S ALRIGHT, MISTER HALE. I don’t need one.”

  John then ripped Josh’s paper receipt from off of the cash register and tossed it into a nearby trash can.

  The social outcast kept a glum look on his grease-smudged face as his father falsely said, “Well, if that’s all then have a good one, Son! Good luck on the big Homecoming Game next Friday! GIVE THOSE FORT MADISON BASTARDS HELL!!! HA-HA- HA!”

  Josh nodded to Big John as he turned to ‘Little’ John to say, “It was good seein’ ya, J. Take it easy.”

  John glanced at him, but remained silent.

  Josh then turned away and walked out of the store.

  As the local high school football playing prodigy went to leave the General Store, he realized that he had made a BIG mistake.

  “OH! And ONE MORE THING,” Josh said as he turned around to face the Hales again before leaving the store completely. “JOHN, I almost forgot to ask if you wanted to go to a ‘little bonfire’ that I’m having at my Parents’ Cabin out in Shimmick tonight. It’ll start around eleven and practically EVERYONE from school is gonna be there. Y’down to stop by?”

  John’s eyes widened as did his father's.

  Shocked by this question, John didn’t know how to reply.

  All he did was stare at his former best friend, who waited in silence for his answer.

  Before John could even mutter out a syllable his father rudely butted in

  “That’s nice, Josh, but ‘Little’ John here is gonna be too busy tonight watchin’ the Shop while his Uncle I have some ‘personal matters’ that we gotta attend to,” Big John said, angering his son even more.

  “Understood,” Josh replied as he did not believe Big John oncesoever. “Just thought I’d ask.”

  “Thanks for asking… NOW HAVE A GOOD DAY,” Big John gruffly replied.

  Josh nodded to Big John as he glanced back over at John.

  With a smoldering look on his pale face, John kept silent as Josh walked out of the General Store fully.

  “Hmph! Fuckin’ spoiled PUNK,” Big John spat after Josh had left. “Probably was tryin’ to pull a prank on you or somethin’ with that ‘bonfire’ B.S.”

  “FUCK THIS SHIT!” John suddenly erupted as he stormed out from behind the front service counter, causing his father to laugh loudly while calling him a ‘pussy’ in his wake.

  Blasting outside the General Store, John walked around towards the vacant lot that was behind the store and Repair Shop.

  “FUUUCK!!! FUCK! FUCK! FUUUUUUUUCK!!!!” John cried out while he clenched his fists so tightly that his fingernails were actually puncturing the flesh of his palms.

  Digging in the front breast pocket of his blue work shirt with his left hand, John pulled out a pack of Marston Reds Menthol Cigarettes.

  Flipping open the carton, the abused loner drew out one of the cigarettes with his teeth and lips.

  Pulling out a flip lighter from his back right pants pocket now, John struck the flint wheel and lit the front tip of his ‘cancer stick’.

  Once the cig was lit John began to toke aggressively.

  After exhaling a large puff of white tobacco smoke a few seconds later, the outsider lowered his brow once whilst thinking about the recent events that had just plagued him back inside of the General Store.

  “Urgh.. Fuckin’ asshole!” John scorned at the thought of his abusive, alcoholic father as he took another drag of his cigarette.

  John hated his father. Not ‘disliked’, but HATED him. TRULY HATED HIM.

  Ever since John’s drug-addict mother had abandoned their family when he was only an infant, Big John had made it an INTENT to make the left of his troubled son’s fractured life a living hell.

  When John was younger, his father would wake him up by flicking lit cigarette buds at the back of his head… Or sometimes, he would pull him out of his bed by yanking on a clump of his long, shaggy jet-black hair.

  As if that didn’t sound bad enough, it didn’t even compare to the ‘physical altercations’ that John had been enduring since he was a mere child.

  BEATINGS, BELT-WHIPPINGS, and the occasional battering by use of a blunt object such as an old Policeman’s BILLY CLUB were just SOME of the ‘Respect Lessons’ that Big John would put his son through over the years.

  John even had the scars to prove it, which his sadistic father made sure were able to be covered up by long sleeve shirts and jeans.

  So, whilst living through the ‘Nine Circles of Hell’ every day…. AND NIGHT at his father’s ‘home of HORRORS’, John once found ‘slight solace’ in his former passion: FOOTBALL.

  Having been one of Iowa’s former leading ‘Defensive Linebackers’ in Three-A High School Football, John, at one time, was a very promising athlete.

  Having been receiving offers to play at MANY top notch Colleges and Universities all over the Country, it all went away after a little ‘mishap’ during last year’s Homecoming Game against Fort Madison High School, which pretty much wrote off the rest of John’s sports career entirely.