Antisocial.

Bleugh. I wonder what's with not wanting to talk lately. I'm content lately to just hide in the corner and not be bothered.

Sharp, stabbing pain in his side. Every day for the past two weeks now, he'd been elbowed, shoved, stepped on by the asshole of the lunch table, Barry. It wasn't enough he only knew one person in the whole room of two hundered kids, and sat there trying to look inconspicuous and fit in. Now the big tough guy of the table had to start picking on him every single day. Tom pushed his glasses back up onto his nose and frowed at his tuna fish. There was a note from Mom--probably a 'I love you have a good day' deal she embarassed him with on a monthly basis. He quickly covered it with the baggie of Oreo's in his lunch and hoped no one had noticed.
Barry started talking loudly at the far end of the table, taking great care to ensure the adjoing lunchers heard how he had banged Stacey Watson this past weekend, how she had moaned how much bigger his cock was than her football-captain boyfriend. Tom winced again and tried to focus on his sandwich. At the edge of peripheral vision he noticed Barry stretch and start to get up, announcing he had to choke the one eyed snake. Tom braced for the blow he knew was coming in the form of a feigned stumble or trip, a calculated fist or elbow just accidentally happing to jab him in the kidneys. This time was gonna be different, Tom was ready for it this time. The blow came, sudden and low, Barrys balled fist about to strike in the predicted spot--until Tom shifted in his seat, deflecting the fist down and away with his elbow. Tom stood up sharply and struck underneath Barrys chin with an open palm, snapping his neck back and sending him toppling over backwards, crashing into the table behind sending some poor kids mashed potatoes everywhere.

>.< argh, gotta go.. maybe finished later.