Starving

“Apologize,” Ignatius said, his voice clear and cool like water from a flowing spring.

The boy whimpered. “Fuck,” he said. “Jesus mother fuck.”

“No,” Ignatius said, “Not fuck. I’m sorry. That’s what we say in situations like this.” The girl in Randall’s arm started to cry. Her body relaxed and shook with sobs against his back.

“Please,” the boy said, starting to blubber. “Please don’t eat me.” He sniffled. “Pleasedonteatme.”

“Oh, for the love of Christ,” Randall said. “Grow the fuck up. He’s not going to eat you when I’m standing right here.” He stepped away from the girl, held her at arms length and gave her a pat on her shoulder, hoping it would be sufficient. “Just say you’re fucking sorry you stupid asswipe.”

He looked down. “Sorry,” he said, his voice pale and staccato. “So seriously sorry.” Randall and Ignatius rolled their eyes.





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