"Ow! Step off, you guys are being assholes!" Peter pushed away the bullies, shouting at them to leave him alone immediately.
"Shut the fuck up, punk! Hand over the Gameboy and we'll let you off with a couple of broken ribs and a black eye!" The bully that had the Mohawk and the gages yelled at him, throwing him to the ground. Peter looked over his Gameboy, thinking long and hard whether or not it was worth it. Should he put up a fight for his Gameboy or, sit there and helplessly get beaten up by a bunch of bullies? He thought of his older brother, Robin. What would he suggest to do? 'Defend your blue gadget, don't sit there and let more people like them pass through. If they do it to you, they'll continue to do it every day to others including yourself, Peter!' The imaginary Robin figure was right, he must battle the bullies to conserve his Gameboy. Peter stood and put up both of his fists in front of his face. He drew a breath and said shakily,
"Put 'em up, put 'em up!" He gulped and waited as the bullies stood still, shocked that he took up their offer to fight them. The kid with the nose ring and long hair stepped towards him, frowning.
"So now you're going to defend yourself, fag? You're going to hell anyways, might as well be now." The bully smirked and Peter thought about Robin. Robin was gay and he was certainly too nice in Peter's eyes to go to hell. Peter threw a punch and the bully landed on the ground. He faced Peter with a misplaced jaw and blood everywhere. The other kids were terrified now. Turns out Peter had frightened them. The Mohawk kid threw Peter to the ground once again and the bullies kicked him to the road until they saw a car turning around the corner. They ran and left Peter, rubbing his sore ribcage. He struggled to get up as the car approached closer and closer. They say your life flashes before your eyes before you experience something life-threatening.
However, only the things you truly love flood your brain. Robin, his mother, his father, his grandmother, bacon, his friend Bryson. Many other things flashed before him, too many to count. The driver had a bottle in one hand and a phone in the other. The driver took a swing of the bottle and continued to text. They were going too fast to stop. Peter lay on the ground, hoping it would avoid him and he would just go under the car. He tucked in his arms and legs as he had no other choice. His ribs were severely injured, too much to move at all. He ached simply moving his arms and legs. He could practically see the obituaries with his name listed,
'PETER GAFALIS
-AGE 7
-SON OF SARAH NEWBERRY AND TOM NEWBERRY
-SIBLINGS- ROBIN GAFALIS
-2008-2015'
At his funeral, he hoped they would serve bacon wrapped avocados, his favorite. He was sad he would die never having children, or sampling a doughnut. He had always wanted to try a doughnut. The nearest place sold them for 2 dollars each and no one had the time to take him. Robin was either high or alone in his room, when Peter asked him what he was doing, he always said 'making homemade alfredo sauce.'
His mother and father were always busy with work or the conserving the ginger society. They were convinced the blondes and gingers would die out, so they held swinging parties to try to breed their kind as much as possible. It seemed ever since he was born, his mother had been pregnant.
He was trying to imagine what a doughnut would taste like when he felt the car run over him. It was if a giant crab pinched his whole body at once. He definitely did not avoid the wheels. Luckily, it wasn't a hit and run situation. The drivers called the ambulance and, pulling Peter up onto a gurney was like using a spatula to pull up your toast, but you forgot to put butter spray so your toast stuck to the pan. They rushed him to the hospital, and the last thing Peter could remember was laughing a lot and feeling very tired.
