Memoirs of the Lost Loser

Crumbs of You

You've long shunned the thought of SPF and accepted your fate of premature aging. 

Sure, countless YouTube videos entertained you with military memes and awesome, synchronized North Korean footwork before, but the training they have to undergo with that no arm push-up? That's Keith Shadis level of shit.

And he is one intimidating son of a bitch.

"And who the fuck are you?" He sprayed spit on your face, and it smelled like he has not eaten anything for long periods of time. You didn't know why you thought of this, but if he's breath was a color, you thought of brown, and if it was a letter, you thought of O. Like a gaping asshole about to rock the toilet with the hardest, biggest shit his ass will ever give birth to. You instinctively gagged in his face as if returning the favor until he yanked your hair up to meet again, his forbidden Windex.

"You think your commander's breath smells like sewage?!"

"Sir, no sir!" Someone ask his birthday and give him a toothbrush tomorrow!

"D'you expect it to smell like mint?!"

"Sir, no sir!" You shouted at the top of your lungs then he asked you your intention in joining the military. 

Fist on your heart, back straight, feet apart.

"Sir! Recruit Johnson, Phoebe and I want to be of use to humanity!" Haha, you almost convinced yourself. You're becoming a joker, Febe.

"And how the fuck do you think you can do that?"

"To use whatever I can think to assist our victory over the titans!" And so I can leave this god forsaken place!

His tone soon after you said those words, dripped in mockery.

"Oh? What're you gonna do? Bleed up your ass? " Bleeding? Aw, shit. Are you due for today? That's why your boobs hurt! The thought of laundering red cotton towelettes every night tightened your jaw. But never mind that— you stopped yourself from looking behind but sure as hell you heard their snickers in the background, and they think no one can hear them.

Damned kids weren't even trying.
You can pinpoint by voice, whoever they were.

The snickers overruled your nervous energy. Women fucking menstruate. How backwards are these people? They think babies just go out suddenly after one night of their daddy's weak pullout game?

"Sir, no sir!" Your irate hits harder than Shadis' or your nervous energy combined.

"Then what?!"

"I—"

"I what?!"

"I can build useful stuff for humanity sir!" You tasted warmth and bitterness of Shadis' spit on your lips. Shit on your luck. You probably run out of it since you've been relying on luck in going home every night. And why are you questioned longer than anyone? You're not even the main character of this story and can anyone please give this guy some Tictac?

You've never been this humiliated before.

And you're not one to forget anything.

You remembered those who laughed.

Jean Kirstein;

Connie Springer;

That black haired bitch with twin ponytail who thinks she's cute, but guess what? She's gonna die, not important; aaand

Ymir, and even when she's gonna die, you can't let that remark go unnoticed. Fucking ugly titan jumping midget. 

Quiet anger simmered through you. Your thin, weak muscles itched to start working at this very second. You didn't know how long have you been staring blankly ahead, your eyebrows furrowed. It took you too long to notice that most of the cadets were out to hit the showers. The grime, sweat, blood can be washed by the cold water, but the humiliation just a while back? They think you're a disgusting freak? They have no idea.