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Little TowersWhen I was a young boy – merely a couple of years old – I used to build little towers out of wooden building blocks with my grandfather.Little Towers by Timster91
He’d smile fondly as I built them with the intense focus that only a child can muster. Making those towers made me really happy, but the only thing that made me happier than building them was destroying them. I don’t even know why… I would spend so much time carefully building them, and when they were done I’d knock them down. I repeated this process almost endlessly each day. Build them up, and knock them down. Sometimes I’d violently hit the towers, making the blocks fly and not even noticing or caring when they accidentally hit my grandfather, who would still smile fondly. Other times I’d be sneaky, carefully nudging the bottom blocks until the tower became unstable and crumbled. The only thing which was constant was the wicked little smile I had every time the tower went down.
Now I’m ol
singles.Cooper is twelve years old and a treasure in his tennis whites, and I am unremarkable, eleven, blurred at the edges like some uncertain shoreline. He only speaks to me because he sees Coach Drown's hands linger too long on my hips when he's teaching me topspins. We're pairing up, Cooper declares, claiming me from across the court with the wide end of his racquet. He spends the rest of practice serving straight down the line, aiming to concuss. Cooper Corentin plays tennis like we're in trenches. Come on, kid, fight back, he says. If I were a fucking truck, would you just stand there on the dotted line?singles. by freudenschade
Coach Drown is a truck. Every Thursday afternoon, he rakes me over for roadkill, and I lie there bisected below him with the taste of gravel in my throat. I should be used to it by now, but sometimes he still catches me full in the nerves like headlights. I'm practicing my backhand these da