If You Have Ghosts

Hello, and welcome to by god-tier shit blog :)) I'm probably doing some Halloween shit somewhere

[beggars-opera]

Everyone reblog this as much as possible over the next two weeks for good luck

[toodamnphan]

[ticklesthesomething]

Story time!

Reminiscing about my childhood, someone asked me about the biggest “oh shit” moment I had.

So here’s a story about a seven year old, a gun, a bag of crack, and an angry drug dealer.

Growing up, I lived in the more…”colorful” side of town. To the left in our complex was a guy who cooked chemicals by shaking a bottle, to the right was his main customer. And to our back was my friend Miguel whose Dad was absolutely terrifying. Miguel liked to play with me. His Dad did not like me. His Dad did not like Miguel having friends. He once chased people away from his son’s birthday party with a bat that had a concrete nail put through it because one of the “not his” children broke Miguel’s pinata.

So one day, I am playing outside with Miguel (who let me call him Micky because my stupid little tongue couldn’t say his name), and I found a bag of white stuff. He told me it was his Dad’s, and that it might have been left behind that tree on purpose. How silly, I thought, who leaves a bag of baking soda on the ground. Micky told me no, don’t give it back, but I was a helpful child. I knocked on his door, and heard his Dad shout something I couldn’t understand and open up.

Upon seeing a chubby happy child with his bag of white stuff, he shoved a gun in my face and screamed at me, again in words I couldn’t understand. I screamed. Micky screamed. I shit my pants. Micky’s Dad took the bag and continued screaming. I cried and screamed. Micky told me to go home. His Dad told him something and he went inside And my parents let me believe for many many years that Micky’s Dad was an insane baker that got very angry when someone disturbed his baking soda. It wasn’t until I was 17 I even knew we grew up in the bad side of town.