When Bruce came back to reality, he was on top of a small boy, beating him into a bloody mess. As he stopped, he stared down at his own hands and saw blood. The kid's blood, of course, but his own blood from the kid's busted lips was mixed with his own. He got up, forgetting to take what change the boy had, which is why he beat him in the face to start with. Spike, his flunky best friend, didn't. He kicked the kid again, robbed him of his change and backpack and started running after Bruce. He would have took his shoes, but they were Wally-World plastics and worthless. Bruce just kept walking and passing it forward.
He hadn't decided if he was going to go to school and fuck with the teachers, hang around downtown or hike into the woods to sniff some paint. It was getting harder and harder to acquire good quality spray paint. When he first started sniffing paint at ten-years old, he and his older brother always stole the best gold spray paint. He loved leaving this fucking world he hated so much, if only for a time. He would cruise for minutes or days on some spacious cloud where no one else existed and it was just him, alone, away from the many problems of a ten-year old. When high, he didn't have to worry about his step-dad climbing into his bed, drunk, and raping him. He didn't have to worry about the beatings his brother and friends put on him. He just passed it forward.
With the paint, he didn't have to worry about the hunger pains from not eating since his last school lunch. The paint took care of it all, for a time. But nothing good lasts forever. Reality always returns and ruins things and everyone knows, reality is a bitch. At least the electricity was on at home for a change. He took a shower and put on the same dirty clothes he took off. The washer and dryer were sold long ago for drugs and one entire room in the old house was filled to the ceiling with dirty, moldy Salvation Army clothes. He usually climbed into a charity clothes box at night and plundered around to find whatever clothes he needed. He did this at night so as not to be seen, but the dark has eyes and people know. He was a poor piece of shit and always would be. Pass it forward.
Since his brother turned 13, it was his turn. His older brother could now fight back and his step-father, being the fucking coward he was, turned his perverted acts on him. He was glad there were no younger siblings for the bastard to feed on. When his brother was given 5 to 10 years for attempted murder of a liqure store owner for 20 bucks, a bottle of wine and some cigarettes, he was left all alone for all intents and purposes. He never saw his mother, who walked the streets and only came home to get high. He managed to stay away from his step-dad as much as possible. His fucking day was coming. He had it all planned out. He would do it while he was sleeping, just cut his fucking throat and run-away. Maybe he would see his brother again, hell, they were both minors, maybe they would be confined in the same state institution, passing it forward.
He was thinking this over when he came upon the new kid from school, who he had hated at first sight. He had money, you could smell it on him. He dressed like he had just walked out of a J.C. Penny clothing catalog, and his backpack alone cost more than all his clothes put together. It was a new NFL backpack with the NY Giants logo on it and right then, even though he had always loved the Giants, he now hated them, and him. Why should he have everything and he had nothing? The boy was alone and Bruce smiled. When Bruce smiled, most kids ran, but the new kid didn't understand all the rules in the neighborhood yet. Bruce and Spike descended on him like the vultures they were and really passed it forward.
When the boy saw them running at him, he dashed. Unfortunately for the boy, he dashed left, in front of a 2006 Ford SUV and it ate him for breakfast and spit him out over the hood, then the windshield and then the top. He must have flew thirty-feet or more in the air before landing on his head and snapping his neck like peanut brittle, which he loved by the way. Passing it forward, big-time.
Bruce watched it all happen, in slow-motion. It was really a thing of beauty and in his mind, he slowed it all down. He then, for only an instant in time, locked eyes with the new kid as he flew through the air and for the first time in his young life, Bruce felt sorrow for another person. As the man stopped and quickly got out of the SUV, Spike grabbed the backpack that had somehow managed to fly in the opposite direction of the body and both boys ran down the block to hide, and pass it forward.