Hooli-gone

An excerpt in an unfinished story I made in high school.

… so the story starts with an introduction from the narrator. I aim not to be ill-mannered so, hello, I am H. Hooligan. If you’d ask me if that is my real name, I’d like to say one thing:

Everybody thinks they know everything.

I have to admit, I am one of those many people who think they know everything. When I was born, my father was killed and my mother died from giving birth. To put it bluntly, I spurted out of Basil Town covered in blood, naked, alone, and cold.

No, I was not dead. If I was, who would be here narrating?

So I was saying, I was literally a nobody the day I gasped my first lungful of air. Nobody was there to hear the first sharp of cry that came out of my lips still covered in blood from my mother’s womb. I had no name, for my parents did not make it to give me one.

And then someone ‘saved’ me.

It will probably appear as if I was kidnapped, but for me, it was the day I was first clothed.

The old lady, who reeks of a wet matter they call alcohol, took me in in exchange for cleaning her home, or keeping fancy of her blind dog. It was when I was 12, as what the pretty lady with a crystal ball and blood-painted lips told me, when the men with big physique who call themselves cops, rummaged my savior’s home.

The cops were holding so many papers that I thought they will donate, so I can use them in cleaning the blind dog’s poop.

But the cops told me that I have to come with them, and then all of a sudden, I found myself living in a house full of kids just like me. Although, they have names. And I’m still a nobody.

And then just as I thought mashed potatoes and boiled bananas were the best things I’ve eaten, one of the cops gave me this thing called ice cream. It was the most delicious thing I’ve eaten! Not only did they gave me ice cream, they also gave me a rather ornate name better than ‘nobody’ written in sand.

Hooligan.

H. Hooligan.

For the first decade of my life, I was a nobody who cleans a drunk woman’s house, and bites his nails when he has nothing for dinner. And then for a moment I was with kids like me, but with fancier names. And then I was finally not a nobody anymore;

I was H. Hooligan.

You see, these are not hard facts. These are just proof that I’m one of the ‘everybody’ who thinks they know everything.

|END|


To give you some context on what the story is about, it revolves around an all-seeing character, named H. Hooligan, chronicling the series of events in a place called Basil Town. This was inspired by a high school cat-fight. It was initially an attempt to sublimate my being pissed off to my friends, so I created a story with characters that reflect my friends’ flaws. Hooligan was created with the assumption that I know them all, and that I know them well; an idea later deconstructed and debunked by Hooligan’s introduction of himself.

This is my favorite part of the story because Hooligan seems omniscient, but then counter-argues the idea of being all-knowing by questioning his essence alone. Just as he said; everybody thinks they know everything. (C’mon, we are all guilty of being an arrogant sonofbitch at some point in our lives)

 

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