DRUMMER, kite gunner

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INAZUMA ELEVEN[break]
[b]FUDOU AKIO[/b] - kite gunner

[attr="class","fngapp-header"]KITE GUNNER

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"jackson." what? "son, we need to talk." since when? "jackson?" leave me alone. "jackson!" take the temperature of the room, dad. fuck off.

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while other parents would have simply given up, your dad had an iron will. no matter how many times you went to youth group and walked back to the car flipping the bird at your pastor, photocopied your ass and stuck it over the cross—hell, even spray painting "666" on the sunday school wall— it was still go to church. find jesus. not even in an ironic way, like with your friends—find jesus, haha, so funny, pass me the damn blunt before i clock you fuckers in the nose.

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over and over. so tiring you just wanna shove a stick in someone's eye socket. or a drumstick.

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you're jackson 2.0. no, not even that. jackson was a trash kid wannabe whose eyes watered when he pierced his own ears (shut up, something got in my eye). converse and all those tweeny punk kid vibes. kite was the product of months spent in a cocoon, finally clawing out gross and slimy and unapologetic. that shit-eating grin would become trademark someday.

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did the drums help? hell no, but it sure felt nice having something loud enough to force you to shut your eyes. but those garage afternoons never happened often enough for you, so the guys with meth teeth and overgrown yards became something of a distraction. you lost your virginity on a dirty couch somewhere in the middle of nowhere and spent the rest of the night chain smoking before hitching a ride home. graduate to greener pastures and verbally get dragged. high school social media isn't safe anymore.

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go ahead, say something about the rumors, the smell, the tattoos. you fucking dare them.

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