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I'm Just That Kid 1I don't even know.
Great way to start isn't it?
Yeah, I thought so as well.
Oh my dear heavenly Father, I don't know.
So, let's begin.
My name is Loren. I'm of the male gender. I'm sixteen. I'm pansexual.
Pansexual, for all of you homophobic straights, means that I like whatever grabs my goat, tickles my fanny, flies my kite, blah blah blah, I'm sure you have your own way of saying it. It does not mean I'm putting on some freaky romantic moves with Mommy's dinnerware, thank you Evan.
By the way Evan, your face reminds me of my fathers soiled underwear, and you should definitely go screw a tree.
Anyway, I've been this way since...well, there was never a day that I chose. I get asked that stupid question so very often, and so I'm going to share the answer with all of you.
So here goes.
"Lorrreennnnnn," drones some random kid.
"Yes?" I answer, fully polite and patient.
"Like, duuuuuude, when did you choose to be like, gay?"
Go on and insert
SweepAs soon as he stepped into the open field, he slung the minesweeper from his shoulder and pointed its nose to the ground. It was old, worn and heavy, and old and rough, calloused and breaking, and old. The metal between his hands was cold and chilled his fingers. If he was not careful he could step on the very mines he was trying to find. They would have to pick up the pieces of his body and to send the tags home where his wife would cry and hold his son and daughter close with nothing to show them of their father but a piece of metal engraved with "Ajeet Singh".
One sweep, than another.
This war had taught him to never trust open spaces. Open spaces were where the mines were planted, where Prets lay in wait. France was green and damp just like the uniform he wore. It had been days since he was separated from his unit, and now the Allies were breathing on his neck, searching for POW’s, searching for the enemy of which he was one. &
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