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Custer's Last Stand


Kassandra

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I ain’t no good with words and that’s a fact. 
But my poppa always told me you can tell the worth of a man by how he treats those worse off than him. Maybe that’s why I feel so strongly about the way things went. Because by his standards I ain’t worth shit. 

 

They all said you gotta make something of yourself. You gotta go to college. Get a job-no! A career. Get married. Have kids. Settle down. Retire. Die peacefully in your homestead after going to church every Sunday and voting Republican every four years. 

Well I didn’t wanna do that, did I? I didn’t wanna be a fancy ass lawyer, or doctor, or therapist or TV star or interior designer or realtor or any of those pissant publically respectable professions. So what does a reasonable person do when they want to piss off their small-town Georgian family?

 

You do meth. 
But the opioid crisis hadn’t hit yet, so that wasn’t an option at the time; so I did the next best thing and joined the Army. 

 

Fuck that decision twelve ways to Sunday it was the stupidest decision I ever made. 

 

I mean, it made sense at the time. I'm a Custer. We're military. Our family names got real old American history to it, even if the most famous of us was a dumbass gloryhound who got himself pointlessly killed. I always figured that's why pappa never liked soldiering much and why he was so hurt when that's what I went and committed myself to. 

 

Say what you like about God, karma, or universal balance, I got what was coming to me. I gotta look in the mirror every day and see my sins burned into my skin. I hate it. I hate every decision I ever made. 


I should be grateful, but I'm not. I got an honourable discharge and a military pension and a nice payout all for glorious service to the United States of America. But it all feels so hollow. So empty.

I miss you dad. I wish you'd lived to see my regret. I know you wouldn't have liked it, but maybe I could've proved I was still human. Now days though I wonder. 

I tried to hold down jobs for a whole but they all felt so pointless. Shitty middle management bosses concerned with meaningless rules that don't mean anything to anybody. 


Oh you've not got black socks on? Go home, your pay is docked. 
What’s that? You think we could improve this process? You ain’t paid to think, doll, now get me those reports.
Oh you’re choking me and stamping on my little pecker? That’s it, you’re fired. 

I ain’t meant for this world, I think. I’m just waiting to die.

 

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Death don’t come too quick for people like me, so I resolved to seek it out.
But I ain’t gonna make it easy. Where does someone with a monthly government stipend go when they’ve hit a mid-life crisis?

 

Fucking sunny Los Santos. 
Gang violence? Highest in the USA. 
Poverty? Rocketing way past Detroit.
Wealth inequality? Worse than Dubai. 
Gun crime? I’m sorry, did you not read my first point? 

 

I’m gonna get drunk. Screw it, I’m gonna get high. I’m gonna find a terrible job to keep myself busy and either die in a ditch or find some semblance of salvation. 

But I don’t deserve no salvation. Not sure any of us do anymore.
 

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OOC Notice:

All art are cropped pieces done by artist Dingoat, I did not make any of the images.

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