Leave the stupid rock where it is
From Create Your Own Story
Although you're really tired of the tiny terrors waking you up before dawn, you grit your teeth and decide to let it go, yet another time. They might be the kind of parents who think their little delinquents are actually angels, and you don't want any more neighbour problems than you already have.
You don't even feel the rough, ancient stone beneath your heavily calloused soles as you descend the dimly lit, uneven steps. As you pad groggily down the hall towards the front door, one of the kids bolts out of his family's chambers and down the hall towards you. Despite the early hour you're alert enough to nimbly dodge out of his way and, as it occurs to you that the only place he can be running is up to your room, you grab him by the scruff of the neck.
"Where do you think you're going, little monster?" You growl at the boy in Istrian. It's way too early for this.
You know he can't answer, but rather than looking meek or satisfyingly contrite, the boy just giggles infuriatingly at you, then reaches up and gives your boob a hard squeeze.
"Augh!" You let go of the boy, who runs, laughing, out into the street, presumably to find some ants to torture.
"Stupid little pervert!" You seethe, massaging your sore breast. You grouchily stomp around to the back of the house, mumbling under your breath about juvenile delinquents and hellspawn, and empty your bladder in the open pit latrine you all share. As you clean yourself up with a few leaves, you suddenly hear footsteps approaching, though you can't see much through the dim morning haze. You know that squatting outside, alone, with a thin nightgown bunched around your waist is a pretty compromising position for a girl to be found in at this hour, so you silently stand up and tiptoe away from the toilet. You press yourself against the cold, damp stone wall and shiver as you hear someone knock sharply at the front door. Your blood runs ice-cold as you recognize the voice of your landlord. The game must be up - from the few words you can make out, it sounds like he's figured out that those "gold nuggets" you've been paying your rent with are actually hardened dog feces, dyed yellow. As you lift your gown and finish wiping your vagina with your fingers (sanitation isn't even a word yet), you try to stay calm and figure out what to do next. You:
