I have eaten from the Tree of Knowledge, and I feel shame. I'm not religious, it's just that the idea fits my situation perfectly. I know about religious stuff from the old guy who lives on the fifth floor. He recites, or shouts, stuff from the Bible at me as I walk by on the stairs to my eighth floor walk-up. I'm fourteen, but I can call it my apartment because I pay the rent. The landlord doesn't know that, of course. He'd be obliged to call social services, and they would ruin my ruined life. It's ruined. I see it now. But it's my life. Sticking me in foster care again, or forcing me into a children's home, would mean I'm not in control.
The Tree of Knowledge has shown me the lousiness of my life. The first thing eating from that damned Tree showed me was my smell. I remember getting into a fight with Candy Booger (real name Bourgan) in fifth grade when I actually hit a girl. I knew it was bad to hit, but I didn't know it was extra bad to hit a girl. She said that I smelled, and I punched her. While I waited outside Principal Morgan's office, I tried to notice smells. The copy machine next to me smelled like warm paper. The secretary who walked past smelled like acid flowers. I kept sniffing and, finally, I smelled it. Piss. Body odor. Maybe mold? God, save me, Candy Booger was right, and I had punched her for it. Nobody appreciates the messenger.
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