Inferiority

Whistl'd neck, socks pulled up, vertical stripes: either white with black or black with white. It didn't matter, he was just trying to make a living.

He thought this would be easier, not an easier job to do but one that yielded less criticism, less harshness, and the world agreed. Most people do not think of young girls playing soccer as something that should be violent, although most people have not witnessed a young girl's soccer game.

Something about his shrilling whistle beckoned egos out of their caves, taunted them, asked them their size because they clearly wanted to answer.

Andswer they did loudly, directed mostly at him. He was told he ruined my poor kid's future while in reality his pocketwatch ticked, keeping time for her.

But, he reflected, people do not think of why they are arguing, people are not rational, people are mean, people say whatever comes to mind.

He tried not to take it personally. The words were easy to reflect but the sheer inferiority, which jabbed at his shoulder, showed itself gaudily before his eyes, rang in his ears, proved not possible to parry.

He could not be like them, he must ignore its existence. Does it exist? He knew what should be the answer but the world whispered otherwise.