Brittany's P.O.V.
After about ten minutes of Marshall going back to writing more of his lyrics down, I took my head off of his shoulder, asking something as I smiled thoughtfully. "Want to go play on the playground?" I pointed in front of us, noticing a bunch of children running around and having fun over there.
I heard him chuckle. And man, did he have a fine, sexy chuckle. Marshall began. "Sure. I love the fucking monkey bars," he put in, making a move to get up.
I started getting up on my feet too, including something as well. "Well, I love the slide."
After that, we were both sprinting over there like two little kids. Once we reached the playground, we jumped into all the fun activities. Monkey bars, slides, swings, rock climbing walls, you name it. A lot of the kids and parents were staring at us but who cares; it didn't matter to us.
After a bit, however, Marshall was stopped, something from in the distance catching his eye. I was ahead of him, about to climb onto the play set when that stopped me from doing so. I looked back at him to check what was up.
Studying him, I noticed his eyes expressed pain, sympathy, and something unsettling. My own eyes began to glance over to what was making him like that over there.
Searching for a while, I'd finally found it. What I happened to see over by the handball courts in the distance were a group of young black boys gathered in a circle. They were bullying and ganging up on the one small black boy in the middle who looked to be no older than ten years old. That poor boy...
I went to stroke Marshall's arm after that, speaking quietly to him. "You should go do something about that," I suggested, whispering.
Marshall only nodded his head barely, not saying anything. He took off the next moment, me following him directly behind. Once we got there was when Marshall started yelling things at the bigger kids, currently still in the middle of beating up the one in the middle. "Yo! What, do you guys think it's cool to beat somebody up? Do you want me to call the cops? Because I will!"
Within seconds, the bigger boys grabbed their backpacks on the floor in a rush, fleeing the scene in a panic. It was funny, because they looked scared out of their minds. Not bad, Marshall. Not bad. You did it right this time.
I saw Marshall go to help up the boy get up off the ground. He was wiping away some tears and brushing off the dust off his shirt and trousers. I did my part in helping and offering the boy some of the tissues in my purse. Who ever knew my packet of tissues would come in handy this much?
"You alright?" Marshall asked him after a while, going to get his backpack for him.
He nodded his head, taking his backpack and speaking gratefully. "Yeah... thank you for that, mister." He looked to the two of us with kind eyes, then continued to Marshall. He began slow. "I... I know you."
That took Marshall by surprise. "You know me?"
He nodded once more. "You rap at The Hip Hop Shop... my big brother goes there and takes me along with him every week. I think you're one of the best."
Marshall chuckled, sounding baffled somebody in public recognised him from that. "Wow, thanks for coming out and watching me, even thinking I'm good. It means a lot." He offered a joyous smile at him, one that made my heart melt. One that would make any girl's heart melt.
The little boy hesitated a few seconds, but then blurted out the next thing. "Can I get your autograph?"
Marshall laughed next. "Of mine?" he questioned preposterously. For Marshall, it was probably crazy to think he had a little fan of his, which was much too cute in my opinion. After the boy obviously agreed, Marshall went and took out the paper he was writing his rhymes on earlier and the pen he kept all in his back pocket. "What's your name?" Marshall asked in the middle of ripping the bottom, untouched paper part off.
"Marcus," he answered him, a big smile coming across his face.
As Marshall went to write on the ripped piece of paper, I went and asked little Marcus something, still feeling sympathetic. "Why were those boys doing that to you?"
A glum frown appeared on his face as he turned to me next. "Because I'm the smallest and weakest kid at my school. Also, smart and kind of a geek, I guess. They do that to me a lot," he said, lip quivering.
"Love..." I said softly, resting my hand on him. I was about to speak up but Marshall stopped, speaking strongly about it to him.
"Well, they can go screw themselves then," he stated, eyes looking serious at Marcus. "Same thing happened to me when I was your age. Listen, Marcus—you're much better than them. Don't let anyone bring you down. Don't give them the power to make you feel worthless. Smart? Use that to your advantage. It'll come useful to you in your future. Soon, you'll be the one above them, laughing down at them when you're the one who's successful while they're failures. You're strong and you got a light inside of you. I see it. Believe in yourself, aight?" He handed his signed paper to him after.
Marcus, with sparkling eyes, absently grabbed the paper, eyes stuck on Marshall. "Y—Yes, mister. Thank you very much, again. I'll be your number one fan when you become famous."
I went to nudge Marshall as a faint smile broke out on Marshall's own face. I added along to what Marcus had just said. "See? I'm not the only one who thinks you're going to be big. Soon, you'll have more and more of these fans asking you for these autographs. Wouldn't that be just crazy?"
Marshall continued to smile. "Yeah... it would," he gazed at me, looking hopeful.
"Are you two together?" we heard Marcus pipe up after. "You make a good couple."
That startled both of us. Marshall was chuckling nervously, hand scratching his head. "Well, I don't—"
"Yes, we are," I answered before Marshall could finish. I caught Marshall looking shocked but entirely happy after that. What's the point of denying it anymore?
Marcus nodded his head at us, looking happy for us.
Marshall brought something up, patting Marcus on the back, a much happier tone in his voice. "Do you want us to walk you home?"
"Sure," he agreed, pleased.
Marshall continued to speak to him as all of us started walking down. "There's actually a little something my best friend taught me about fist fighting. I can teach you, if you want, when we get back. You know, so you can beat up those guys up to a bloody pulp next time you see them."
Marcus let out a small laugh. "Okay."
After that, a brief moment of silence fell on our small group. Using this chance, Marcus finally peeked down at Marshall's autograph from earlier. I glanced down too, smiling warmly with admiration to myself at what he wrote for the boy, the three of us eventually making our way back home together.
"Marcus,
Keep ya head up! You're a great kid. Don't ever change. Always stay true to you. I believe in you.
Love and peace always,
Marshall Mathers
P.S. Don't do drugs!!"
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