Bart Simpson Hood Novels & Stories

Shawn chewed on his lips, walking back and forth the hall. His arms wrapped around each other, as he kept looking at the door. Elliot strode in the hall, with a little smile on his face. He wore a hoodie with black cargo pants, covering his tattoos. " Hello, Mr. Unicorn." Shawn says, looking at his hoodie which had a unicorn on it. " Hey!" Elliot shoots him a bright smile. Shawn eyes the pink paper bag in his hand when Elliot notices it.

The next morning, I walked over to my stall. My name, *SIMPSON*, was printed in gold letters above my locker. I pulled out my key and turned the lock. A small piece of paper was sitting right on top of my folded jersey. It looked out of place against the white fabric. I reached out and picked it up.

Simon was standing there, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Simon?" "Glad to see how cozy you have gotten, wearing a man's hoodie all over the place."

I sighed, looked up at the IV bag that had just been hooked above me, and then, in the nurse's startled gasp, yanked the needle out. Before she could stop me, I'd slipped out of the hospital, flagged down the first cab I saw, and headed straight across town to H.J. Desserts—ten miles out, easy. Charles had a gift for cruelty. H.J. sat on one end of the city grid. Hedo was on the opposite end. In the dead of winter, ice cream? I said a silent prayer for Rhyn not to catch a cold. No one stopped me when I stepped into Hedo, dessert bag in hand. They all knew who I was by now.

His clothes were covered in blood, and a man holding a bat stood next to him, a good experience on his face. Mr. Simpson, dressed in a suit that seemed out of place in the dark and gloomy setting, stood a few metres from him. He looked down at Mr. Maxwell and said in a calm but threatening tone, "Let's not make things hard for both of us, Maxwell, do as I say, and I'll let you go back to your family." A look of defiance was visible in Mr. Maxwell's eyes even after being beaten up so much. Looking at Mr Simpson, he responded, his voice carrying no hint of fear, "Go… to hell."

Motivational posters line the walls, their cheerful messages obscene in this context. Simpson emerges from an office down the hall— a thin man in his fifties with carefully cropped gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses that he adjusts constantly. His suit is off-the-rack but pressed, his shoes polished but not expensive. He moves with the quiet economy of movement of someone who's spent his career managing other people's tragedies. "Mr. Sidorov," he says, extending a hand I don't take. His professional smile wavers when he sees the violence radiating from every line of my body. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

Siddharth was standing at the door. He is wearing a black and grey hoodie with dark lower. I can't see his eyes properly because of his hood cap on his head. His both hands are in his hoodie pocket and he didn't wear anything under it. His hoodie zipper is little lower giving me the full view of his bare chest. He removed his hood cap and walked to us and touched mom and Dad's feets. He didn't even look at me once. Did he angry on me? Sweat is dripping from the side of his face indicating his workout in gym.

Adom had at least nine bags of groceries and the stupid carpark wasn't close to his apartment building, ugh. At least the only good thing was is that Sophia car wasn't anywhere to be seen. He was at least hoping to not see her disgusting face for a while. Okay, that was mean, but whatever. He groaned when it started hailing, just his luck. He decided to grab as much as can, four bags and he booked it inside and he was drenched. His hair was all sorts of messed up and flipped down, he couldn't possibly have a Seb see him like this so he slipped his hood over her head and pushes his quiff fringe off to the side.

A familiar cartoon pattern stretched across the material, slightly torn at the edges. “Boss,” he called, his voice grim. “We got something.” One of the agents stepped forward, holding a small blue race car in his gloved hand. “This is his, right?” Then I saw it. Kai’s hoodie—his favourite one, the navy blue one with the small rip near the sleeve. It lay discarded near a rusted metal chair, the sight of it made my stomach twist painfully. “Oh my God,” I breathed, covering my mouth with trembling hands.

"Good. I-" Just then, the door swung open, interrupting her words once again. Hayden walked in, wearing a white and black hoodie, black jeans, and black shoes. His hair was neatly styled in cornrows, and he looked angry. He sat down next to me silently, crossing his arms over his chest and remaining quiet. The therapist seemed frightened too, shifting her gaze back to me.