Thirteen-year-old Evan Williams is alone. His beloved sister doesn't speak to him anymore. He has no other living family members and is an outcast at school. Though he has a few comforts in his life, he has no-one to share them with. He wondered if he'll ever find someone who wants him, or if he suddenly disappears, would someone look for him? That was his daily life, until one day someone--or something just as alone as he is finds him.
"Sis! I'm going now!" I call out with my left hand by my mouth to project my voice while my right palm was upon our glass door.
She doesn't answer.
The T.V is all that answers back to me.
"Eh, chompchompchomp Whathss up doc?" I hear Daffy-Duck saying, trying to impersonate Bugs-Bunny. "Havin' any luck with thothse ducks? I'ths duck stheason, you know?"
"Just a daaarn minute," I heard Bugs-Bunny's voice coming in, impersonating Daffy. "Where do you get that duck STHeason SThuff?"
I frown as I remembered how we use to watch the Looney-Tunes relentlessly together when I was little. We'd each be up early, a bowl of Lucky-Charms or Fruit-Loops in our palms. Bits of sugar and milk would be spilling out of our mouths as we laughed our butts off while Bugs threw a lighted match into the oven that Mugsy and Rocky were hiding in while he was impersonating a cop to get them off his back.
Those days were always filled with fun and smiles. Those days are long gone now.
Now, the couch is just for her. I watch the T.V from the kitchen-table and eat my cereal by myself. Sis doesn't say a peep even to greet me in the morning. She'd stop talking to me for a month now. She doesn't even look at me anymore...
My chest feels a little heavy, and I tighten my palm around the strap of my back-pack. A tight knot swells in my stomach as I think about her smile, and her shinning eyes of sapphire full of love when she had looked at me.
"Evan, come here!" I could hear her say, her lithe arms opened wide for me, her smile brighter than the sun...
...She's not like that anymore. Now that's all in my head.
"See you!" I call again.
Elmer Fudd's gun answers back. My chest constricts.
"See you, little bro!" Her voice calls back in my brain while my eyes envision her right-hand waving back and forth. The right hand that taught me how to write; the right hand that felt my head and cheeks when I had a fever; the right hand that stirred her world-famous macaroni-and-cheese almost any time I asked for it; the right hand she used to teach me how to draw when I said I wanted to be an artist as great as her.
I take in a sharp breath as her voice as sweet as honey echoes through my head, growing fainter and fainter. My heart slowly beats faster and faster. I intake another deep breath, the cool air travels down my throat and into my chest, but it doesn't calm down the rapid beating.
Deep breathes use to calm me down, Now they don't, even though my body keeps trying. Old habits die hard I guess.
I push open the door and moist, cold air slaps against my cheeks; goosebumps slowly begin to prick my flesh. I take a big step forward out of the house, the door slamming shut behind me, and rain gently falls upon my face. I slip my umbrella off my wrist and open it up.
It's the bright-green one sis got me last year. She said it matched my eyes. I didn't really like it that much. I wanted the blue one, but she bought this one instead because she was the big sister and as the only authority figure in the house she had the final say.
I can just hear the superiority flowing from her voice from that moment, and the morbid, wide grin stretching across her face as her pale, elegantly long finger waved back and forth. She always did that, flaunting her age over me. It was made worst because she was taller than me. Her eyes would be sparkling with the kind of affection that one would say only older siblings showed when they were teasing their younger ones. That sparkle though was different from any other older sibling--it was the kind only she could make that no other older sibling could.
That sparkle was called Anna, my sister, the sparkle that showed everything about her: her sense of humor, her love, her slyness--everything. It was the look only Anna could give that only I, her little brother, Evan, would receive.
I miss that. I miss my sister from then. I wish she'd come back.
But she won't...
Bitterness seeps into my throat, and suddenly I felt hot anger slowly rising within my veins. I feel so mad right now. Mad at her.
How could you, Anna?
I quickly bite my lip and shake my head. Being mad at her won't change anything. It'll only make things worse. I chastise myself, and involuntary take another deep breath despite my mind knowing that its magic doesn't work on me anymore. The body always betrays the mind though.
I loosen the grip on the handle of my ugly umbrella and take a few steps forward--looking up from the ground and to what's out in front of me: our garden. Mostly Anna's garden. I tried helping once but I got kicked off the project since I just kept screwing up everything. Luckily, she had some help from our Aunt Abigail--a sweet, round woman with a heart almost as big as her appetite.
Between the path of the large smooth stones inlaid into the ground, from our porch to the wide-wooden gates of our front lawn, holds nothing but natural beauty lovingly nurtured by sweet, gentle and careful hands. Four large bushes of azaleas blossoms in shades of reds, purples, and pinks. They stand proudly across the healthy grass; two on one side of the path and two on the other side. Shrubs of butterfly-bushes are scattered around both sides, with some rose bushes too; groups of pink and lavender cosmos were planted on one side, while another of white gardenias were on the other side. Both sides of the lawn are sprinkled with some wild flowers here and there. Some are white, some purple, and some yellow.
Looking closer I can see that some of those yellow wildflowers are actually dandelions. Weeds, Anna would hiss as she ripped them from the ground; their roots splayed out as if panicked that they had been torn from the lawn--their source of life.
I always liked them because they would eventually turn into white and fluffy seeds that I could blow away with my breath and make a wish with. I hope they would transform into those seeds soon so I can wish my wishes again. This time I hope they come true.
...Maybe if I wish hard enough...Anna will...
...I imagine her smile again, her cheery voice...calling my name...her warm, secure embrace...soft palms cupping my cheeks as she lovingly kisses my forehead...
My grip on my umbrella handle is so tight it's almost shaking, and I scold myself for it. I knew I shouldn't have paused to gaze at the garden. I knew it would just make me more upset. I should have just kept my head down on the stone path and not even have bothered! I take another useless deep breath and end up scolding myself again for this unbreakable habit as I take a timid step forward.
And then I nearly jump back.
Not a moment after I took that step forward did I see something black scurry across the stone path just a couple inches away from my sneakers. My head whips to the direction it went to and I sigh.
"It's another one of those rodents." I grumble, half-disgusted.
They've been scurrying around here a lot lately. Usually, I would find them along the paths to and from school, but for awhile now they've been showing up around the house. I know that where we live is more of a wooden and forested area, and that we're prone to having a few deer and some possums showing up here and there, but these rodents are entirely new visitors. I've never seen them around our home before and I never get a good enough look at them considering they run so fast. As far as I know we hadn't had any black rodents popping up around here before. If I knew what they really looked like though then maybe I could figure out what kind they are, why they're showing up here and what to do about them. I set up a few traps early this morning though, so hopefully I might be able to catch a few. Hopefully. I don't want them ruining sis's plants.
I tighten my grip on my handle again, my heart slowly beating faster and faster once again. I look back to the door, my face crinkling with concern. "I sure hope they won't bother sis. She hates rats." I whisper to myself, almost terrified as I think about their long, jagged teeth, biting into her feet...
No. I tell myself. She'll be fine. There's no way they could get into the house, and it's not like sis comes to do her gardening anymore...
...but...but maybe she might...I stop myself before my brain goes any further into anymore imagery of sharpened teeth, and of her walking out of the house...
No. I tell myself again, banishing those thoughts from my mind, shaking my head. No...
With the rain drizzling against my unpleasantly green umbrella in my ear, I turn my head back towards the gate, shaking off the emotions my previous disturbances caused. It won't do me any good, dwelling on those stupid things.
My eyes begin to wander and I find myself looking up above. I welcome my eyes to the gray sky, watching as the needle-like rain drops fall from those full clouds. I then look back towards the garden again, watching as the rain plops onto the ground, mixing the dirt into mud.
Screw it. I say to myself and tip my awful umbrella away from my head, welcoming my skin to the rain.
I take a hop-step purposely to the side away from the stone slabs, splashing through the puddles of water and mud in the grass instead, dirtying my sneakers, and the cuffs of my jeans.
Without my umbrella shielding me, cool water pleasantly drips down the strands of my hair, wetting my cheeks and neck; mud I collected from the jump I made runs down my ankles and into my socks, and my toes curl delightfully with the feel of my sneakers pleasantly soaked. As my skin prickles with pleasurable goosebumps, I smile. I always loved rainy days. My deep breathes may not calm me down anymore, but at least the rain and mud still do.
I let out a light chuckle--if only I didn't have school today I'd take off my shoes and run around in the rain. Mud would be splashing all over my skin, my body soaked right down to the bone. I wouldn't care if I started getting sick cause I'd be to busy catching raindrops.
I continued hopping through mud and water (avoiding the stone slab path the whole way~) until I eventually come up to the front gate. I noticed that I splashed some mud onto my umbrella as I tip it back over my head, and I feel my mood brightening up knowing that a nicer color has been painted over some of the green of this gross umbrella.
I chuckle again. I undo the clasps of the gates and put a few steps forward.
Before I'm all the way out though I look back to our house and cast my eyes straight up over our black, vine streamed roof towards where a large tree hovers behind it and see the gray roof peaking within. That roof is part of my square-shaped wooden tree-house faded with blue and grey paint cocooned snugly within that trees leaves and branches (it's always covered with mushrooms and weeds in all sorts of places).
It's my tree-house that our Uncle Cady (a large physically built man who loved laughing just as much as constructing) built. Anna helped paint it--she knew my favorite colors--it was a surprise for my eighth birthday five years ago and I was ecstatic when I saw it.
To this day I love going in it with all my supplies, and keeping my most favorite and personal things inside. I love hearing the squirrels barreling across the roof and the birds feet tapping against the wood. And I love popping my head out the little window to listen to the voices of the birds, and the crickets; the calls of nature....
With it raining like this, the place might get all wet. I felt delightful chills run down my spine at the thought of it. I couldn't wait to get back in there.
I step all the way out and swing the gate closed, shutting the clasps, and then I reluctantly look down the concrete steps leading downward to the sidewalk below.
All there is left to do now is to head down these steps and make a right, walking across the sidewalk and heading down the street passed the strip mall, and to the first of many traffic lights. Fifteen minutes of walking, stopping, waiting for lights to change, and weaving through seas of people (if there are any today due to this weather), I'd arrive at my school surrounded by other students either coming from the cars of their parents or older siblings; descending the bus-steps or walking together in groups from their houses.
It wouldn't matter how they came to school though because they'd all be jabbering on and on with their friends, smiling to each-other, teasing one another, making plans together. Everyone's able to get through the school day because they are comforted with companionship each step of the way.
Well...almost everyone. I frown. Almost but not quite.
It must be nice. I think as I unravel the memories of seeing my fellow students with one-another. I sigh deeply and force my way down one slow step at a time.
I'm not really looking forward to going to school. I never do.
Long claws dig grievously into the rain-soaked ground. Bits of grass and mud grimed the jagged, rock-hard, surface.
Heavy, hot breaths hitch in and out
from a fanged encrusted mouth
flowing with blood, and dribble.
It had to have it. It had have those juicy, raw, tender muscles upon bones;
beating organs filled with sweet blood between its teeth,
Its teeth would cackle heartily from the constant tearing and shredding, and mashing. The iron flavor, bits of bone, tantalizing the enclosures of its parched mouth, and swallowing them down into a belly ravenously calling for its company.
It had to have it. It had to have it now. If not soon, it would go mad.
Crawling on hands and knees across the ground, at what seemed like at a snails-pace, it felt like it had been trudging through mud and grass for hours. It felt so exhausted like it was carrying nothing but a heavy weight tied to its body.
...Its body...it's body...
It paused it's agonizing slither. Drool fell out of it's mouth in big globs as it remembered that it's own body was made up of the syrupy blood flowing beneath bone and raw, delicious
M E A T...
It's stomach screamed as it looked directly at one of it's arms: the flesh, the veins; would it really be so bad if it had just a nimble of the skin? Maybe a finger? Just the hand? Or perhaps this arm outlived it's purpose and it could just....
....It opened it's mouth, thick threads of drool gushing outward...It could almost taste the limb on it's tongue...
It hears something and it stops (It was just a hair's breadth from clamping it's teeth shut onto it's arm). It looks to its right and tears of joy fills it's eyes as it spots some living creatures running around just a few feet away.
Finally! It found some meat to eat....
...now it didn't have to devour its arm.
(The arm itself could have cried out with relief).
It slithered onward, salivating more then it had looking at it's arm. That delectable flesh filled with succulent innards would soon be in it's teeth. Mercy had smiled down upon it.
Finally. Finally. At last...
Then...I began taking out what I really needed.
I pulled out my sky-blue sketchbook. I had two free periods after those two classes and instead of using them to do boring, useless school work I would take advantage of the free time and draw to my heart's content. But I needed the most important things for that first, and I eagerly, yet carefully, took out my periwinkle pencil-case that had a white rabbit illustration printed on the middle, surrounded by only sunflowers. The golden petals spreading out to the rabbits delicatly thin whiskers.
A smile curved my lips as I looked over and admired the features added to it from all the years of use: dusted up and down with charcoal and pencil smudges, it made it seem as if there were shadows all around, making the initial innocent and adorable appearance almost foreboding and unsettling, as if the rabbit was being stalked by some indistinguishable forces from the beyond. It made me imagine that those shadings were spirits from the deep shadows, waiting, waiting to take it's innocent little soul far, far away to some other place.
I smile, squeezing my pencil-case in a gentle clutch, like it was a delicate treasure, and placed it between the hard-cover book and my chest. I shut the locker door, and instantly my mood is ruined when one of the sleeves of this awful sweater unravels down (once again!) from the scrunch I bundled around my elbow. It falls all the way down my arm, covering my fingers in a roll of striped black and dark green. I groan irritably.
This wasn't the piece of clothing I had picked out to wear to school today. I'd never wear something like this if I could help it.
Of all the shirts and sweaters in the lost-and-found she had to pull this one out.
After I walked through the school doors, I was immediately pulled to the side by one of the staff members patrolling the entrances before I even got to finish closing my dripping wet umbrella (sadly the mud was washed away from the rain, not even leaving behind a nice little stain). The staff member was Mrs. Peters. During the time classes are in session she roams the hallways looking for anything out of place, and unfortunately her side job is to eyeball the students coming in and out from the front doors--like a hawk looking for a mouse--before and after school hours.
She's a rather skinny woman, her skin stretched too tight over her sharp bones like rubber. She wears bright clothing, has clearly dyed brown hair, and is always wearing make-up that is always too heavy and too flashy. Today she had on layers upon layers of too bright-blue eye-shadow and coral-pink lipstick smeared across her lips. Needless to say it did not look good on her.
I had to bite my tongue hard to keep myself from bursting out laughing when I saw her up close and personal. I mashed my lips tight together and forbade any bubble of laughter threatening to escape my throat as her shrill voice screeched like a banshee in my ears. "You will not be attending class literally looking like a fish out of water! What's the matter with you?! Take pride in your appearance, young man!"
Shamelessly, I admit that the temptation to be showered with the rain all the way to school had been too much for me. I kept tipping my umbrella away from over my head from time to time as I crossed the streets and weaved through the people that braved the rain. I was dripping wet by the time I reached the school, like I had taken a swim in a nearby pool, but I didn't care. Getting soaked made the walk to this institution a little bit easier, funner.
She ordered me to go straight to the office and ask the staff there for a change of clothes from the lost-and-found. I left her still screeching behind my back, slowly walking towards the direction of the office, with my hand clamped tightly over my mouth. When I was finally far away enough from her I loosened my hand and let lthe laughter that I had kept so desperately from trying to escape my throat free. I laughed in my palm the whole way to the office.
Catching my breath when I stepped through the door of the office, all dripping wet, a portly lady with frizzy brown hair, trailed with lines of solid silver, quickly came up to me. She told me to wait outside the door while she would go and fetch me a pair of clothes from the lost-and-found. I didn't even have to sputter out a single word. My appearance said it all.
She asked me what my shirt and pant sizes were first, and I had to tell her twice since my first reply was too low for her hearing aid to pick up. While waiting for her from the threshold, I saw her skedaddle to a black plastic box sitting underneath a desk to the right. A piece of onion-skin paper was tapped haphazardly to it, scribbled messily with 'Lost and Found', as if they had a Kinder-Gardener write it. I watched as she rummaged through it, and I winced as she pulled out this awful black and green stripped sweater from it and a pair of muddy brown jeans (those I didn't mind at all though). She said the jeans were just my size and that the sweatshirt was close enough (as everything else was too big for me) and shoved them into my arms, waving her wrist and said. "Now go to a nearby bathroom and ring yourself out."
I tried to ask her if she had a better sweater, that I wouldn't mind if the others were a bit big, but I guess my pleas didn't reach her hearing aid cause she closed the door in my face without another word. She didn't even give me a towel, so I dried myself off with the paper-towels in the bathroom. But it's not like I really minded that. I didn't want myself to be too dried. Least my hair is still wet.
The only thing that bothered me from that whole ordeal was this damned sweater. I could see why it was in the lost-and-found. I'd want this thing to be lost too. I almost wish I ran this sweater under the sink till it was soaking wet all the way through right down to the hem. I wouldn't care if I got a XXXL sized shirt instead, so long as it wasn't dyed this rancid color. But if I did that, they'd probably try and call my sister about my behavior. And I didn't want that.
This sweat-shirt is so ugly though.
Groaning, I move everything under my shoulder before reaching over to begin rolling up the sleeve as far as I'm able to. I plan on scrunching it up in an even tighter wad this time.
Then the most aggravating thing has to happen: my pencil-case slips out from under my arm and drops right down to floor! I grumble and bend down to pick it up, clutching everything in my other arm tight against my chest so they won't tumble out onto the floor too.
Unfortunately, a grimy hand covered across with band-aids swipes it from the ground before my fingers are able to touch it.
"Aw, is this pretty little pencil-case yours?" A sniveling voice pierces my ear-drums like a burning arrow. My nose wrinkles as I look up to see, Danny Miller, my arch nemesis, surrounded by his three cronies: Davis Wilson, Zachery Langley, and Harvey Brown. Nearly all of them are grinning down maliciously at me.
Harvey's isn't really much of a grin the way it looked so forced and painful, as if his lips were being stretched out by invisible clothe's pins. It might as well be...
I stand straight up, glaring at Danny. I could feel my blood boiling just looking at this piece of trash in front of me. "Yes," I say, trying to steady my voice. "And I would like to have that back, thank you." I reach over as quickly as I can to try and grab it from him before he does what I know he's going to do.
I wasn't quick enough though (because of all this useless crap I had in my other arm weighing me down!) and as I expect he tosses it right over to Davis whose catches it in his grubby hands. Davis starts to back up a few steps away, waving my pencil-case above his head. His palms greasing with the delicate pencil and charcoal shadings.
I grit my teeth tight. He's going to ruin it!
"Over here, Count-Fagula!" He sneers at me. I only make a few steps towards him before he ends up tossing it over to Zachery "Oops, too slow!" He didn't even give me a chance.
Zachery gives me an equally mean-spirited sneer as we lock eyes. "No over here, girly-boy!" He taunts, dangling it by it's zipper.
I clench my fists with rage. These ass-holes always try so hard to ruin my day, every day, even before it starts. And I am so not mood for them now! I feel like I can't stand it anymore, always letting them do whatever they want to me.
My arm, I feel, is shaking, the urge to take my hardcover of To Kill a Mocking Bird and swipe it across each of their stupid faces, is nearly overpowering. Just imaging the rock-hard cover slamming against their heads, their pea-sized brains knocking against their skulls as they thud to the ground and trampling my foot into each of their crotches is running boiling hot in my systems. I am so sick to death of them and their antics against me! I just want them pay for it. For all of it!
If only I could....
But then I think of her face, pale as the moon, wrinkling. Her eyes casting downward to me with a disapproving glare. I think of that; the cold seas in her eyes, and I just can't do it.
I force my arm to calm down. I bite my lip hard. I can't . I tell myself I can't. If I do, then all I'd be doing is disappointing Anna...
...more so then I ever did.
I just can't...
I force my fingers to loosen, one agonizing uncurl after another. "Give it back." I say through gritted teeth, trying to level the irritation creeping in.
This is why I hate being at school. Too many aggravating things happen here...and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it.
In my tree-house...at least I have control over there. Everything I want to happen, happens.
Davis grin widens. "You'll have take it back from us if you want it so bad, fucktard!" He chucks it over to Harvey, and I am helpless as I watch my precious pencil-case sail across the air and into--wait!
--right over Harvey's head, missing his waving hands by a sheer inch!
"You idiot!" I hear Zachary yell. "Go pick it up!
Without waiting for it to skid across the floor, I dart after it and bend down, swiping it off the floor seconds after it hit the ground. I felt my heart burst with joy, the rage I felt moments ago began to settle, and my veins didn't feel like liquid-fire anymore.
But, because of the weight in my other arm, I'm unable to straighten myself back up, and my feet keep running. I look up, and I'm unable to doing anything when--
--I end up slamming myself, nose first, right into another locker.
"Owwww.....!" I drop everything in my arms, and I grasp my burning nose, my fingers tightly squeezing the bridge. Everything around my nose is tingling, the insides screaming with agony. "Urghhh!" I groan sharply. The pain feels so bad, I wonder if it'll start bleeding.
Cackling reminiscent of a crows strikes the air. I look up, my vision blurry from pain-induced tears, but I can still see that there's a circle that's gathered around me, it's not just Danny and his idiot pack though. It's almost everyone that was still in the hallway. Everybody that I can't stand.
"Nice trip, loser!" Cody Smith snickers.
"Aww, looks like fag-boy's cwying." Kurt Sawyer says, balling his fists and twisting his wrists up and down from under his eyes.
"Is the pain too much for the wittle baby?" Link Sweeney cooes mockingly.
Danny walks up to me, bending down to my level. His grin is malicious. "Does wittle Evan need his sissy-wissy to make him feew bettew?"
I pick up one of my math work books and chuck it straight into his dirty face. Danny reels back, rubbing his face as the book slides off his chin and down to the ground with a hard 'thud!'
"Oooooh...!" Everybody caterwauled. A real damn shame I did not have enough textbooks to throw in everyone elses faces too.
Danny glares daggers at me. His face slowly changing a fierce crimson color. His teeth grit hard. His finger nails dug deep into his cheeks from the rage settling into him. He's furious that I actually had the balls to fight back.
Grasping my aching nose, I flashed him a grin. Not backing down. Not ever after what he said. "You get what you give, ass-face!"
He grabs the front of this sweater with one fist and reels the other one back into an even tighter one. I'm prepared to defend myself though, and I put my arms up crossed in front of my face to at least soften the blow. But before he even had the chance of slicing the air with that fist, a different voice instead cuts through, and freezes everything in it's tracks like a cold spell.
Everybody stops laughing and I lower my arms to see walking up towards us, Alex Magnum. Or as everybody else calls him--
"Bat-boy." Danny spits out. "You wanna save fag-boy or something? Got a thing for him?"
Small laughter erupts from a few in the crowd, but some sounded a bit forced, I could tell that even for someone like Danny, by how his fist is crinkling thissweater tighter then before, has lost a sense of bravado now that Alex is in the picture.
Alex stares through Danny, unfazed by that infamous nickname the whole 7th grade had given him. Alex was called "Bat-Boy" because he liked to dress in the goth fashion. Everyday he wears black as if he were in mourning; all the shirts he wore, pants, socks and foot-wear--all in different styles but in the same color nonetheless. He colored his nails black; sometimes he wore dark-colored bands around his wrists with different kinds of studs, and sometimes fish-nets on his arms. The only thing that he wore everyday though was a black bat-shaped charm around his neck. That charm was always polished to a fine sheen, taken care of very well. Not only does he dress the part of a mourner, but he has the expression of one too. He has an eternal frown on his face, his eyes as black as the charm he wore around his neck. As if he had no joy, like it had been wretched out of him.
He's also older then all of us because he was held back last year for consistent absence. He's taller then all of us, stronger then all of us, and he's not afraid to use it to his advantage--but only if someone tries to challenge him. For the most part he's kept to himself, but almost everyone in our grade was scared shitless of him irregardless, and they all hated him for it.
They all hated that this boy didn't even have to show his fists, or usher a threatening word, or even pick a fight with anyone for them all to the get the message that he was a force to be reckoned with. His dominating stature and shape, complimented by the blank look in his eyes, and his dark taste in fashion, paralyzed them from ever trying to mess with him. They couldn't do anything to subjugate him to the same level as someone like I. In-fact from his view-point they were all at the same level as I and they all knew it. They were nothing but weaklings to him, easy targets. Bottoms of the barrel.
But they wanted some form of power over him, so they all started calling him "Bat-Boy". A small act of rebellion against the one person that was otherwise untouchable. Nobody could really tell if it bothered him or not, he never really showed it, but rumors said that last year he had hated it when people made fun of his taste in fashion. So everyone was hoping that even if he wasn't showing it, that nickname at least crawled under his skin, something that would give them the relief that he wasn't so cold, and untouchable, and tough as he appeared.
Danny was the worst of them all. He couldn't stand Alex, and his unshakable exterior, it ate away at him regardless of the name. He stared him down, his grip on me tightening more. I can hear Danny gulp, but he stands his ground, refusing to back down, even though I'm sure that that little voice in his head is telling him to stop while he's got the chance.
Alex finally spoke. "It's my locker, you know? You're both blocking it. If you want to continue your little pent-up sexual frustrations, do it somewhere else."
Danny lets go of me, and does something pretty brave. He grabs Alex by the front of his shirt, and looks straight in those onyx eyes of his. "You wanna say that again?" He challenges. Some of the kids cheer for Danny, congratulating him for doing what they all never had the stomach to do but dreamed of doing. However, others are looking to the side, shuffling a bit on their heels, and some are just slowly backing away, trying to make a quick and clean get away, not wanting to be apart of the ugliness they all know is about ensue. I would be right behind them too but...I am interested in seeing what could transpire, especially if it means Danny might get his comeuppance.
Alex, calmly, oh so very calmly, put a single hand on Danny's chest and shoved him away like he was nothing. I moved out of the way just in time as Danny's spine slams into the locker, and before he could gasp for air, Alex grabs fists fulls of his sweater, much tighter then how he had grabbed Alex's shirt and the sweater I wore.
Alex glares starless night skies at him, bitter, and blank, hardly any mercy sparkling within. It was a death glare. His mouth pulling into an even tighter frown.
"Don't ever pull something like that again with me, kiddo." He hissed in Danny's face. "I'm not in the mood for this. Not now. Not ever. So know your place and getthe hell out. Or I'll give you something to be even more afraid of." And he tossed Danny away like he was garbage, light as a feather.
Zachary and Davis and Harvey quickly come to Danny's aid. Davis helps him up, while Zachary pats him on the back comfortingly. "Let's just leave this alone for now, Dan." He says smartly for once. "You know it's like trying to fight with a junkyard dog."
Danny's face was flushed beat-red from the humiliation. From the look in his eyes, you could tell he didn't want to back down, that he wanted to win this fight, go down ten times if he had to, just so he could land one little punch on Alex. But I could also see that at the core, encased in all that fire, was the clear as day fright, right down to how the muscles in his lips and eyes were twitching, and how the joints in his fingers are quivering.
He wasn't just scared of Alex, he was terrified of him. In-fact I'd have to say he was more scared of him then anyone else here was. But he has an ego. One he is fiercely protective of.
Danny relishes in the triumph of his bullying, his victories over the weak, the respect he gained from the entire 7th grade from it. The strength and power of it all, like he was the lion of a pride. And the thing about lions are that they hate sharing the riches they gained from their strengths, loathing the competition whenever it stepped in. When another lion comes into the picture, much stronger then the other lion with the pride, that lion is in danger of losing everything if the other proves to be better. It's the same way for Danny whenever Alex shows him up.
Danny feels if he doesn't show that he's the stronger one, then all the respect and glory he gained from dominating over the weak will be lost forever.
Danny really looked like he would pounce on Alex, but as if fate was on his side, the second bell rang, signaling the last five minutes everybody had to get to class before they would become tardy. If any of us got a certain amount of tardies within the month, we would get a week of lunch-detention and a call to our parents/guardians. I can tell that nearly everyone surrounding this area was very close to that fate.
Danny now had a very good reason to leave without sacrificing his dignity as a bully, and picked himself up as the rest of the crowd began to disperse with a caterwaul of moans and groans. I bet most of those groans were out of disappointment because they wanted to see some blood shed. Danny dusted himself off and glared daggers at Alex, who was too busy spinning the dial on his locker combination to glare back.
"I'll make you regret this, you know?" He spat out like a wounded feline. And Alex didn't give him the time of day; the true lion of the pride knowing he had nothing to worry about. I think that only wounded Danny's pride more, and ignited the flames of hatred he has for Alex much more passionately then ever.
He dusted himself out, and ordered his group to disperse to their lockers to get their things so they could get to class. He added though, that at this point he didn't really care if they were late, and he walked away quickly with his tail between his legs. His friends following him behind, loyally.
Even if Danny ends up losing all the respect he gained by bullying others, his two friends, Zachary and Davis will never leave their alpha's side.
I feel something stinging my chest. I hate to admit it. I really hate to admit it. But I think I feel a little jealous of him...
Harvey looks back, and we lock eyes. His irises are soft and melancholy, his lips fumbling like something desperate was trying to escape from his mouth. He said nothing though, and quickly turns his head away catching up to his so-called friends. I can hear them spouting their disappointment in him for missing such an easy catch, and getting Danny into that mess, and Harvey only sputters out a timid apology.
He always looks at me like that, so uncomfortable whenever they all come to torment me, especially after its all over, like he knows he's committed an unforgivable, heinous sin.
I know he doesn't actually enjoy bullying me, or any others at all. He's only hanging with the bullies and picking on me, the weaker target, so he himself doesn't get bullied. And I know why. He's just as easy of a target for bullying as I am.
He's got bright red curly hair, hot-chocolate-brown eyes and freckles sprinkled all over his face like dots of cinnamon. He transferred from another school most likely due to relentless bullying from his old school. It was in the middle of the semester and he was shaking like a leaf at his desk when he had to stand up and introduce himself. He asked to be excused not long after and ran out to the hallway, pale as a ghost. He had been throwing-up in the bathroom most likey due to nerves cause when he got back, he looked dizzy and exhausted. And if you were unfortunate enough to be close to him, you could smell the odor of his nasty digested breakfast flowing from his mouth. I was one of those unfortunates.
I remember that Danny was following closed behind him when the class was dismissed, his mouth upturned into a mischievous grin, his eyes gleaming. He was probably happy that he found some new toy to play with it. He probably feigned being concerned for him, offering to take him under his wing, telling him about the dos and don'ts of this school (the dos and don'ts about the student body of whose weird and whose weirder), and that as long as he stuck with him and his friends, and followed through with everything they did and everything they told him to do, he would be treated like gold. Nobody would mess with him anymore. Harvey took it like a bait, only so he could survive this new environment he was thrown into, and spare himself another agonizing experience of being tormented until graduating from school entirely.
He's just crawled himself into an even bigger hole then he was in before, though. I think as I bent down to pick up all the things I had dropped, shaking my head with pity.
As for me. Reasons why I'm an easy target for bullying is because I like to draw pretty things and love my sister. It's plain and simple as that. It doesn't even have to make sense. That's just how things work...
"Here," I'm snapped out of my thoughts by that gruff voice and look over to see my precious pencil-case now in the hand of Alex, offered back to me, it's owner. "This is yours, right?"
I'm awe-stuck at first, wondering if this was some kind of trick, or...maybe there was some sort of compromise he would spout once I reached for it. I look back at his stone-cold face, into his eyes. I couldn't read anything in those inky, black seas.
I reached for it, hesitating for a moment and then reaching for it again. I snatch it up and clutch it protectively against my chest along with the rest of the things I had in my arms. He doesn't say anything else as he stands back up and locks his gaze back to his locker and unlocks it. The only sounds now in this deadened hallway are from his hands, putting his backpack away and slipping off his ebony light-jacket.
I stand back up myself, figuring this was the end of our brief interaction, and I turn around to begin my way to class.
"If you bring something like that to school," I freeze, his voice suddenly cutting through the empty air, after I had just taken the first step. "Especially if you're a guy, you're just begging to get yourself harassed."
I feel my face burning, but not from embarrassment. "Thanks," I say, obviously without meaning it. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Suit yourself." He says, taking the hint that I did not appreciate his flippant comment. I hear him unzipping his backpack; he says nothing more.
I bite my bottom lip and walk away. Now I'm in an even fouler mood then I was before. I can't believe he said that! Just who the hell does he think he is?! Even if he got me out of that mess, even if his intentions were his way of being helpful, commenting negatively on my pencil-case is crossing the line! It's unforgivable!
I squeeze it tight to my chest, my heart beating rapidly against it as my shoes tap against the dirty floor. I shut my eyes tight, imagining the sight of Anna's face when she saw me hold it up from the brightly colored Christmas bag I had torn into that had been lovingly labeled with my name in her beautiful calligraphy. She knew I adored rabbits back then, and that I liked sunflowers. She always knew what I liked, like the back of her hand.
That's why this pencil case is untouchable. After all, Anna gave it to me...she always knew what made me happy.
It always got me through the school day back in elementary, and even now that I'm in middle-school, it's still hasn't lost it's magic. I had stopped bringing it here for awhile and used a normal pencil-case because I didn't want Danny and his band of idiots to ruin it. But now that Anna has stopped speaking to me, I've started bringing it with me again. It gives me the motivation I need, because her warm presence is still lingering within it...
"Evan!" I hear her cheery voice again, and my fingers curl around the pencil case, tight. I wish that it was her hand instead.
My eyes, I can feel are burning when her voice, within my psyche, is suddenly replaced by the voices of fictional characters from the T.V.
I gulp the lump down deep in my throat, and make my way towards the direction of the staircase leading to the second floor where my class, awaits. I'm almost out of breath.
Despite this mornings aggravating antics, I'm almost hoping that this school day will go slowly. I don't think I really want to go home anytime soon anymore
I stop dead in my tracks and look around back behind me, from where I left Alex. I could still see him clearly from this distance; I see him still by his locker. His eyes still concentrated within it, arms weaving through the things in his back-pack. I doubt he looked to give me another glance. I inhale another sharp, painful and completely useless deep breath. I scold myself for it, again and turn back to finally go up the flight of stairs, clutching everything to my chest tighter then before.
Forget what I said earlier, now I just want the school day to be over with quickly so I can go back in my tree-house...
It ate them.
It loudly smacked its lips, crunching and mashing them all into bits and pieces and trapping the others within it's many long, sharp claws. Inescapable. Ready and waiting for their deaths.
It didn’t listen to their cries, and screams of agony and terror for the brief moment its fangs sliced into their bodies. It silenced them once it wretched out their hearts with its teeth. Crushing the warm, juicy, still-beating organs with sweet ecstasy.
It was a quick death for them, but a terrifying and painful one none-the-less.
They didn’t want to die. Not like this. Not by it.
They wanted to live.
But they were prey and it was a predator. Ravenous and unrestrained. It would tear up their lives, everything that they are, without a second thought. It needed their lives in order to sustain its. It needed their flesh, muscles, organs, blood and bones. Everything...right down to the tips of their fingers and toes.
And they were all here, ripe and ready for the picking! None of them would escape with their lives! Why would it let them?! This was a feast for it! A glorious banquet of meat!
How fortunate! How wonderful its luck had been! Guiding it to this fantastic place of glorious succulent meats! Riches in the mud! So much! So much!
But it needed more. It needed MUCH, MUCH more.
And it would eat every last one of them. Every last one. It would dig into every nook and cranny in this place until all was in its belly. It would eat.
Swallowing them all…!
It would make them all a part of its flesh, and it would not spare a single bone. Not one little piece of calcium, nor a drop of blood would be left untouched.
…It would eat them all…every last living creature it could find…