Chapter Text
September 25th, Wednesday.
I’ve never journaled before. Never felt the need to.
Here’s how my day went.
It was two o'clock. Another history lesson on the Civil War. The air was stale. If only I had earplugs to block out Mr Osgood’s voice…
After class, I went to my locker to collect my textbooks, and there were two girls in front of my locker. The two were talking about their boy-flings again. They seem to like talking about such things.
I glanced at them for a second, smiled warmly, and politely said, “Excuse me, ladies.”
They look at me, disgusted, and say, “Get bent” before walking away. Okay? And?
I went to open my locker when I felt a beefy hand on my bony shoulder.
He’s here.
“Hey, Doctor! What’s in your locker? Your test tubes?” he said rather loudly. Everyone seemed to find it amusing.
Troy Maddox. That’s his name. I was to be beaten up again.
“For the last time, stop. Get that one word to your last brain cell for once, please.” I said.
“Oh, you wanna get smart with me?” Troy looked me up and down, cracking his knuckles. I knew it was coming.
I felt his knuckles slam right into my nose before I could even react.
I fell sideways and head-first to the linoleum floor, everything in my backpack spilling out.
I blinked. Blood on the floor. I think it was mine.
Troy walked over to my skeletal sketches.
I studied the anatomy for hours to get the animals’ bone structures just right.
He knelt over the spilt sheets of paper and chuckled. He grabbed one I sketched of a Desmodus rotundus and waved it in front of me.
“Is this really what you’re losing sleep over? You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” he laughed. He ripped it.
I watched the ripped paper flutter to the ground.
I saw his fist raised, and I grabbed a bunch of pencils, and stabbed him in the throat.
He choked. Everyone around us gasped. Why? Is this not how people fight?
Mrs Blackwood came walking down the hall. She took Troy and me to the Principal’s office.
We’ve both got after-school detention for a week straight. Starting that afternoon.
“Young men, you do realise that physical violence and poor behaviour go on your permanent records, right?” The principal said.
Why yes, missus. We’re well aware.
There’s nothing like sitting in a silent classroom with that one flickering light, a sharp-eyed supervisor, and a bunch of other pupils snidely glancing at me at five-thirty in the afternoon.
I stepped outside. The air was cold.
I’m partial to frigidity.
I looked at the dark red-ish sky above me as I took steps on the pavement. I had never seen the sky turn so red.
I was about to pass the cemetery, but I paused. I once again looked at the cross-shaped tombstones planted all around the cemetery and the ravens that frolicked in the cold air.
Now, I sit here at my desk, writing about my day instead of doing homework. I’ve decided that I’m going to visit the graveyard again.
And go in this time. Just to break a regular cycle.