My breath gradually steadies as my eyes slowly focus. What just happened? There’s a metal pipe in my hand, too heavy for my hand to lift. Blood red covered my field of vision, and I feel really, really sick. All eyes are on me - the delinquents’ - but for some reason, they don’t scare me. There is only this feeling of being slowly hollowed.
What did I do? The thought of living normally had left my mind completely, and in the road of my future ahead, I can only see death. It’s over. They’re going to kill me right here, right now. Although that doesn’t scare me, that made me very miserable. I wish I hadn’t picked that fight. I wish I hadn’t even come to school today.
The school entrance is already visible from the car’s window, but I hesitate to step out. Normally, new kids in school would be scared, or hopeful, or nervous, but I just feel some kind of loathe. My mom leans back to face me and asks with concern on her face, “What’s wrong, sweetie?”
She looks tired - at least, more tired than she usually looks. I feel sick, looking at my mother like that. She doesn’t deserve anything like this. Not my dad dying, her having to get a job to pay for my tuition, or we having to move because the rent can’t keep up. There’s silence between us for some time.
"Nothing, mom," I finally say, and opened the door. As I close it, I add, "Thanks for driving me here."
She looks slightly relieved and smiles. I try my best returning that smile.
"No problem," she replies, closes her window, and drives away.
Of course, it was a flat out lie.
"My name’s Arthur Connors. I’m from Wenhallow."
The moment I speak out those words, the class is in a silent state. I look around to search for friendly faces, finding the opposite of what I’m looking for. A pair of beastly eyes and a set of crooked teeth in a grin stared back at me. I know exactly how this works.
The teacher told me, “You can sit behind Etoile over there.”
By the increasing amount of vengeful looks I get from every direction, I have the feeling that Etoile is some kind of Madonna I shouldn’t have messed around with. She stares coldly at me as I pass her seat and reach mine, already sending me shivers with her look. Great.
When the teacher continues and says, “Let’s start class” all I can hear are background music staging my death and the teacher narrating, “Shall we begin the kill?”
The first hit is quite blunt and it doesn’t sting at all; but apparently he knows that, and goes for another try at my stomach. The second one hurts.
"Today we’re gonna do a double dose, Connors," he says. I hear splitting knuckles and jeers.
Behold, the leader of the motor gang; beaten up and preparing to get spits - again. I laugh sarcastically inward. Why can I even earn that title? I don’t remember how I could’ve killed the previous leader. All I felt back then was frustration; and something that felt strangely good.
Malcolm delivers some more blows, while his friends keep cheering and jeering.
"Look at him, all soft n’ juicy ready to be butchered. I wonder if anyone’s gonna buy pork that wet his pants already, though." Is that joke even any good? Obviously the only thing he doesn’t suck at is punching people. Still, I hear laughter from all around. I’m surrounded by dumb guys; great.
I’m really going to die this time. Whatever Malcolm is doing really, really hurts. We’re at an abandoned shack in the outskirts of town, and no adults will arrive in time to stop them.
I laugh silently again. Am I still relying on adults after all this time? I didn’t even intend to let my mom know that I’ve been roaming streets on motorbikes looking for shops to loot.
My gang. I lead a gang full of muggers on motorbikes. If I were to suddenly skip roundabout, will they be looking for me?
"You don’t know who you’re messing with, Malcolm," I try to say. "They’ll come looking for me soon. They won’t be pleased when they found out what you did."
"Trying to scare me are ya? Not gonna work. Everyone knows anyone’ll be pleased to find out that Arthur Connors got his ass whooped."
So it didn’t work. Well, I’m not entirely sure they’ll look for me either. When I killed their previous leader, all they did was bowing to me and turning me into their new leader. I feel increasing desperation as no more ideas came to mind.
At that time, I was also full of desperation. Desperation, frustration, and a great feeling. Suddenly, I have a crazy urge to laugh out loud.
The mood shifts. I can feel that Malcolm is a little nervous. “What’s so funny, Connors?”
"You know, Malcolm," I feel great, I feel as if I’m slightly dizzy with euphoria. "I finally remember."
I finally remember what’s so great about breaking bones. I set myself up straight, while Malcolm backs away in horror. “Wh-What’s with that face, Connors? You think you’d scare me?”
I ignore him and look around, picking up a fine block of wood. It feels light. I feel as if I can lift anything. I can do anything. I grin wide. “Malcolm.”
"I wonder how your splitting skull will sound."
I don’t know where I am anymore. Orientation of place and time doesn’t matter. Even who I am with doesn’t matter. She looks familiarly like a girl I know from school, a girl that humiliated me every time she’s got a chance. But she’s too tall, too old. “The trial will begin shortly.”
She opens a set of doors which lead to a place full of people. They call this a courtroom. So I’m charged for something? Or am I charging someone? Ah, I get it. They’re charging me for Malcolm. But I only did him what he deserved, right? Hey. Hey. I’m thinking.
I am led to the very front, into the defendant’s seat. Then she leaves and enters a door on the right. As soon as I sat down, I hear another female shouting, “That’s my son! He didn’t do it, he didn’t do anything wrong! How dare you charge him with such little evidence!”
I turn to look. It’s my mom. I’m glad to see her. “Hi, Mom.”
My mom kept silent. Maybe she’s not so glad to see me; I’ve kept her in the dark for half a month. And now I’m a murderer. She must be not so glad to see me. But nobody told my mom yet. That’s right, I’ll need to let her now.
"Defendant Arthur Connors, do you or do you not torture more than five of your classmates to their deaths two weeks ago in Tracebury Shack? That’s outside of town."
So the place is called Tracebury? I’ll need to write it down. “Yeah.”
Whispers filled the courtroom, and the judge had to hit her hammer to regain silence. One of the men shouted, “Murderer!” and cried out loud. He looked a lot like Malcolm. Strange; Malcolm is dead. And Malcolm never cried. I get a chill down my back just remembering how mean he’d been. And he’s going to do it again next time I go to school.
Malcolm is dead. Malcolm is dead. Thank god Malcolm is dead. So he can’t be Malcolm. Don’t cry, idiot; it gives you away. Malcolm is dead. Luckily I killed Malcolm already.
I answered yes to every other question, and then is led to the small exit door where the girl went earlier. She was pretty; if she hadn’t spread rumor about my dad suffering leprosy we could still just ignore each other peacefully. But Etoile didn’t. She let Malcolm get me. Say, I wonder how hers will sound like. Her skull cracking.
I pass my mom on the way. I’m glad to see her. “Hi, Mom.”
"No, no, no," she mutters.
I frown. What is she on about, now? Dad’s already dead, so she doesn’t have to look so sad, so scared. Why-
"He’s not my son! Where is he? What have you done to him? Where’s my son?"
"What are you talking about, Mom?" I shout back, boiling with anger. "What do you mean, I’m not your son? All this time you don’t want to have me around, is that it? That’s it, isn’t it?"
She looks like she’s about to cry, and turns silent. Don’t look that way, Mom. I love you. Stop. “I’m sorry. Please don’t look like that. Please, Mom.”
I feel so sincere that tears spill out of my eyes. I never said sorry to her, not for lying to her. Not for not telling her. Not for killing my friends. Not for shouting at her. I’m really, really sorry, Mom. The person behind me pushes me away from her, and in grief I can’t resist.
Even now, I’m having a hard time letting the truth sink in. I murdered my bullies. I admitted it in court. I shouted at my mom and now I’m in jail. It’s just so bizarre that my brain can’t process it. Unbelievable.
What’s most unbelievable is that I don’t clearly remember what I was thinking then. They’re just written across my head like a story. Of course, I’ve been told that I’m moving to an asylum today, which is just as horrid. But if they really can cure me of whatever mental illness I’m in, I’m fine with it.
The warden comes to get me. “It’s time, boy. I’m going to miss you around. Stay nice.”
"Got it, sir." I’ve told my situation to him two days ago. He’s even the one reporting it to the Chief. I feel relieved knowing they understand. He opens the cell door.
Suddenly, Raphael bursts through the front door with five more people. The warden tried to stop them from trespassing, but Raphael shoots once and he crumpled to the ground. He grins widely at me, “Hullo, Connors, Chief, today we’re going to bail you out.”
My ‘borrowed’ motorcycle is just the way I left it, and I have to admit it that it feels good to ride it. “So, what so we do now?”
"Gee, aren’t you the Chief. Of course we’re going away. That shot back there obviously isn’t a safe one. Soon they’ll charge all of us, so why not out of state?"
"Aw, quit it, Chief! Did they give you funny potatoes in there or what?" They laughed, but I start to feel devastated. They’re serious.
"Really, I think it’ll be alright for me to just finish my sentence quietly."
"Are you saying you don’t want to take us up?" his voice turns dark. "You killed our previous Chief. You have to replace his responsibilities."
It’s be the Chief or be killed, just like last time. I’m going to enter this hell again. I’m going to leave my mom, ransack and rob more people, and live like a true criminal. And more and more people are going to get killed by my disease. What happened to choices? Unconsciously, we ride by train tracks.
This will be the last time to turn back. No, it’s already too late for that. If I turn back now, they’ll really kill me. I don’t know which is more worth it, living with nightmares, or die by it. I slow down at the edge of the rail, my underlings riding past me. Raphael halts once he’s across. “Chief, what’re you doing? Let’s go!”
I realize that the siren is ringing, the portals closed. A train is coming. That’s it. There’s a third option; right here, right now. I can just end everything here. The sound of a train approaching is getting louder and louder. Do I have the right to do this? They gave up their lives to free me, even if they’re not good people. They trusted me.
"Come on, Chief! Hurry! Just ditch the bike and get away from there!"
His eyes widen. “Chief, you-“
The train arrives right in time, and goes past me. The sound of my own splitting skull is a delight to hear under the wails of sirens and moving wheels.
I’m still alive? How’s that possible? My whole body aches and I feel something cold under me. It’s like I’m slowly sinking. But it hurts. It hurts.
Raphael kneels next to me and places a hand on the side of my neck. For an unexplainable reason, I think he’s smiling. Why are you smiling? But my voice won’t work. He turns around and announces, “He’s dead.”
But I’m still alive! My cells scream so loudly my head feels like it’s going to burst. I won’t move. Why can’t I move? Tell them I’m alive, Raphael, tell them! I hear someone cursing. “All hail the new Chief.”
Raphael almost purrs. “Good. I’ve been waiting for a long, long time.”
With a late realization of what he meant, my vision fades away to nothingness.
dailybridgerton
baratheonpilled
romaincrisis
andulkaphoto
discoholicmusic
annaxmalina