I awoke the next morning within my bedroom, fully refreshed and bereft of fatigue. I was pleased to note that my mind was clear--the usual morning routine, in fact, was completed a full five minutes ahead of the regular time that it usually took to consume the customary meal and to accumulate the information from provided by the local newspaper. With satisfaction, I was able to gather my belongings, deposit them into my book-bag, and make my way to the bus stop with a feeling of ease I had experienced only on a few rare occasions before. With a hand raised to greet the great glowing orb that was slowly making its light visible in its most radiant form to all of those in its path, I stepped onto the bus, a smile pressed hard into the flesh that covered my face.
I had forgotten that Mr. Mason had replaced the regular social studies teacher for the week. His uninspiring composure, however, quickly reminded me as soon as I had entered the room. As I passed him, he greeted me with a curt nod and a somewhat upturned pair of lips, to which I did not respond. Hurriedly, I made my way to the usual seat. Once seated, my gaze rested solely upon the light that emanated from the exterior of the confines I was to spend the remainder of the day within.
The bell rang, and to my surprise--but apparently not to the surprise of Mr. Mason--every student was present and seated before the alarm had ceased blaring its message. The substitute simply took roll before proceeding to delve into the lesson plan for the period.
The minutes seemed to drag on, as I did my best to ignore the excited words that my peers expressed, each contributing to a discussion that I had no interest in. Their quick breaths and wild movements produced a vigor in the air that I had difficulty appreciating. Indeed, I had trouble breathing.
The bell eventually rang and with relief, I quickly attempted to depart from the stuffy room. The thunderous voice of Mr. Mason, however, halted my effort.
"Mr. Smith," the substitute called out.
I stopped and turned from the door, expecting to see Mr. Mason sitting behind the desk he had temporarily acquired, his elbows propped upon the table, with a frown upon his face. Instead, he stood, hands in his pockets, posture slightly hunched over. He was at the window, looking outside.
I responded with an affirmation that I had heard him.
"Come here, please."
I did so.
"I was curious as to the reason why you failed to participate in today's discussion."
I shrugged my shoulders.
"Is anything wrong, Mr. Smith? If there is, I'd like to help."
I shrugged once more and muttered an assurance that I was quite all right. I was sure that I did not convince him.
Mr. Mason, however, dismissed me with a frown and a promise that he would be available should I need him. Not without surprise, I relayed my gratitude and assurance that I would seek him out if needed, and then departed. A quick glance over my shoulder as I left imparted the image of the substitute looking glumly outside of the window, at something upon the ground, it seemed. In passing, the thought that the man meant well pronounced itself somewhat loudly within my head, and then I was on my way.
As the thought of Mr. Mason quickly faded away, the more immediate concern of arriving to my next class in a timely fashion faded in. It was a familiar struggle, just to weave my way in and out between the scores of bodies that stood, mouths agape, emitting strange gurgles, in an apparent--ultimately fruitless--attempt at genuine communication. I would have laughed but I was determined to not ingest a single breathe of air--my one single priority whenever introduced into the streams of students.
I was suddenly forced to shift this priority elsewhere, however.
Before me, standing against the locker I had been loaned for the school year, were the two boys. Both were dressed in red; one was wearing a dark polo shirt, the other wore a jacket. Both were wearing a pair of crimson shorts. Both were obviously relaxed, as indicated by the bent elbows and pocketed hands.
I would have backed away, or turned around and ran, had I the option. They were, however, staring directly at me, perhaps before I had even noticed them. Thus, I was in a formidable predicament. Should I have backed away, anyhow? Should I have turned around and run? Should I have shouted? Should I have screamed? Should I have shook? Should I have sweated? Should I have flailed my arms about and kicked my legs in a flurry, ignoring the dumbfounded looks that the action would have undoubtedly procured from observers? I could not decide. I was uncertain. I was held too fast by their fervent eyes and expressionless faces to form any rational, workable solution to the problem at hand.
Ultimately, the boys grew tired of waiting for me to either advance or retreat. Slowly, they walked toward me, the step of one boy perfectly synchronized with the step of his companion. Our eyes never broke their cold contact, despite the passersby that threatened to slam into me as they hurried past. It seemed that neither myself nor the boys had much power evading the inevitable for much longer. Indeed, I was powerless to make any choice that could have possibly caused a postponement.
We walked together, the three of us--myself between the two of them--through the door that led to park I had visited the previous day. The late bell sounded behind us, but we did not respond. Solemnly, we continued upon our journey.
The sound of our foot-steps upon the pavement resounded loudly within my ears. It was interesting to note that I had never before noticed how loudly I stomped my shoes onto the ground over the course of any advancement. Nor had I ever been aware of how great the dispersal of small pebbles became once they came into contact with my swinging, tethered feet. It was almost soothing to hear them quietly scrape and careen off of one another and then quickly spin into the grooves of the cement. The sound of the other two pairs of shoes, however, extinguished any measure of comfort I had been able to derive over the course of the walk. Within moments of my realization, we stepped onto the grass field that seemed to serve as a transition before entering the park and I was prevented from enjoying the scraping sound of shoes any longer. I sniffed the air sharply, so as to draw unhealthy liquid--which threatened to spill over my upper lip--back into my nose. I thought I heard the sound of a mother robin crying out for her children somewhere close by. I could not be sure.
The grass inside of the park was not as lush as it had been the previous day; this was due to the lack of sunlight, I surmised. I had not expected it to seem so absolutely dull as it appeared to be. I spat upon the ground in disappointment. I moved my eyes to determine whether or not either one of the boys had observed this action. It seemed that they had not. Satisfied, I returned my attention to the ground before me.
We were approaching the spot that I had laid down upon yesterday, before discovering my hunger. One could perceive the indentations that my struggling body had impressed into the ground. They were quite noticeable.
Suddenly--although not unexpectedly--the two boys each grabbed one of my arms and proceeded to thrust my body, head-first, onto the patch of pounded grass. I knelt there, palms dug hard into the ground, waiting, not daring to move a muscle, although this was uncontrollable, due the fact that I was quivering with apprehension. Perspiration slid familiarly down from the pit of arms--arms that were holding the light frame that I had inherited and threatening to buckle under the pressure to remain strong.
Two swift kicks to my elbows laid me prostrate in a split second. I could not help but produce a short, hollow yelp. As one shoe made painful, solid contact with the right side of my head, the heel of another rammed itself into the small of my back repeatedly. Again, the sound of the hollow protest my nervous system was establishing articulated itself--this time more loudly, alarming a few nearby birds and sending them away, in what must have been glorious flight.
A few blows to my stomach were added for good measure before the two boys decided that I should be turned over and experience the attack on the opposite side of my body. I was quickly rolled over onto my back. The beating proceeded with more intensity. Fortunately, I soon lost consciousness--the muted, dull repetition of the continued pounding against my flesh had finally proven too harrowing to withstand.
When I regained consciousness, I found it difficult to fully open my eyes. It took a few moments for the blur within my mind to clear. I then remembered the two boys. I emitted a groan, as my nervous system registered the several dull aches saturating my limbs. Despite this, I managed to prop myself onto my right elbow and look around at my surroundings.
Through swollen eyes, I saw that my proximity to the original location I had been beaten was considerably near. The two boys were nowhere to be seen. The full registration of this realization was cut short by the sight of a police officer slowly rolling his patrol car into the entrance, on the opposite end of the park, however. I was forced to roll myself down into the bushes, a large cluster of them, located at the bottom of the ravine, whose fringe I was at the top of. Despite severe throbbing, I managed to effectively--and satisfactorily--place myself out of sight. With effort, I revealed my teeth and slowly twisted my lips into a smile, with the intent to express my satisfaction--if I only I could have seen such a monster!
I suddenly felt very tired. In the midst of muddled thoughts, I made the hasty decision to succumb to unconsciousness and allow myself a sifting arrival to a comfortable state, bereft of apprehension.
Indeed, as my eyes met darkness, I had not felt so relaxed in all of my life.
