The 8th

As another fist connected to my already bloodied nose, I couldn’t help but think — through the intense pain flowing through my body — day two was already worse than day one.

I dropped to my knees, on the bathroom floor, and tried to focus my vision. I could hear David screaming from the far side of the room as he was receiving the same treatment. My blurred vision snapped back to the best focus it was able to…Just in time to see Piers, the lad who I had had a run in on day one, spit at me.

“Not such a smart-arse now are you?”

I wish I could come back with a witty retort but my brain is telling me I’ve taken enough of a beating for today. Another fist to the face floored me. I didn’t move. I just laid there on the tiled floor, near the puddles of piss by the urinal, wishing for it to end. At least I think that’s what I am thinking about. So many thoughts buzzing through my brain that it’s hard to make sense of many of them. Another fist flew towards my face in a blurred motion. This will hurt…

By the time I could hear my thoughts clear enough to make sense of them, they were being drowned out by the sound of David’s voice. He was crying. My eyes focused on my surroundings. Still on the toilet floor, the stench of stale urine filling one of my nostrils. My other nostril blocked with blood. Every part of me aches.

“I’m sorry,” said David again. He helped me to my feet. He looked just as battered as I did although, I think it’s fair to say, I took the brunt of it. Probably deserved after sticking up for him yesterday.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” I said. Even my voice sounded broken. “Besides,” I lied, “I quite enjoyed that.” Not sure why I do that, trying to put a brave face on and all that. Not the first time I’ve used that as a defense mechanism for when I’m in agonising pain.

“If you hadn’t stuck up for me yesterday,” he started to say…

“I wouldn’t have been much of a friend,” I interrupted. Even had I known the beating I was to endure, I still would have spoken up yesterday. I hate bullies. They’re nothing more than cowards hiding behind their little friends. Normally picking on the weaker people just to try and make themselves feel better about their own miserable lives. Fuck them. We both looked at ourselves in the mirror. “Remember…” I said, “…The first rule of Fight Club is…Don’t talk about Fight Club.” David laughed and suddenly grabbed his jaw as a bolt of pain shot through him.

Surely Day Three will be easier.

4

I think I’d make a good teacher. I believe I have the voice for it. The right amount of authority in my tone.

“Piers,” I said, using my teacher’s tone, “step forward.” If time is lacking, for my lesson, I’d best start with the main culprit. The one who has constantly been nasty. Seeing what I do to him…That might just be enough for the others to learn by, if I don’t have the time to get to them. Piers didn’t move from his seat; his usual place in the back of the classroom. Was he really going to make me repeat myself? “I’m sorry,” I continued, “maybe you didn’t hear me all the way back there.” I turned to Mrs Price, “Do you often struggle with students at the back not hearing you properly?” She didn’t answer either. Can’t help but think that’s a little rude. It was a civil enough question, I feel. I’ll come back to her later. I turned my attention back to Piers. Just looking at his face makes me feel sick. Memories of what he’s put me through. I’m sure David must feel the same too. “Piers, don’t make me ask again.”

“Fuck you,” he spat from the area he foolishly perceived as being ‘safe’ at the back of the room. Little boy obviously doesn’t appreciate how far bullets can fly. The rest of the class, especially those who sat in close proximity, weren’t as foolish as a clear gap appeared between me and Piers. I took the gun up from where it rested, close to me, on the table and pointed it directly at Piers. “You won’t shoot me,” he said. Damn, he’s clever. Shooting him will be too easy.

“You’re right,” I lowered the gun.

“You’re a fucking pussy,” Piers hissed. His voice so full of venom towards me. How did someone so young get so much hatred inside of them? I blame the parents. I stood up and walked down the aisle of wooden desks and chairs to where Piers sat.