Post by "Tuvlan" on Jan 17, 2010 3:53:04 GMT -8
Boom Boom Boom
-That Awful Sound-
-That Awful Sound-
Interaction was still so limited. So very, very limited.
The luck of the two girls from before was... not expected, but good for the boy. Why it was then that the boy's feelings of confliction grew in spite of himself was beyond him---no, was beyond. That was the problem. Sleeping was always awkard as he only had the newfound emergency blanket he had stolen to keep him busy, as he'd sleep in the strong branches of the tree with a bit of difficulty. Failing that, sleep was wherever he could manage without being disturbed. People ran up to him on a fairly frequent basis, calling him strange, but somehow familiar nicknames. "Red-haired freak." "Smash." "Smash boy." "Patches." "Tree hugger." Many more names then worth mentioning. Many of them mean, most of them with malcontent. Very few had decided to take note of the slow and subtle changes that had been occuring in the boy or perhaps no one had really noticed that much. The most glaring difference was the way the boy seemed to skulk around in a seemingly ashamed manner---perhaps that is what invited the new wave of jeers, physical abuse, the strange treatment. And it only made a "boom" sound in his mind. A constant, irritating "boom"ing sound.
One thing was for certain.
The fight seemed to have left the boy.
Almost.
Almost.
Avoiding fights, running, hiding, fleeing, but always staying on the school premises where it was familiar, it was like a constant game of hide-and-go-seek, except the boy didn't even know about the existance of that old child game and all the seekers seemingly only had the worst intentions in store. Luck was not on the boy's side: He wanted to find the petting person. He wanted to fight the soothing voice. He missed them dearly but just couldn't seem to find them. Kindness. He missed the kindness. And having had a taste of it after having been starved of it for so long, the hunger, the craving for the kindness was nowhere to be found. Where had softness gone? Where had warmth gone? In the corner of the classroom of awakening, he hugged himself, hugged himself, drowning himself over and over again in the two newfound memories that gave him any such internal wamrth---
"I found him!"
Looking up in horror, the boy stared, the "boom" sound echoing, breaking the thought of warmth petting his head. There was only a stricken look on his face, one of desperation as two boys and a girl walked into the room with a surly look to them all. One boy had several bruises and stiches on his face. The girl had various cut marks on her exposed wrists. The last boy wasn't even wearing a standard t-shirt but only bandages around his waist. All looked rather pissed, none looked associated except for common hatred for what appeared to be "YOU!"
On instinct, the boy could only hug his knees towards his chest, bringing up his elbows to shins and up and over to his face for the beating that was to come, that came quickly.
A swing of a bat.
A kick.
Spitting. Lots of spitting.
A thrown chair.
More name calling.
The pain didn't nearly hurt so much as the understanding.
"YOU ASS! FIVE DAY SUSPENSION FOR ME!"
Understanding.
"THIS IS FOR MY NOSE!"
The boy. He was a fault for their rage?
"YOU NEARLY PUT MY FRIEND IN A COMA!"
He didn't want to speak. Didn't want to suffer. Didn't want them to hurt him. Didn't want to embaress himself. Didn't want. Didn't want. Didn't want to be at fault. Didn't want. Didn't want. DIDN'T WANT. DIDN'T WANT. DIDN'T WANT.
...
The boy...
Suddenly, the boy didn't want to understand.
Snap.
"SMAAAAASSSHHH!!!"
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
...A familiar, stupid, unfazed look crossed the boy's face.
It started with a simple punch back. And then another. And another. And another. More hitting. More hitting.
More.
No more thinking. Just fun. Just hitting. Just playing. Just "SMASH!?"ing.
Slowly, the boy stepped out of the room, as bootprints of blood trailed after him, a small pool slowly growing from the small, barely hinged door as it was "SMASH!"ed in.
The understanding was gone, like a dream. Almost. Almost.
And in that moment of bloodlust, as the blood dripped down his fists, as his aviator smelled the worst it had since his awakening, the ruffled eye patch over his left eye, the crimson long red hair, the black t-shirt, the aviator jacket, the jeans, the military combat boots, all freshly coated with crimson droplets as guttural moaning came from the inside...
...Happiness?
Was ignorance truly bliss?
...Was ignorance an escape?
The boy turned in the direction, seemingly having heard something. A return of a return.
...Yet somehow, the smile seemed more twisted, more desperate. What was it? And then... what was it?
"...SMASH!?"
"=D!?"
"=D!?"
