by Ash Masters
They seemed to be gone; he most have lost them.
Having locked himself in a cleaning closet within the boy’s changing room, he slowly opened the door and it creaked painfully, betraying his position. He was sure that he was alone and so more and more the door opened, sounding like a monster twisting metal or sharp claws tearing across a chalk board.
He peered out, searching either side thoroughly to ensure that no-one was with him in the dimly lit locker room, a mixture of black and brown in the darkness while poorly lit by old, orange lights on the walls.
Out he stepped, thankful that his pursuers must not have known that he had come this way. Walking past the showers, he was startled when he stepped into a deep puddle of dirty water from a clogged drain, filling his shoes and now causing his socks to make an audible squelching sound as he walked.
A drop of water splashing against the puddle made his heart race, but common sense quickly made him realize that it was only a leaking shower head. Truly, the locker room was scary place to be in so late after school.
He hastened his speed, making for the door but tripped, landing on his his stomach with hands in front of him. Looking at his feet he found a school bag lying tangled in the leg of the bench and his foot. Shaking it loose he stood up but winced at a sharp pain in his hand, discovering that it was bleeding, having been dragged across an old, loose screw at the foot of the bench ahead.
Blood ran down the length of his arm as he held his hand to inspect it. It would require some some stitches to fix.
The only sound in the deserted school were his footsteps as he darted across the hallway, lit by the scattered light from outside; the stars and large moon looking down at him, tattooing monstrous and distorted shapes of trees and window frames blocking the moonlight.
He couldn’t lie to himself, he was quite frightened.
Not to mention that the group of bullies were no-where to be seen.
If he was lucky then the nurse would still be in her office, perhaps just getting ready to leave which to his luck she was as the light were on. Just as well, as the wound on his hand wouldn’t stop bleeding. Thoughtlessly he pounded on the glass. ‘Help! Help me please! I’m bleeding!’ Blood stained the glass, creating distorted shapes that were translucent in the light. Desperately, he looked at his hand, illuminated by the moonlight and realised that the wound was deeper than it looked, a slither of flesh a couple of millimetres wide and two inches long ripped out.
His heart pounded at the thought that the group of bullies could get him at any moment – a thought so distressing that his throat closed up. Now he began to panic, banging on the door even louder and faster now, then looked at the end of the corridor and saw figures cutting into the light.
The bullies.
He couldn’t take it anymore.
Rummaging down his sock he found it, the knife he procured during lunch by sneaking into the kitchen, a small thing but good enough for the job. At the moment it was wrapped in paper so that it wouldn’t cut him open and taped to his shin so it wouldn’t fall out. The paper acted like a sheath and so slid out easily.
He held it over his heart, counting down from ten.
Nine.
Eight.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
He swallowed, beginning to cry but the second he spent hesitating was the second that caused his body to hesitate and so rather than ending his life swiftly, the blade sank into his chest slowly and painfully.
But, before any more harm could be done, the door opened.
He would survive.
The nurse looked down at him in wonder but then smiled, taking his hand and pulling him in gently.
‘I’m sorry!’ He cried pathetically. ‘I’m so sorry!’
‘It’s okay.’ She said, a woman medium in height with shoulder length, dark-brown hair and a pair of rectangular glasses. The knife wasn’t deep so with some care she slid it out then placed it on a tray to the side, lifting his shirt to tape gauze to his chest and then place his hand firmly on top. ‘Apply pressure while I call the ambulance.’ Gently she pushed him down onto a stool before disappearing behind him, leaving him to think about whether his attempt to kill himself had been the right thing to do.
His mind ventured to that girl, Hatsuo Seiya who had jumped off the roof of his school – a girl driven to madness like him and many, many others. Death was the fate of all Ghosts, he couldn’t help but believe.
An arm cupped his chin and the tip of knife dug into his neck as the nurse tried to slice his throat open. First he screamed, but quickly he came to his senses, pushing the weapon away then clumsily forced himself and his attacker to the ground. The nurse fought to use the knife but a new found determination found the boy – a determination to stop being bullied by his peers, a determination to stand up and fight, a determination to live.
His strength prevailed, the nurse was the one to get a knife to the neck.
The nurse’s face was mere inches away from his own, wide-eyed and unmoving like a china doll. Still cautious of the woman he was on top of, he slowly sat up, never severing eye contact.
Finally he allowed himself to blink.
The brightly lit room of the nurses office was replaced by a dark room where the only light came from a window with curtains drawn closed; beige curtains with a bronze-coloured floral pattern.
His mother’s curtains.
Horrified, his stare returned to the woman he thought was the nurse who had tried to murder him, but instead met his mother’s far away gaze.
With a knife in her neck his mother passed away, hand held up to try and touch her son’s face.
His mother was dead and he had been the one to kill her.
How could that have possibly happened?
