“Not gonna talk, eh?”
Silently, I stared at the table between us. There was a white mug filled with cold tea my mother had failed to drink, and orange juice in a plastic cup I refused to drink. I found their assumption that I enjoyed juice demeaning. I wasn’t a pitiful child.
“Please talk to them, Michael.” My mother cried.
Reluctantly, I looked up at the two men who sat before us. One tapping at the paper of his black, leather book with a pen, while the other stared at me intensely. The staring man had been the one asking the questions, eager to know how or why I did what I had.
“We can sit here all day.” He sighed. “Or you can just tell us what happened.”
I smiled, proudly. I went through the memories in my mind. They were blissful and satisfying.
“Mikey…”
“It’s Michael.” I groaned.
“Is that what your friends call you?”
I sneered at him. Was that a joke?
“What did you do to them, Michael?” he asked.
“Did you not see?” I grinned. “I think you know what I did.”
“Then tell us why.”
I glanced at the other man. When he noticed my stare he sat up straight, trying to look interested. My eyes looked back to the first man.
“You really want to know why?” I asked. “Or do you want to know ‘how’?”
“Both, really.” He smiled. “I find it quite fascinating that a child…”
I laughed. “Child! I stopped being a child long ago!”
“You are twelve, Mikey.”
“My name is MICHAEL!”
My mother sobbed beside me. I knew she wouldn’t understand what I did. I didn’t really care that nobody understood, but I would tell them my story anyway.
“So you really want to know?” I smiled. “I’ll tell you then.”
“I’m glad.” The man sighed, leaning back in his chair smugly, as if he had accomplished something.
“Since I started school, I had always been victimised.” I told them. “When they hurt me and beat me it was just ‘playing around’ or ‘bullying’. It was never a criminal offence. I felt alone. Nobody would help me. Not the teachers, not my parents…no one. People always told me to ‘ignore them’.” I shook my head and laughed. “As if it was that easy.”
“What did they do to you, Michael?” he asked.
“So many things. They would spit on me, call me names, hit me, throw things at me…” I snarled. “Point and laugh at me…”
The other man wrote in his black book while the speaker looked at me, nodding every so often. My mother sat beside me. She would gasp or sob to herself. I wondered what she was crying about. Was it her failure as a parent? Or was she sickened by her son?
“When I moved to secondary school, things got worse.” I continued. “There were even more people to hate me for no reason. I was their ‘toy’, their clown. But they were the real fools.
“At home I would cry alone in my bedroom. I carved their spiteful words into my arms and legs. I started believing I deserved the torture I received. They made me believe I was filth.”
“Is that when you started to see the girl?” he asked. “The one you were speaking to when we found you and your classmates.”
“Yes.” I nodded. “The girl only the open-minded and blessed can see.”
“Tell us more about her, Michael.”
Did he think he was a psychiatrist or something?
“I first seen her as I looked out of the classroom window. It was Maths class.” I grinned. “Maths class was my least favourite. But I think you already knew that.”
I waited for a response, but received nothing so I continued.
“She was sitting on a bench outside. Her feet were bare and her hair was long, dark and flowing.” I told them, remembering. “And her dress was white.”
“Did she do anything?”
I shook my head. “She just sat there, facing away from me.”
“Were you aware that she wasn’t real at the time?”
I frowned. “She IS real!”
He sighed. “Tell us more.”
“I saw her more and more. She was following me, trying to tell me something. I could feel her presence when she approached me. She was full of anguish, like me,” I said, quietly. “It wasn’t until another Maths class that I first seen her face.”
“Was she outside again?”
“No. She was in the school corridor. I could see her through the window next to the door. Her face peeked in at the side…” I shuddered. “I had been so afraid. I screamed.”
“Why were you afraid, Michael.”
I searched his face before answering, trying to find any sign that he believed me.
“Her eyes were holes in her face,” I whispered. “Just deep, endless black holes. Looking into those holes I didn’t see empty eye sockets, but unending pits. Her skin was as white as death.”
“Jesus…” My mother gasped.
I smiled at her reaction. It pleased me to know she was afraid. They should all be afraid.
“When I screamed, everyone laughed. I pointed, asking them if they could see her, but none of them could. They deny everything they don’t understand, and so they make me look like the fool, and so they point and laugh at me.”
“What did your teacher say?”
“Miss Black had a fitting name.” I hissed. “She laughed, and told me to be quiet and sit down. I tried to tell her the girl was real, but she never listened.”
“Did that anger you?”
“Of course it angered me! I told her she should wipe that self-righteous smile from her face!”
“And what did she say?”
I grinned. “She told me to ‘bite my tongue’.”
The smile fell from the talking man’s face. He said nothing, but waited.
“She always told me to ‘watch my tongue’ and ‘bite my tongue’ whenever I said something she didn’t like. She never said it to any of the other pupils, only me.”
I remembered her face. She was old and withered, with a pointed nose and ugly teeth. Her hair was always pulled back into a bun, her glasses were thick and her intense, spiteful eyes pierced through them. She had a cold, black heart. I hated her.
“I kept on seeing the nightmarish girl, and each time I seen her she was closer, and closer,” I told them. “And then I heard her speak to me for the first time.” I knew they wouldn’t believe what I said, especially what I was about to tell them. But who cares? They didn’t need to understand or believe me. “I was walking home from school. My shirt had been torn and I could still smell the stench of mixed foods in my hair and on my clothing.”
“Why? Did the other kids do that to you?”
“Yes. They threw food at me and the boy I hated the most ripped my shirt, trying to pull me back when I attempted to run away.” I sighed. “As I was walking home I heard a voice saying my name. It was a whisper, but I could hear it as if it was…”
“In your head?” He smirked.
I hated that conceited smile of his. I wanted to snatch it from his face and spit on it.
“I looked around, searching for whoever said my name. I feared it would be someone from school wanting to torture me even more. They followed me home from time to time.” I laughed.
“So it was her? The girl?”
He asked too many questions. I didn’t like being rushed.
“Yes, it was her. She was looking up at me from a drain.”
The other man stopped writing to look at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Don’t lie, Michael,” my mother whispered.
“Trust the narrow-minded to assume I am the liar.” I sniggered.
She wept again, and I revelled with every whimper.
“How did she get down a drain, Michael? Did she fall?” the inquisitive man asked.
“No. She was in the drain. Under the metal, rusty bars,” I explained. “She looked up at me with those gaping holes of hers. A
nd she smiled.”
“What did she say?”
I smiled, proudly. “She said ‘who is like God?’”
“And what did she mean by that?”
“That’s what my name means,” I enlightened them. “It’s a reference to the Archangel Michael.”
“So who is like God? Are you? Is that why you did what you did?”
‘No, I am not like God. I am Michael,” I explained. “The meaning of the name is mockery as no one is like God. Not even Michael.”
“He fought against the Devil, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “So what else did she say?”
“I asked her what she meant, but she said nothing. I asked her who she was, but she ignored my question,” I told them. “Then she said ‘Michael should stand up to the evil.’ Her mouth never moved. Her smile never left her face.”
There was a short silence. The man stared at me, eagerly waiting for me to continue. I studied him, looking at his short, black hair and arrogant, brown eyes.
“I ran home, leaving her there, down in the drain. She would be looking up from that hole, through the bars each time I passed by.”
“Where else did you see her?”
“Everywhere.” I smiled.
I observed my mother’s folded arms. Her skin was covered with goose bumps from my terrifying words. She held a soaked tissue in one hand.
“The girl would appear in my dreams, showing me things.”
“What sort of things?”
“I seen them all laughing at me. They would point and laugh while the boy I hated most would hit me.”
“Is Daniel the boy you hate the most?”
“Yes.” I grinned. “Was that so obvious?”
He just stared back. He no longer smiled. His expression was blank.
“I heard the girl say ‘make them eat their words. Make sure they never point those fingers at you again. Make them all fall,’” I said softly. “She showed me images. I would be an angel and the rest would be the fallen. I would see them bleeding with missing fingers.” I sneered.
“How long did you carry on seeing this girl? How long before you…”
“Many weeks,” I said, talking over his pointless questions. “She would always be there. She would watch me at school. She would be there when I slept, and when I ate. And the more I seen her the less I feared her. I longed to hear her inspiring words. I could make them all do whatever I wanted.”
“Mikey…”
“Michael.”
“Michael…how did you make them do what they did?” he asked. “Did you learn how to use hypnosis? Or suggestion? Or did you threaten them all and force them?”
“Did they seem forced?”
He bit his lip and said nothing.
“One lunch time I was outside. Daniel was doing his usual routine of throwing food at me and pushing me over. Everyone watched and laughed. All except for one girl. She would never join in.”
“Was that girl Mary?”
I nodded. “Yes. She never participated.”
“And that’s why you didn’t want to harm her? But she is suffering from mental health problems now.”
I laughed. “I know.”
“Then why didn’t you make sure she wasn’t there to see it happen?”
“She didn’t laugh at me, but nor did she try to help.” I groaned. “She cared too much about herself to help others out of their Hell.”
He waited for me to go on with my story.
“Daniel was kicking me on the ground. When I tried to stand up, he would push me back down. I tried to stare into space. I tried to forget about him and the pointing fingers and the pain…” I growled. “And then I saw the girl with holes for eyes, watching from amongst the jeering crowd. And yes, she was smiling.”
I stared at the cold tea again. My mother had only taken one sip from it, and left pink lipstick on the edge of the mug.
“I remembered all she had told me. I remembered that she had said I could make them do anything.” I smiled to myself. “So I looked up at Daniel. ‘What are you looking at, you freak? You ugly fuck!’ He laughed, and the others joined in.”
“Did you fight back?”
“What if I had hit him back? Would that be self-defence or assault?” I sniggered. “It’s always so backwards. No, I didn’t fight back. I smiled at him and said ‘ugly? No, you are ugly.’ He went to kick me again, but I imagined him punching himself in the face, and as I imagined him doing it - he done it. I watched him punch his own horrible face, over and over again.” I laughed again, this time with more satisfaction in my voice. “His eyes were filled with terror and confusion. Everyone else stared at him as I got to my feet and walked away.”
“How did you make him hit himself in the face, Michael?”
“The girl told me, if you can open your mind to other worlds, anything is possible.”
The man sighed, closing his eyes. He didn’t believe my answer. None of them did. This both angered and amused me. I wanted them to know of my power, but I also wanted them to be afraid and remain ignorant. Michael was powerful. Michael was an angel and a prince, and he would make the evil fall.
“Let’s move onto the main event, huh?”
“Whatever you want.” I smiled. “Are you that impatient?”
He shrugged. “I just want to know what other lies you have for us.”
“Lies?” I spat. “Only a foolish mind would assume I was a liar.”
“I was bullied at school as well, Michael. I got into a lot of fights, got beaten up…”
“And? Did you do anything about it?”
He smiled. “I fought back a few times…but I realised that didn’t make me any better than them.”
“You’re just the same as them.”
The smile disappeared from his face as he watched me laugh. “You’re not like normal kids, huh?”
“So you define ‘normal’ kids as bullies?”
“I never said that.”
“They are all scum and got what they deserved.”
He leaned forward, crossing his arms. “Tell me what happened to them.”
“It was Maths class again. I was staring into space, not paying attention to Miss Black,” I explained. “She must have asked me a question, but I didn’t hear. I heard Daniel call across the classroom, ‘I bet he’s looking at his make-believe girlfriend again!’ The class laughed, including our demoralised teacher. Daniel didn’t remember his lesson from before with me. He told everyone he was joking around, lying to make himself look good.”
“Did you say anything back?”
“Yes. I told him to shut that vile mouth of his. I told him his ugly words matched his ugly face. And it was ugly. He had given himself a black eye and other bruises.” I sighed, contentedly. “The classroom gasped and laughed at my reaction, and started calling out other comments, challenging Daniel to hit me. ‘I’m gonna make you pay for that, Mikey,’ he grunted. I hate people calling me that. I had laughed at him and told him to try it. Of course, Miss Black told me off for apparently expressing aggressive behaviour. Not Daniel. Me.”
“Why do you think Miss Black disliked you?”
“Because she is evil. That’s why.”
“People aren’t just evil, Michael. There is always a reason.”
“Oh? So a paedophile is justified if they have a reason?”
“No, but…”
“So a paedophile isn’t evil?”
The dark haired man groaned, regretting his poor choice of words. I loved to make people eat their words. I loved to twist them. I was merely a child to him yet here I was, getting the better of him.
I decided to move on from this pathetic argument and resume telling them my story. “I told Miss Black she was a terrible teacher. I told her that her morals were almost as twisted as my mind. The class had laughed at that, calling me a freak and other such poisonous words.”
The memory ran through my mind like a movie. I played it over and over ag
ain, taking in the perfect feeling it gave me. They would try to lock me away for what I had done. They wouldn’t see the righteousness of my actions. It reminded me of those fools who crucified Jesus. But I wasn’t Jesus. I wasn’t God either. Who is like God? No one, but I was an angel. I could make those fools do anything I wanted.
“I remember seeing Mary in the corner of the classroom, ignoring this event as she continued doing Mathematics work. None of this amused her.” I smiled. “But I was amused. Daniel stared at me as I laughed at him. He hated it. I could see the anger spreading across his face like fire. ‘How does it feel to be laughed at?’ I asked him. He pointed at me and shouted, ‘you watch Mikey! I’m gonna fucking get you!’”
“What was your teacher doing at this moment?”
“Not much. Just standing there, bewildered. She didn’t tell Daniel off for swearing. She didn’t tell him to bite his tongue. She did panic when Daniel ran across the classroom to hit me. I let him,” I said, calmly. “I let him punch my face and I allowed myself to fall to the ground. As I lay there on my back, I looked up at Daniel and he laughed. I watched them all, pointing and sneering at me. I felt blood trickle from my nose. And then I saw her again.”
“The girl with holes for eyes?”
“Yes. And she was smiling.” I bit my lip, remembering and loving it. “Miss Black ran over to me as I lay there and dragged me to my feet. I glared at her scowling face. I could hear the little girl’s voice again. She told me things about them. She told me details about them all.”
“What sort of things?”
“She told me their secrets. Daniel was still laughing. I stood before him and said ‘does it make you feel better forcing people to feel the same way your mother makes you feel?’ His smile vanished as he asked ‘what?’ I went on to say ‘does she still beat you?’ I sniggered. ‘How does it feel to be beaten up by a woman?’”
I could tell none of them believed me. There was no proof to back up my story, but I didn’t care.
“Miss Black yelled. ‘Don’t say such things!’ The little girl whispered Miss Black’s secrets to me. She whispered without moving her mouth. I turned to the pathetic excuse for a woman and laughed. ‘Fifty years old and still not married. All those men keep finding better women behind your back, don’t they?’” I laughed, wiping away tears. “Her face was delightful. She was shocked and angry, but the anguish in her eyes made me know it was the truth. Do you know what she said to me?”
Broken Mirrors, Fractured Minds Page 5
