Breaking free...

He walked to school slowly, measuredly...today a day like any other. Tenth frikking grade...how he HATED it! The skyscrapers of his parents expectations, all built on his fragile shoulders...it had become so he hated going back home every day, to the same cliqued screaming, his mother screeching at him to STUDY, STUDY...all the things he enjoyed doing snatched away from him, the television a dead, empty shell, the dangling wires that his father had cut mocking him every day...the locks on the bookshelf, behind which his Harry Potters and Stephen Kings cried for release...and the reports, low grade after low grade inciting yet another beating from his father, the welts from the previous beating still unhealed when new ones formed...more and more punishments being invented with each test as his performance down-spiraled...he HATED it! He HATED the studies, HATED the bloody system, HATED his school, HATED his parents, HATED HATED HATED!The memories started it again...frustration rising in a red wave...the overwhelming need to destroy something, to BREAK something ripping through his self-control...his vision seemed to blur as adrenaline rushed through his system, walk quickening, just HOPING that someone messed with him right now...slowly, he asserted himself again, calming himself down, desperately, scared of what he would end up doing if he lost control...

He reached school, still walking in the same dead, slow, unwilling way, not wanting at all to go through it all over again...the Hell of bloody tenth standard. 'Stop it, stop it!' he forced his thoughts away...but there was no positive side to think about and calm down...he tried to shut himself off completely, imposing blankness over his mind...struggling to NOT think at all...he reached class two minutes late...and there she was. His CLASS TEACHER. She turned towards him, smiling that sarcastic smile she always reserved for him. "Come in, come in, Sir! We were all waiting for you as usual! PLEASE come in...Rahul, get a special chair for our special Guest!" And he came, sneering as usual. Rahul. Rich, spoilt brat...a bully who doubled as a perfect student. Great grades, beloved of all the teachers...and HE was the perfect target...never complaining, living his life in quiet, stony, loneliness...flunking all the tests. Even the teachers enjoyed it...that the dirty DOG's father was a donor didn't hurt at all either. He ignored the sneer, looking down at the floor, keeping himself firmly under control...but that wouldn't satisfy RAHUL, would it? He laughed sadistically, keeping the chair in the corner of the class, and said, "Please come, Sir. Sit. We are here to serve you, after all!" And the class laughed faithfully, like bloody puppies...he went and sat quietly in the corner. The abuse went on the whole period...being picked on for every tiny reason...for NO reason...just for Rahul's bloody entertainment...it got worse and worse, but he stayed just like that, staring at the floor, frozen...knowing that, if he looked up, that would be it. He would lose it.

The rest of the day passed the same way...every teacher coming into the class, removing some of their frustration, their anger onto him, and leaving...and he absorbed all that frustration like a sponge. Making it his own. Finally recess arrived, his few blessed moments of peace...he almost sprinted out of the class, running to his tiny, concealed eating place, where he sat every day, all alone, hiding from Rahul and his lackeys, his one unspoiled, undefiled refuge, where he could truly be himself. And there, in his seclusion, he let his rage out. He picked up a stone, walked to one end of his tiny corner, and threw it with all his strength at a tree, exploding into movement as he let his rage out. And then another, harder. And another. His own personal therapy, repeated each day, giving him some peace, some satisfaction...he almost smiled as he managed to scratch the tree, the sight of the sap flowing down somehow a release. At least he was affecting SOMETHING. And then, suddenly, his space was invaded. The trees were shoved aside rudely, the jeering voices reaching him, preceding the loathsome sight of HIM, him and his gang of lackeys, identical sneers on their faces, reveling in their victory. They had finally found him. He quickly became the stone again, raising his walls, preparing his defences. But he was acutely aware of how shaky they were...they had invaded his LAST, intensely private space...'Damn them!' His rage was there, right below the surface, closer than ever before...but there was no alternative. He would have to take it.

Rahul grinned. "Hi, Rat! We finally found your hole! How's it going?" But suddenly he hesitated, the sneer faltering a little as he saw something in those dead, lifeless eyes, a hidden flash, a spark...but, in his rush, he ignored his instincts...foraging on with renewed vigour, angry that he was feeling afraid. "What, are you unhappy? Did we interrupt you crying? Missing mamma? Oh, but I forgot-Mamma has given up too, no? On her little rat? Came to school and said it also, no? Cried in the office of the Princi, no? Poor Mamma rat...but not her fault! What can she do if Papa rat is a drunk dog, passing on dirty genes? Are they even his, by the way? Or some other rat, passing by? Ha? Say something, coward!" In the end it wasn't the insults that did it, but the laughter of the faithful lackeys...their mechanical "Ha ha" slowly, irretrievably pushing him towards the edge...he began to walk slowly towards the mongrel standing there, still trying to keep some last vestiges of control even though he KNEW it was pointless, and why did he care, anyway? Why SHOULD he? Everyone hated him, his so-called PARENTS hated him, they wanted him dead, didn't they? At least this way he would give them something to remember him by...and he would be doing the bloody world TWO favours-the first, by killing HIM, the second, by destroying himself. "One more word, bitch-and you'll say no more," he whispered. "Is that so, Rat? What you gonna do, ha?"

"I'm gonna wipe. That Sneer. Off. Your. Damn. FACE!" he roared, forgetting everything, mind going blank as he gave in to the rage...rushing forward, losing control entirely for the first time...feeling that Rush of pure, angry thrill...he saw the object of his hate through a red haze...saw the rest of the faithful MICE sprint...saw even HIM turn around to run. "HA!" He roared again as he reached out and grabbed the back of his shirt...the next few minutes were a blur, one long, suspended moment of MOVEMENT, of destruction, his hate pouring out of him in waves, washing away all the injustice, all the insults in pure, warm red, the screams like music to his ears...

He finally managed to stop, spent...all rage gone...finished...he looked down at his hands and felt his face twist in horror...the full realization of what he had done slamming into him, knocking him to his knees...the ground felt strangely wet...he looked down. "NOOO!" He got up and began to run, no thought in his mind but to get away from what he had seen, what he had DONE...he ran and ran...past the horrified teachers who had come to search for him...past the boys cowering in the classes...past the open-mouthed Guard at the gate. Onto the highway. He barely even heard the desperate screeching of brakes...applied suddenly...too late. He smiled, the impact washing everything away...his guilt, his fear...the image of what he had done. Free...finally...completely.