The Berserker Chronicles [ONC 2022]

The Commotion In The Commode

Chapter One

Welcome to Bloomsville
High, where bullies, fearful Friars
And hard Stonewalls live.

THERE ARE CERTAIN DAYS WHEN you wake up and discover that your day would be rotten.

Days that went like: Getting out of bed late, barely avoiding getting run over by an escaped zebra while crossing the zebra and then slipping into Bloomsville High. Not necessarily in that order.

As for me, everyday's a rotten day.

Now, at school, does it sound right if I tell you the Voldemort to my Harry Potter is actually a female punk?

It sure does if you see her for yourself.

Big Bad Bel, whose bona fide name is Claribel Tearle Dare, is the sensational and apex bully of Bloomsville High.

Claribel's a huge girl with a red mohawk hairdo, a cute unicorn and raven tattoo, a silver nose ring, and a red rhinestone nose stud that winks like the bloodshot eye of a Minotaur.

And she's everything but beautiful.

You'd think Mr Friar Rogers, the principal - a pink-faced middle-aged man with shiny bald pate and love handles that bounces with every breath he takes - would tell her off, especially about her bullish appearance and her more bullish attitude.

Quite the contrary. He praises her because he's scared of her incognito.

I took a left turn the moment I stepped into Bloomsville High, trying to avoid Claribel and her minions. My heart did a backflip when she called me.

"Hey, worm."

I ran off but my legs stayed behind. Only half a minute later did I realize I was rooted to the same spot. I turned, heaved a sigh, shoved my hands into my pockets and walked toward the emo girls as cool as a boy who spends his entire life playing an online strategy game.

The logic is to be cool. I told myself. Give them that Kool-Aid smile. Don't mess this up.

"Yo, Bel. " Naturally, I messed up.

Bel, whose arm was folded across her chest, said nothing. I acknowledged her minions behind.

"Hi there, Nirvana. H-Hello Nightshade, I d-didn't notice you guys were over here." I lied, making a sound between a titter and a sob. "Anyway, good morning y'all. Don't have a good day. Have a great day." I turned to go.

As anticipated, Claribel grabbed me by the scruff of my neck, hauling me up as if I were a skewered rabbit. "Where do you think you're going, worm?"

"Nowhere." I squeaked mid-air. "I was thinking of grabbing you guys some mocktails at The Cluckin's during lunch. Care for one?"

"Mocktails," Claribel laughed - a bitter sound that refused to sweeten up even after the addition of a strawberry cake. (A three-tiered cake once fell on her at a prank birthday party. Long story.) "Do I look like a kid?"

I would've told her that we were all kids, probably within the same age group - thirteen, fourteen or fifteen. I had to bite my tongue to refrain from stating such an implicating fact. "No, Bel. I was just trying to be nice."

"'No, Bel. I was just trying to be nice,'" Claribel mimicked what I suspected was my voice.

This was the cue for her minions to laugh, blow raspberries or do whatever minions do as backup bullies. They didn't. Even though they claimed to be a family, the trio knew that their relationship was more of a tyranny, with Claribel being the evil witch queen and Nightshade and Nirvana, the simple subservient serfs.