Mr. Hawkin

Chapter 1

I have been forced to fade away. I became nothing but a memory in peoples heads that can be looked upon when recalling "the good ol' days". I'm dead, if that wasn't easy to piece together. I was murdered before my senior year even started, I was only 17.

My killer remains undetected, lurking in my community away from the consequences of what he has done. I know who he is, but in a ruthless move from the universe against my friends and family, they don't know. They have to sit and wonder whether or not it was someone I was close to, or if it was some sick bastard who had nothing to do with me in life. If I was still alive, I would have never had the heart to tell them that my killer was most definitely someone I knew. He was someone that I was, considerably very close to. Mr. Hawkin. My 11th grade English teacher. See, he still very much is lurking within my community. He's sitting there, waiting to be caught I suppose. Nobody knows it's him, but then again, how could they? Why would the mild mannered English teacher, in some irrelevant town, in an even more irrelevant school, be the perpetrator of such a cruel act of violence? He was a predator. That's why.

I noticed that Mr.Hawkin was not a normal teaching figure during the first month or so of school. He had sent me an email, asking me to come in after or before school to discuss the content of my essay from the weeks prior. I agreed, the request seemed innocent enough.

"You seem to be going through a tough time Sam, I'm just making sure everything is safe with you."

I was painfully and over zealously embarrassed by this acknowledgement of my personal life. How could he have known that I was experiencing the sort of breakdown most people have to wait for until they're old.

"Oh, um, thanks for asking...I guess, but really, I'm all good."

"I don't think that something this angsty could be coming out of someone who is, 'really, all good'"

He slides over a printed out, sort of crumpled version of what I had written for our last paper. It's only adorned with the practical, and procedural 12 point times new roman font. And a single line, highlighted.

"Nothing matters if we all end up miserable and trapped anyways." it reads. Dammit.

"I didn't really mean much by it, just an observation I've had"

I let this out timidly, to prevent him from discovering my sparse, and frankly tragic attempt at a lie.

"Are you sure Sam? This seems to be pretty gnarly, especially compared to the writing of your classmates."

His inclusion of the word gnarly stuck with me at the time, it was oddly comforting, hearing him try to make a genuine conversation with me, not trying to scold me, or force me to let out some admission of dysfunction. I mull over what my next move in this ferociously tedious conversation should be.

"I mean, sure not everything is sunshine and roses, but I'm trying my best to make do, and move on, you know?"

Mr.Hawkin looks at me in a way that I've only ever seen in a movie. This odd look of fixation, and desire. It seems almost, sexual. He's looking at me in a way that begs me to share more, and give a little bit more of myself to him.

"I guess, things are kinda rough right now, but I really am trying to manage, I'm sorry if I worried you too much."

"You didn't worry me Sam, not too much at least. I just know what it's like to be a teenager in a hard spot, and just wanna keep you from falling into the same traps that I did."

In an act of perverted, selfish, bravery he leans in and gives me a hug. A move from him that I wasn't quite expecting. Of course I hug him back, because he's established this faux bond between us, that I'm gonna try and latch onto for as long as I can.