Devil to the Damned (Prequel #2 )

1|6 - Precious Precarious

It was once put into perspective by her father why the high school was built on top of the hill. He compared it to a castle in medieval times, and how difficult it is for any to enter without being noticed; it was all about security and status. In a modestly urban city like this, the hilltop campus served as a resource for all neighboring schools.

Small towns within a fifty-mile radius in any direction were encouraged to enroll their own students in various curricula. That influx every year helped keep the school at the top of the state, and trickle a steady income of tax money to funnel into the city's projects. Hence, why someone like the pad-lock kid could openly attack and leave Christine hobbling away from the boulder without any repercussion; strangers were numerable and faceless.

With the school on a hill, most elected to drive or ride the bus to avoid the gradual incline and somewhat windy pavement. In the summer it was bearable and good exercise, but in the winter it wasn't worth a dare. Many small trails and shortcuts had been established over the years; a standout structure of which was built by the senior class of '72. They erected a wooden platform with steps to conquer the steepest hill near where the school driveway connected to the main road.

Christine had trudged a few hundred yards from the starting point of the boulder; wearily stumbling along the pavement and taking a few known shortcuts when the road curved around a collection of stumps. Supposedly the city started cutting to make the path more direct but that particular cluster was too shifty in colder seasons. It took almost twenty minutes at her slower pace to finally arrive at the aforementioned staircase. The bottom steps connected to a paved parking lot behind the elementary school, where many other small footpaths linked at the edge of the playground and soccer field off to the side.

The elementary school was considerably smaller since it housed only local kids. This building was established first and acted as all twelve grades early on, but as things expanded over tens of years, well, things changed.

She braced herself at the top platform overlooking the grade school; panting and holding onto the chest-high wooden railing. Small ferns and birch trees decorated the sheer decline on either side of her; a chain link fence followed the tree line to keep anyone from taking a hard fall.

At this point, the searing pain in her chest had reached its apex and began its extended consistency. A stabbing hot pain that felt like jacks and granite cubes occupied her lungs; pressing the inner lining with every deflation. From her tender inspection of fingertips gliding along the curved bone, she surmised nothing was broken, however, the delicate singe of her fingertips indicated a nasty bruise was forming.

At the bottom of the stairs were many parents and older siblings waiting by the back door. Christine began her slow descent as their mid-tone mumbling occupied the empty air. She reached the bottom and placed herself in the back with the others, all waiting behind a wooden safety rail that separated the parking spaces from the hill.

She idled for only a minute, eying the backs of many heads and inspecting various postures before the exterior bell rang loudly into the ocean-blue sky; signaling for the school to empty. Her feet shuffled across the cracked pavement where parked cars sputtered hot breaths from their exhausts and curled her nostrils with the smell of heated metal and rubber friction. A heavy sigh and wince emptied the last bit of fire she wielded behind tired eyes. And thus, repression began.

The back door opened outward and a single teacher greeted the crowd with a smile. She held the door open while a little herd of children poured out. Christine secured her place within view and patiently counted departing heads.

Ten or so kids located their parents and joined them. One by one, the collective heat thinned and she started to feel more and more noticed. Her posture reclused as bystanders in wait caught her dark appearance in the corner of their eyes. Loud sniffles and throat clearing were obvious verbal ticks to those that had a comment but chose silence. Unlike most days, she huffed a tout breath and straightened her back as best as she could; proud and in her mind, no different than the rest of them.