In the Midst of Monsters

Chapter 1: Scars Unseen

               The rain intensified outside, drumming steadily against the classroom window. Its rhythm mirrored Lisa's anxious heartbeat. While students were engrossed in a movie, immersed in star-crossed lovers and their stolen glances, Lisa was elsewhere. She was aware of every ticking second, each one amplifying the gravity of her discovery and decision she knew she had to make.

It felt like an eternity, she made up her mind. Slowly, her eyes returned to the composition book, its black cover bearing silent witness to the secrets within. With a steadying breath, Lisa turned the page, plunging herself further into the depths of Jack's journal, a voyage into the heart of darkness.

"I was born to a mother who wished me dead."

The starkness of Jack's words stopped her cold. She imagined his pen, pressing down hard, the ink a conduit for his pain.

Through the entries, a desolate landscape emerged. Amanda, his mother, a reluctant seventeen-year-old, had given birth to him out of obligation rather than love. Born in a system that dictated another abortion unsafe mandated she must have this child. Jack was an unwelcome reminder of her own adolescent recklessness, the manifestation of her trapped life with a son she never wanted. Each page of the journal, laden with dread and heartbreak, painted the raw portrait of a mother and son locked in a sadistic dance.

As Lisa read, she felt each sentence as if it was a weight, a chain, dragging her into a previously unknown abyss. It was as if she was peering into an unsanitized photograph, a reality distant from hers. These weren't mere words; they were scars, indelible marks of trauma.

"It's the odd irony of flesh, how it mends, erasing external scars. But the mind? The mind retains everything." Lisa's eyes widened as she continued, "As a baby, my mother's cigarette burns forced ear-piercing cries from me, until exhaustion silenced my wails. 'You want to cry? I'll give you a reason,' she'd sneer, the cigarette's ember branding my flesh. Over time, those burns faded, much like the welts from belts and coat hangers. Yet, they remain etched inside, deeper than skin. What's unseen, what lingers in memory, is far more potent and enduring."

Lisa paused, drawing a shaky breath before pressing on, "No one ever cared. Schoolmates added to my misery, compounding the cruelty of home. Like vandals painting over someone else's work, they left their mark on me."

"At age six, my uniform on the way to school was a stark white ensemble: a crisp button-up, matching slacks. Amid a schoolyard splashed with vibrant hues and the untamed spirit of childhood rebellion, I stood out — a blank canvas inviting tarnish."

Lisa could almost see him, a small figure standing out among a sea of colors. She felt the discomfort, the weight of every hostile stare directed at him.

"I counted five blocks to school: four south and one turning west, each about 900 feet. But the journey across those initial 3600 feet was treacherous, a gauntlet of potential threats, only relenting when I turned onto my familiar street." Lisa could feel the tension building, the anticipation palpable.

There was a mention of a hill, a gift of camouflage from vigilant crossing guards. "Even at a mere seven years, Shane recognized its tactical advantage." Jack's journal recounted.

"Look who we have here, the freak show," Shane sneered, emerging with malicious glee.

"Just... not today."

"But Shane had momentum on his side. A forceful shove, a smirk, and suddenly the world was dirt and scorn. My previously immaculate white uniform now marred, Shane's laughter piercing the air, drowning any attempt to protest."