Murder On The Air

Smile, My Deer

Autumn, nineteen hundred and eight

Only a few people knew exactly how exhausting it was to keep up a grin constantly. Twelve year old Alastor was one of those few. He smiled during joyful times like when he rode his red two-wheeler bike for the first time around the streets. Ignoring the jeers of "mestizo!" and "bastard boy!" from a group of older kids, he just zipped on by, seemingly without a care in the world. Riding felt like flying into freedom.

He smiled during mundane moments, like when he had to study Bible verses in front of his father or when he nearly mastered putting together his first deer head after removing tendons and skin.

He even smiled during less pleasant events like when the older boys in his class shoved him against the wall, punching him in the face and kicking him in the gut.

"Ya like that, lanky lunatic!" asked a blonde bully leader named Billy who proceeded to punch him square in the nose. "You're dirty and dirt poor, ha!" He wore a red and white baseball cap, a blue shirt and fancy pants. His blue eyes were cold like unforgiving ice. Alastor growled as his eye swelled up and his nose bled. Defending himself only resulted in being outnumbered.

"Go roll in feces, jerk!" he spat back.

"Fuck you," Billy replied with another shove.

He yelled in pain and was soon curled into a ball as the boys kicked and spat at him. Finally, after an eternity, the boys laughed and left, leaving Alastor a shaking mess. His clothes were dirty and torn in some places. With shaking legs, he stood up and dusted himself off. His reading glasses had been knocked off his face and now lay in pieces by his feet.

Time for another new pair.

Several hours later, the eighth year bully was pestering a pretty brown-haired girl Alastor had been fond off in the hallway.

"Hey Mary," Billy said, walking over to her side, a little too close. "Wanna spend some quality time with me?"

"No thanks, Billy. I've got work to do."

"Come on, ya know ya want to."

He proceeded to lift up her dress and grab her butt.

"Hey, get off!" she cried as he laughed.

"Hey Billy!"

Billy let go and turned around. "Hey, it's the Ass-lator freak!"

"Leave her alone!"

Billy strut toward Alastor. "What ya gonna do about it? Complain and cry?"

"I'll tell the teacher."

"The teacher doesn't care about you. Nobody does. You're lucky to not be in a colored lowlife classroom. Why don't you go cry to your scum of a momma?"

Alastor fumed, his cheeks and ears turning red. "At least my Mama raised me well. Did she pop you out on accident?"

"Ooooh!" called the other kids as they laughed.

Billy clenched his white fists, "You're dead, goop!"

"Break it up!" called a teacher's voice. She walked over and separated the boys. "Get to class unless you want the paddle and writing lines on the chalkboard."

Billy gave him one last glare before leaving.

"Thank you," said Mary.

"You're welcome," said Alastor. "Don't let that jerk get to you." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before walking on.

Alastor's cheeks were getting sore as he walked back home from school. A wooden pointed white fence stood off to his left. He was roaming the richer part of the neighborhood. A white wooden mansion towered above him flanked by two tall leafy trees: Billy's house.