Billy Hargrove might rule the corridors of Hawkins High as the bully. Yet, behind closed doors at home, he's the victim, tormented by his own father. His mother abandoned him, so he has no defender against his abuser.
But at school, Steve Harringto...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Steve walks into the building and moves among people. He quickly becomes aware of glances thrown his way. Maybe his presence is stirring a certain memory in somebody. Yet, the entire school seems to be staring right down into his very soul, causing Steve to feel naked.
He picks up the pace to get to his locker. But the long, narrow corridors turn into perfect tunnels for whispers and giggles. Once Steve approaches his locker, a cold grip seizes his gut.
Steve gasps, glares at the picture taped to his locker door. 'No ...' He touches it to make sure that what he's seeing isn't just a figment of his imagination.
No, no, no, no, no, no. He bangs his fist into the locker.
Gasps erupt from behind him, followed by more hushed whispers and giggles. His ears gather names too, slurs being flung his way like hatches cutting through his back, pelting into him one after the other. It's all unfolding around him without anyone to press on the brakes. He rips the picture off, destroying it ... only to notice the same picture attached to every locker.
Steve rears. It's as if the world pulls back from him, as if some great hand from above pinches the fabric of reality, making everything seem further away. Not the voices, though. Not the laughs and the fingers pointing at him. The explicit gestures directed at him are close. They're all the way inside of his head and his very being.
He drags his gaze away. He wants to flee, but he moves slowly, shrinking with each passing second, becoming less and less significant to the world, until he's nothing but a mote of dust, one to be stepped on without care and to be forgotten. Steve wishes to be forgotten. He wishes for the picture to be forgotten.
He attempts to run, not knowing if he's succeeding in doing so. Voices push him from behind. Voices clutch his ankles and wrists like shackles, trying to strap him into place and expose all of his vitals.
Steve finds himself outside in the parking lot. He gulps as he looks up at the sky. The school knows now. The whole town will know soon.
He crashes into his car, fumbles to open it, and locks himself away from the world. As soon as he's in his seat, he starts to cry. It's a screaming sob, rupturing his very vocal chords with anguish.
