wake up, phil - [phan]

{ 26 } - Taunted

Phil's POV

It's the same dreams. The same horrible scenes and images. Again and again. I can't get rid of them. I can't break through them. Nothing can help me. I have different dreams now. But they still torture me. Relentlessly.

They all have Dan in them. Every single one of them. And in every one, he's hurt or harmed and I can never do anything to stop it. Never, and-

The boys, three of them, muscley, huge, thick arms, hard faces, ferocious glares.

And they glare down at him, an height average boy, thin, with a deep tan, his brown eyes filled with worry. His hair is thick and dark, and tousled, his school trousers low on his hips.

The boy's eyes deepen with horror as the boys approach him, clenching their huge fists. Lying on his back, using his elbows as support on the hard lino floor, he attemps to desperately crawl backwards, but he's trapped, as the back of his head hits the deep blue locker doors behind him. He realises he's trapped.

His eyes dart around, looking for a route of escape past the boys. There's as small gap between the particularly burly boy at the end and the lockers. He swivels onto his side and attempts to scuttle past the boys, but he's too slow. The boy lifts his foot, which is wearing a well-worn black Doc Marten boot, and stamps down on the boy's side.

An audible whumphh sound escapes the younger boy's lips as his chest slams down into the floor again. His long fringe flips over his face, but it's clear that the tears have begun to flow.

The three older boys see this too, and they snicker with mean laughter.

And then the tallest boy reaches down. He grabs the younger boys right ear and sharply yanks at it.

He uses the ear to pull to the snivelling boy off the floor. The boy's face clenches up in pain and the three older boys laugh at his face.

The tall boy keeps yanking at the ear until the younger boy is fully at his feet. And then, within the space of a few seconds, the tall boy manages to yank the small boy up by the scruff of his shirt and slam him against the lockers.

The boy's feet are no longer on the ground. He desperately tries to kick and lash out, pressed up against the lockers, but the three boys dodge his kicks and hoot with laughter.

"Leave me alone!"

The small boy is almost as surprised at himself as the three boys are. Regret casts over his face immediately.

"Sorry, say that again?"  The tallest boy spat into the boy's face.

The boy squirms and turns his face away, his hot cheek pressed against the locker.

"I asked you a question."

The boy winced.

"Are you deaf? I ASKED YOU A QUESTION."

The boy let out a tiny whimper, as tears streamed down his face. The boys saw his weakness and chortled again.

"Looks like the emo boy isn't so tough. So what's it like, being a gaylord? Isn't it great, being lord of the gays? Isn't it? ISN'T IT GREAT?" He spat out the last word.

The boy was trembling with fear. He can't have been that old. Fourteen? Fifteen?

"ANSWER ME, GAYLORD."

"I-IT'S GREAT, BEING THE LORD OF THE GAYS!" The boy whimpered out of fear, letting the boys get to him. They all laughed, one of them clutching their stomachs with laughter.

The tall boy took his hands away from the boy's shirt, so he slid down the lockers, almost crumpling to the ground, just barely still standing. He thought it was over, as a hint of relief clouded his face.

No way.

The slightly shorter, stumpy boy came forward, almost pushing the taller one out the way.

He reached up, and stuck a huge hand through the younger boy's thick dark hair. The boy winced, bracing himself. He had reason to.

The stumpy boy yanked up at the hair, pulling it upwards, dragging the boy with it, his arms flailing.

"Stop it!" he stuttered, his voice cracking.

"Didn't realise you could talk. Do anything else, gaylord? Or are you still just the useless whimpering piece of trash?"

The boy thrashed about, clearly in pain.

"STOP IT. LEAVE ME ALONE." He cried.

"What did you say?"

"I SAID STOP IT. PLEASE."

The boy sniffed and breathed heavily. His chest rose and fell fast, his face red and splattered with tears, the hair still being pulled at on his head.

"How dare you talk to me like that. How dare you! Well, trash boy... looks like we're gonna have to punish you for your sin."

The boy was dropped to his feet again. This time, he couldn't keep himself up, and he slid down the lockers to the floor, crouching on his feet, defeated. His legs were shaking.

He looked up, his eyes widening, as he watched the three boys back away.

Only to take a run up.

The tallest ran, jumped, yanked, punched, at the small boy crouched on the floor, using his arms to shield his face. The two others boys quickly joined him.

I wanted to run forward, to shove the bullies away, to take the boy in my arms, make him feel safe.

But I couldn't. My feet seemed physically glued to the floor. My eyes transfixed at the horrible sight. I crouched down, to see if I could get a better view, not sure why I wanted to. The constant sound of skin hitting skin, occasional crunches, whimpers, whines, cries for help.

I seized my chance to get a better view of the boy. The tallest one was throwing punches faster and harder than lightening, but he was still stood up. There was a gap between his legs, so I peered through his legs.

My heart skipped several beats.

The boy was growing up again. I got a severe sense of deja vu. This is what happened in every dream of Dan.

He always grew up. The boy, skin paling, growing in length, filling his shirt out, hair becoming shorter and darker, becoming the Dan I knew now, but he stayed the same.

Still cowering, still lost, calling for help. Beaten down, hurt, in need of someone to help him and hold him and tell him everything was fine.

Phil, that's you.

What?

For one brief moment, I made eye contact with the boy, in between punches being thrown at his face. His face was partly bloody and already bruised. He looked at me. He pleaded with his eyes.

"Help me, Phil!"

Suddenly, I was pulled away, out of the dream entirely. I was back, into my pale black universe, where I spent my time in between dreams. But there was something different. It felt like a knife was ripping through the dark, thick fog I had been wrapped in. I felt it. A hand. In mine.

It felt real, a real touch. If only I could break through entirely. How?

Suddenly, the hand on mine disappeared as quickly as it has come. A voice replaced it. A voice I knew all too well.

"I'm coming for you, Phil,

And I have no choice."

-