One More Suicide

//Prologue//

     The young boy sat on one of the benches of the school's locker room. His dark brown hair covered a part of his electric blue eyes. He bent down to untie his shoes when the locker room door opened. He didn't pay attention to it, no one in that school would even go near him so why bother knowing who walked in. That is until he felt the sharp pain on his side. He hissed as he was hit again.

Three guys whose faces were covered with masks dropped him to the floor. The others in the locker room scurried out as they saw the young boy being beaten. Two of the covered men kicked the boy over and over as the third one recorded the events on his phone.

The young boy on the floor whimpered and cried for them to stop but they laughed as they continued. The phone on the floor that belonged to the helpless young boy began to ring, but it was unheard over the big commotion.

A picture of a girl appeared on the screen of his phone. She was looking down with smile on her face that made her cheekbones stand out beautifully. The young boy had taken the picture without the girl knowing and it was his favorite picture of her. The missed call registered on the screen along with the two others that followed that one.

The young girl paced around her living room, the phone clutched to her hand as she called him once again. She nervously played with a piece of her hair as she waited for him to pick up.

"Hey, it's Zion, you know what to do..."

She sighed before speaking. "Zion, it's me. This is the third message I've left you. Please call me back, I'm worried." She hung up the phone as she finished talking. Her fingers tapped against the phone as she continued to pace.

She was worried. He was supposed to arrive home around five in the afternoon and the clock had just marked seven-thirty. He stayed after school for soccer practice and that ended around three hours before that time. It only took him ten minutes to get home and the door had not opened to reveal him.

The tapping of heels brought her attention to the doorway, where her mother arrived with a steaming cup of tea in her hands. She grimaced at the horrible noise. She's never liked the tapping that heels made against the floor, but heels were all her mother wore those days. Dresses, too. The red vibrant one she wore was modest and decent--what a rich woman would usually wear.

"Anything?"

"He sends me right to voicemail," she replied as she attempted to call him again. It sent her right to voicemail, again.

Her mother placed the tea on the coffee table and went to stand in front of her distraught daughter. "Calm down, honey," she said. "He'll be here soon, for sure."

Her reassuring was a lost cause. She knew something was wrong. He would always call on his way home or when he wasn't going to get home on time. Always--no matter what happened.

"Mom, he would've picked up the phone by now," she protested as she checked her phone.

"Maybe he went to visit his parents," she tried, which earned a scoff from her daughter.

"I doubt that. He would have told me, either way." She sighed and looked away from her mother. "His parents don't want to see him, anyways."

Zion Forbes was not her brother. People believed they thought of each other as siblings because of their long time friendship, but the truth was something else. They met when they were five years old at their kindergarten class. She noticed the way he sat alone with nothing in front of him during lunch time, so she walked up to him that day and sat by his side offering half of her sandwich. He had smiled shyly and accepted the chunk she had ripped off with her tiny hand.