Chameleon

Chapter 15

The smell of turps was making his eyes water.

In a way, Colin was glad of that. It masked the tears of humiliation.

He tipped the bottle and splashed some more of the solvent onto a cloth, then rubbed vigorously at his bare backside.

By standing on the rim of the bath and peering over his shoulder he could see his rear end reflected in the mirror over the basin.

It was still blue.

He groaned and rubbed again. If only Cathy hadn't been there to see it. If only he could have been spared that ultimate humiliation. Pain, he was prepared for. Gladly he would have taken a beating in such a noble cause and worn his scars with pride, but not this. This was too sick for words. It proved, if proof were needed, that these people were depraved beyond all redemption.

Hot tears of rage welled up in his eyes as he played those loathsome events through again in his mind.

They'd dragged him, kicking and screaming, into the games arcade and slammed him, face down, across one of the pinball machines. Whilst two of them held his arms, the third removed his trousers and underpants. Quite a crowd had gathered, all of them laughing and jeering, offering disgusting comments. From this awkward position, Colin couldn't see what happened next, but he heard it. Heard a series of sharp clicks, which he later realised was the sound of a spray can being shaken. He heard the crowd roar with laughter. And then he felt it. A fine, wet, spray across his buttocks and thighs. Back and forth, back and forth. With each pass, the crowd roared and clapped their approval even more loudly.

'Degenerate!' Colin had yelled. 'Devil's children! You are corrupt and you shall pay!'

No-one took a blind bit of notice.

Finally, their evil work was finished and they took up a chant.

'Baboon bum, baboon bum, baboon bum!'

That most loathsome face, the dark, evil eyes, the tattooed HATE across the forehead, pressed itself close to Colin's own.

'Do you like fruit?' the face asked. A grubby hand appeared, clutching a banana. Then both the face and the hand disappeared, and the chant broke up into gales of unrestrained laughter.

For a second, Colin didn't realise what was happening, then his whole body spasmed as the tip of the fruit was pushed between his buttocks. He tried to resist. He ground his teeth. The veins on his forehead standing out like thick, blue, cables, and finally, he screamed as the banana was rammed home.

Only then did they let him go. Trouserless, humiliated, abused and sobbing, they chased him around the car park, taunting and jeering.

Eventually, they grew tired of the chase and let him be.

He was two streets away before he dared to stop and remove the banana. There was blood of the tip.

Fortunately, his anorak was long and the night was dark. Motorists who passed flashed their lights and sounder their horns. Pedestrians laughed or crossed the street to avoid him.

Luckily, his parents were asleep when he arrived home. He retrieved the turps from the cabinet in the garden shed and locked himself in the bathroom.

This is not the end, he told himself. I will make them all pay for this. The time has come to fight fire with fire.

***