World Eater

2

A BEAD OF SWEAT TRACED A PATH A DOWN ALZAR'S NECK. He stood at the threshold unnoticed, but his mind told him that all eyes were on him, staring holes into his body.

He shuffled to the farthest corner of the room, fumbling with the zipper on his cotton pullover shirt. His trembling fingers couldn't seem to pull it down. Finally, he tugged it over his head, ash brown hair crackling with static against his neck. He tucked himself against his locker, fishing inside for his gym clothes.

His free hand slipped to the back of his arm, fingers brushing against his skin, searching for any sort of blemish. He dug at a scab, too distracted to stop himself from indulging in his bad habit. Sticky blood coated his fingertips, and he quickly wiped it on his pant leg.

“Ew, what's with his back?”

Fear stabbed through Alzar’s chest with a cold spear. He flinched, his shirt slipping from his sweaty hands and falling on the ground. He couldn't breathe. This was the exact situation he had ran through his head hundreds of times, but he couldn't even force himself to act.

“Is that contagious? That's really gross, man.”

Alzar’s heart pounded so hard in his chest he thought it would burst from his flesh.

“Hey, answer me!” the boy barked, throwing a sock at Alzar, “Do you got like an STD or something? Is that what herpes looks like?”

“I don’t think he's got herpes. I heard he's a fag,” the other boy replied, shrugging.

Alzar clenched his eyes shut, a headache splitting in his forehead. He could feel the pain throbbing against his eyes, ears buzzing like a chorus of cicadas. His senses fell into distortion, like he was being held under water.

He covered his mouth, muffling a cry. Not again.

He tasted iron in his mouth, or was it bile? He forced his eyes open, but the locker room felt like a fantasy, like a recording on television. The sight of his own hands felt foreign.

And then...nothing.