Crack Attack: A Collection of One-Shots and Other Disturbing Shit

Smile (Vik; Crazy Craft)

"You don't belong here."

"Why'd you come back? I thought we told you not to come back!"

"Fuckin' Paki. Do you think he even speaks English?"

"Answer me! Didn't we tell you not to come back?!"

I'm in a corner and I've got nowhere left to hide. Why did they need to give us a full hour for lunch? Why wouldn't ten minutes suffice? Harold's freckled, meaty hand is dragging me by the back of my uniform, and I already know where we're headed. I have a clean change of clothes in my bag, and two others in my locker down on the fourth floor, but I'd prefer not to take another swim in the loo if I can help it. Charlie laughs and follows behind us, his face locked in its usual sneer and his eyes filled with a hatred that none of the faculty ever seem to be able to see. I've done everything I can to stop it. Everything I can think of. But thus far, nothing has worked.

"Does your mum not have enough food to feed you? Lookit how boney he is. Like a fuckin' skeleton."

"Does Barn Boy want some food? I say we feed him lunch today, what do you say?" The other three laugh as the door to the end stall bounces against the wall, and this is a scenario that I don't ever want to replay. The bowl is full to the brim with toilet paper and some unseen beast, and I'm being dragged toward it against my will. I can't deal with this again. I won't deal with this again.

"Bet he's used to it, livin' in a barn with all fifty sibs and suckin' on his mum's titties. They worship cows in your religion, don't they?" The time their minute, withered brains waste trying to insult me is time that I can spend escaping from them. I turn to the side and pretend to be struggling when in reality, I'm unbuttoning the front of my blazer. The meathook continues pulling until the navy blue jacket slips right off, and the others don't have time to react before I'm racing toward them, dodging their dimwitted attempts at grabbing my arms and tie.

We've done this dance before, many a time.

I leave my bag behind in the bathroom, disinterested in anything but losing the imbeciles stomping along the linoleum floor behind me. Their footsteps echo off of the metal lockers and brick walls, and I can't risk turning to see how far behind me they are. I turn the far corner and head for the stairwell, my mind deciding for itself how I'm going to end this.

One way or another, this ends today.

"Where're you running off to, Beak-rim? You going to tell Headmaster again?"

"Remember what happened last time, you little sod?"

"Lookit his wrists when he runs!"

"You dryin' your nails, Beaky?"

Their voices bounce off of the walls of the upward stairwell, but their words never reach me. Seven years. It's been seven years of this hell, every day, day after day after day, and it will never stop if I don't make it stop.

I will make it stop.

The metal exit door smashes against the red brick wall and dim, cloudy light floods in through the misty rain. I duck over to the right, wrapping around the side of the building and hurdling over the railing, the whirring motors of the security cameras following my movements barely audible over their insults and laughter.

I hope they're having the time of their lives.

I hope they remember this day for the rest of their lives.