Blood in Water

Chapter 1: An Encounter

His presence was enough to start a scene as heads turned in his direction. His dark hair, dark eyes, and dark skin were enough to keep the sun from shining but his spectators shielded their eyes anyway as they stared after him. He pulled the burned out cigarette from the corner of his mouth and flicked it to the side as he exhaled the leftover smoke in front of him. As he walked by more heads turned to keep up with his smooth stride. His heavy boots barely making a sound as they touched the cracked pavement but his presence remained the loudest. He walked with his hands in the front pockets of his ripped jeans. He knew they were watching. He felt them watching. He knew why they were watching. He knew what he was in their eyes.

Suddenly, his entrance was then interrupted by a scream.

“Go back home, Paki!” an anonymous voice shouted.

Everything stopped as he did. He lifted his gaze from the pavement as he turned to face where the sound came from.

“I SAID GO HOME!” came the same angry voice as before. The crowd did not stir, refusing to give way to who was shouting.

Just as the dark haired boy was about to turn around to continue his journey to the front doors of the establishment. He heard it again.

“GO THE FUCK HOME YOU FUCKING SAND NIGGER!”

He turned back around and saw a boy about his age pushing through the crowd of students. His face was red, like someone cut off the circulation to his head, as he approached the dark haired gentlemen. The red-faced boy’s pale blonde hair managed to give him some height against the dark haired gentlemen as he stood an inch away from his chest. The crowd of spectators began rushing forward, excited, expecting a fight between the two.

“Go. Home. Paki,” the red-faced boy said harshly in a hushed tone.

In response, the dark haired gentlemen reached into the pocket of his leather jacket. He heard the crowd gasp.

“He’s a got a knife!” a girl shouted frantically, provoking shrill cries from those surrounding her.

The dark haired gentleman scoffed in response. He pulled his hand from his pocket. Only for his audience to note it was accompanied with a cigarette laced between his fingers along with a red lighter. Still looking at the red-faced boy, he placed the cigarette in his mouth, lit it, and let the smoke escape as he exhaled only for it to find solace in irritating the red-faced boy’s eyes. The red-faced boy still managed to keep a scowl though his eyes almost matched the shade of red on his skin. The red-faced boy took a step closer and slowly parted his thin chapped lips.

“Fine then,” he started--his voice still and cold. He paused to lick his purple mouth as if that was enough to save them from lack of moisture. “Welcome to Bradford.You’re in for a warm welcome. Paki,” he spat.

The dark haired gentleman took another hit of his cigarette. He looked away as he sighed, the smoke left his nostrils. He looked back down at the red-faced boy.

“It’s Zayn,” He said. His accent was thick due to a combination of an Urdu stained voice, left overs from reading the Qu’ran three times in its native scrawl, and topped with a Northern accent originating from West Yorkshire. He shoved past the red-faced boy, leaving the crowd with awestricken faces.

As Zayn walked away the red-faced boy cleared his throat loudly to hail the crowd’s attention. “Let it be known,” he began, “at Tong High School, the class of 1976 will be responsible for ridding this school of all of it’s vermin,” he said loudly, staring after Zayn.

With his back turned on everyone, Zayn still managed to give a smirk in response to their eyes boring through the leather protecting his already broken spirit as his newly found acquaintance of sorts purged his hate towards Zayn’s entire being.