The Black Fairy

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

“I can't stand him!” Kyron growled as he stepped over the broken liquor bottles and crack pipes on the snow covered pavement.   Charles Vil Housing Projects, nicknamed “Charaq Iraq” for short.  Ten five-story apartment buildings made of decaying red bricks built around each other in the shape of an octagon.  In between the buildings were three parking lots filled with rusty beat-down cars, seven alleyways, all lined with trash cans that  overflowed with garbage because the city waste department workers were too scared to come there; other than once a month.   and in the center was a large courtyard of frosted yellow grass and  blood stained park benches.  In the courtyard gang battles were almost a daily occurrence.  The projects were under the control of a dangerous street gang called “CV Murder Mob “.  CVM2 was graffited all across the walls of the apartments. The majority of them were Black and Puerto Rican teenagers,  they sold drugs to dope fiends in the alleyways, committed murders with pistols and AR -15s  that they hid in trash cans and picked on the prey of the projects like Kyron religiously. 

The Section 8 program that Kyron and his mother lived on covered most of the expenses for their home and Rashad received a monthly social security check for "disability" that helped pay for groceries. But that still didn't give him the right to beat on Kyron, or call his mother out her name when his drinking buddies came.
“When his social worker comes over, it’s oh my back is so sore, I can barely walk to the store.” Kyron mocked in Rashad’s raspy voice, his blue hoodie wrapped tight around his face like a blanket. "But when he's got a crack pipe in his hand, that whole act goes out the freaking window.” 
He opened the rickety black iron door of the gate surrounding the housing projects to the landscape of the broken and boarded one story houses and homeless drug addicts that surrounded Charles Vi.

I already deal with enough BS at home; I don’t see why I have to put up with it at school, He thought gloomily as he walked, making sure not to step on the shivering bodies bundled in blankets and cardboards that slept on the pavement.
The dystopian-ghetto neighborhood shifted from the small shack-like houses of Westside Portela into tthe myriad of fast food restaurants, tobacco shops and mom & pop diners of Central side.  Portela, Massachusetts, a small city, about 70,000 residents at the most, but the lines of social class were very clear, the middle class residents resided in the east and north, the poor like Kyron resided in  the South or the west.
For it being a small city there actually was a lot of things to do, The North Area had a popular shopping plaza of all the most popular stores likes Macys and Nordstroms.  It was always packed on the weekend.   The Eastside had a popular nightclub strip and an old town district that was popular for its candy shops.  Kyron’s favorite place in the city was an old-school style movie theater called “Johnny’s”.    The theater charged general admission at 8.50$ for adults, but  1 .00$ for kids under thirteen, when Kyron was in middle school he went to the theater almost every day, the movies had given him such an great escape from his lonely reality.  Now he couldn’t remember the last time he walked through the theatre doors.

He stopped at the crosswalk in front of Sac’s Hot Dogs, right across the street from his high school.  Jesse Bethel High, Failing students,  under average athletes , whoreish cheerleaders and craigslist hired teachers.  One thing somewhat positive he could say about the school was there was something, always something crazy happening that garnered city-wide attention.  From the stabbings, shootouts and riots between rival gang members, to the couples getting caught having sex in empty classrooms and the frequent dope dealer getting caught selling weed to a  professor,  other than that, it was as normal as any other school.

Kyron walked through the front entrance of the school.  He looked at one of the round clocks hanging from the walls leading into the classroom hallway.  It read 7:51 am, breakfast ended at 7:45 am and his first class was at 7:55am.
  “I guess it's cool.” He said and patted his pudgy stomach. “I don't need a reason to gain any more weight.’
A pretty Mexican girl wearing a pink hoodie and stylish green army fatigues walked out of a nearby bathroom.   Kyron caught the girl’s eye and smiled; she rolled her eyes in return and walked past him. His eyes followed the girl’s shifting hips down the hallway.  Its walls were painted black and yellow which were the colors of the school mascot and lined with decaying grey and rust-burgundy lockers. A crowd of Northface coats, Truk-fit beanies and LRG sweaters herded to class.  Laughing with their friends, walking hand in hand with their “baes” and gossiping about the newest videos they saw on Vine and Worldstar Hip Hop.  Most were watching videos  from the newest sensation, a camera phone video prank of walking up to unwary victims who wore ugly shoes while recording yourself and yelling, “WHAT ARE THOSE!?” 
  Kyron sighed and followed the crowd of students.  Here we go again.
As soon as he stepped in the hallway unseen hands smacked the back of his neck, bitch boy, retard and faggot serenaded his ears like vulgar Christmas jingles. Head ducked down and gaze fixed on the white tile he endured the torment in silence.  There was a time when he would have attempted to at least look at who was hitting him or try to run away, but it would be to no avail.  Last month he tried that, but the situation only worsened, ending with a video that went viral around the school of him
being hit over the head with one of the clocks hanging in the hallway, same day as his birthday actually.
After what felt like an eternity Kyron walked into the doorway of his geography class. The stream of obscenities fading behind him.   The classroom was decorated with photos of mountains, volcanoes and oceans from all around the world.  Kyron loved geography, the idea of escaping from his hell hole to all those beautiful places was a constant dream, he just didn’t like who taught the class.
Inside the class was almost as loud as outside.  Pretty girls wearing uggs and leggings giggled  and flirted with the loud and obnoxious boys sitting next to them, nerds and emos dressed in all black clothing  sat with their desks turned to each other in a circle playing magic gathering.