Memories (Of Dreams and Demons)

The Mangy Dog (Part 2)

It's only a matter of time until one strikes me. An apple slams into the side of my leg before dropping to rest against my feet. I frown, knowing a number of kids have turned to watch me expectantly. I can't sit here without doing something in return or my day will be torture. I lean over to pick it up slowly and wrap my fingers around it, feeling the curvature and weight of my new weapon. Standing swiftly, I turn smoothly, take aim and throw with full force at the kid who threw it at me. It's one of those rare perfect shots; hitting him directly in the face and splitting across his cheeks, splattering juice and skin everywhere. A moment of panic grips me as I worry I've done real damage or blinded him. He clutches at his face and wails, half-dramatically for the amusement of his own group; to my hidden relief more out of comedic shock than any real pain. They laugh at him, covered in a shower of fruit juice that runs down his neck and stains his jumper.

I watch him silently, expressionless. His glasses lie discarded to the side on cold concrete, but at least they are not broken. The sadness I feel is only drowned out by the knowledge that this moment ensures the first half of my day will pass with little incident; a fleeting ounce of undeserved respect gained granting me a short respite. But I know that I have more in common with him than I ever will the people that surround me. For a day I have been promoted; no longer the speech clown, I am he, the fruit hero. But I have felled a brother in a comic tragedy. We are both clowns entertaining those who look down at us as jokes.

I glance around. Rotten fruit and rubbish surrounds me; mocking laughter and the shilling of egos grates my eardrums. A deep corruption festers within this playground, like sewerage it seeps out of the very ground and structure. The filth laps at my thighs, slushes around inside my socks, dampens and ruins my already cheap shoes. Maybe I am just a sick joke, my emotions haphazardly lost in a head full of crazy dreams. Anywhere but within the Realm, I am filthy and worthless.

"What is this?" I run my hands gingerly down the side of the building. A thick, sticky green sludge sticks to my fingertips. Leaning forward to study the gross stuff, it oozes and sticks like little bridges between my fingers.

Vuitton just shakes his head, looking the building up and down sadly.

"This stuff is disgusting," I say, "the school is covered in it."

Within the green goo, a bloodshot eye peeks out to gaze at me. A pupil the color of sickness, a putrid purple, meets my eyes. It blinks once, before slipping deep down back within its green embrace. The kids around me holler and grab their bags as the school bell rings. Why am I the only one that can see this?

Ignoring the surreal ocean that surrounds me, I head to class. Being the last to enter, I'm stuck with that uncomfortable feeling when the only seats left are in awkward spots; close to the popular girls or exposed positions up front. I take the risk and sit further back. It's easier to hide music from the teacher that way.

"Don't sit near us," one of the girl laughs as she pinches her nose. "You stink!"

Right, I almost forgot. I stink of stale mud, sheep and sweat; the water from the dam a blessing bestowed upon me every morning when I shower. The front it is then, or I'll never hear the end of it. I am not particularly close with anyone in this geography class; names drawn from a hat not leaving me with a group member or two from the courtyard.

"Last week we discussed the Zen school of Buddhism, and Chi," the teacher begins, "an energy force in Chinese culture..."

I half listen, lost thoughtful in an empty space while; my turned head hides a headphone so I can secretly listen to music. Tucked inside my school book sits a smaller black book, and within I draw and doodle random thoughts and pieces of poetry; blocking out the real world and making mountains out of molehills. I take no notes and give no answers. Geography is definitely not my best subject, unless I'm just drawing my fantasy maps. It would be nice to have some friends in this class to help me out though.

"...if you remember is a merger of natural, spiritual and metaphysical," the teacher continues. "... and who can tell me the meaning of...?"

Boring. I know I'm growing up a screw-up: a mangy dog at the bottom of the ladder dreaming of climbing a rung or two. I'd rather listen to music in class and daydream than learn anything or finish any assignment. Frowning, I accept my reality for what it is.

Just survive until lunch.

The lunch bell rings. I survive another class.

I'm up and out the door before the teacher even grants permission to dismiss, slinging my backpack over my shoulder, headphones blaring.

When I play loud music and imagine myself elsewhere it's so much easier to exist in a state of.. detachment. The world around me is not real, only the magical Realm is. Only there do things matter, with Naoko by my side. I just need to find her, so that's what I'll do.

I hurry down the hallways, turning away often to avoid attention, keeping my head low. I do not exist. I am not real. If I am not here, the bullies and laughter will not see me, will not follow me.

It works a while. That is, until I exit the side hall doors and turn to dart away down a side street. Freedom is just in sight: an alleyway winding far away from school towards forest and park.

Instead of freedom, rough hands grab my jacket and backpack. I'm shoved up against the bricks, jeers and hollering following me. I can hear it even over my loud music, but it too is taken as me headphones are yanked from my ears.

It's my three usual tormentors, two suspects twice my size and their little weasel-leader Snotty. I hide my glare; any backbone will only attract kicks to the behind.

I sigh, almost tuning out in preparation for the shoving and laughter to come. My eyes glaze over, I try to hear the music again, try to focus on the Realm and the adventures I'll go on with Naoko. A state of foggy bliss almost comes over me, a sense of detachment that is harder to reach by the day.

Their words wash over me, their aggressive shoves but playful banter next to the attention of Moloch. If only they knew the physical horrors one can truly ravage upon the world.

I blink, my mind returning to the present moment an instant at the thought. No, I tell myself; a horribly dark thought that would only prevent me from ever being able to enter the Realm again. I let my mind wander again.

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