The Cursed and the Crippled

|01| Past Times

"The dead cannot cry
out for justice; it
is a duty of
the living
to do
so for
them."

∞

HER SCREAMS of pain radiated through his mind, not indicating the reality of what was played before his eyes. Her pale, freckled skin was sticky with her dried blood, another person sitting dead not too far away. The man's shirt was coated with blood from the two victims he had murdered brutally, making him feel like he was a walking blood bag. His eyes faded back to his deep brown color, the actuality of what he had done now setting into his mind. He rushed to the side of the young woman who was now cold to the touch, a fearful expression planted on her face from when she took her last breath. The boy cradled the body, tears sliding down his blood coated cheeks, his bloodied hand combing through her luscious black locks of hair.

"It's okay, you're okay..." he repeated over and over again, trying to reassure himself more than anything.

"I'm not okay," the voice announced, "I'm dead and you're the reason for that."

Her voice was ghostly and weak, her eyes looking clouded as if she had been dead for many days. His eyes suddenly shot open, sunlight shining into his mess of a room. It was just a nightmare, right? He peeled the blanket off his sweaty body and pushed his stiff body into the bathroom to take a shower. He needed it, after all, the nightmares did take a lot out of his mind, and the warm razors of water might help the strain he had on his mind.  After the water had warmed up he had stepped in, allowing the water to soak him completely as if he were standing below a rushing waterfall of warm water. The pressure from the shower felt relaxing against his stiff body, making him almost completely forget about the thoughts that awaited him in his dreams.

He was pulled out of his daze by the sound of his front door slamming, indicating that his father had just left for work, leaving just him in the house. His mother had already left earlier that morning for her work shift at the hospital. She was a registered nurse for the hospital near his school, making it perfect for him to stop by before he made his way back to his house. After he had finished his shower, he made slipped on his stiff school uniform, his outfit consisting of a white button down shirt, black pants, and a black tie to finish it off. He grabbed his black bag, rushing down the stairs, as his tangled brown hair was pushed away from his face. When he had finally reached the bottom of the staircase he felt his phone vibrate, telling him that someone had texted him. He wrenched the old phone from his pocket, his screen lit up with a new message from his mom.

"Don't forget breakfast."

He gazed at the message before exhaling deeply, determining he didn't have the yearning to ingest the food they held in their small kitchen space. He sauntered out of his immaculate home, making his way to his pristine high school. He determined to walk to school instead of driving his obsolete car to the place that would surely be perdition to his already mangled mind. He pondered on the thought, his mind stuck in the bewilderment known as his thoughts. He was pulled out of his ideas when someone was thrust into his shoulder. He shook his thoughts out of his head, now standing before the academy he had gone to two years before. Before everything happened. Before Karishma and Mason. He swiftly forced the memory from his mind and continued onward into the school.

As he invaded the hall, he noticed that it was pervaded with faces he recalled and some that were foreign to him. He calmed his mind by inhaling a deep breath before he gazed over his new schedule. He had Physics, US History, Algebra II, Chemistry, Art and Gym. He dreaded history because realized that they would most likely talk about Occisor's Curse. He sighed and trudged off to the principal's office, tapping on the door when he had arrived. The door was heaved open and he entered. As soon as he had taken a seat, the door was silently fastened shut, leaving him and the tired and worn principal alone. He scanned the gold nameplate that sat on the top of the desk reading Principal Brown.