you always found it strange how very few words could elicit such an intense emotional reaction from human beings. even as a child, you would watch your classmates cry as their parents waved them off to a day lost to education, while you sat silently, observing. maturity was something in your list of values you held high, even as a fragile child who has just staggered into their first grade. your guardian was quite well-known, so he couldn't take you into school.
it might damage your reputation, he said. you think your reputation was damaged the minute you stepped over the threshold of this place. of course, you'll play the game, be none the wiser while your teachers condemned you in hushed tones and masked it with 'concern for your well-being'.
you fell once in school. you lost footing and scraped your knee across the cement ground, ripping up at least a few layers of skin. rather than screaming and crying for help (which seemed to be the norm), you became fascinated with the way the blood seeped through the natural cracks in your skin, trying to guide it with your hands. a girl tattled on you by yelping obnoxiously, and your teachers were not impressed.
they threatened to bring your 'parent' figure in, and you blanked for a moment. you mention that, you think they are making a mistake. they made a mistake on the first day by taking away your glasses because it was against policy. bro didn't like that, but he had spares. he said he wishes you were less ill-prepared.
you promised him you won't let him down next time.
• sometime in the future . . . •
you are a senior in high school. god, you can't wait to graduate. walking through the doors of this place everyday is like regurgitating knives but swallowing them again for the safety of others. alright, that wasn't your best analogy, but you're tired. you stayed up all night adding to your robotics project (you finished it weeks ago) before handing it in today.
at least you can be thankful that it's friday. not to be stereotypical, but you're a teenager and really despise school. not because you struggle or anything, far from it actually. call it egotistical, but you always thought you were a bit ahead of the game for this place. but never mind, you'll play nice.
you sit up abruptly in your bed, rays of light glimpsing through your blinds and onto your bed. you swing your legs around and stand, the sudden motion leaving you lightheaded. you walk into your bathroom and pick up your toothbrush, staring in the mirror while you brush your teeth. your unruly white-blonde hair sticks out in every direction and your oddly coloured eyes mock you with a gaze. you snap your stare away and shower, getting the image out of your head.
you don't know how you're getting to school today. you're always tip-toeing around asking your bro, because he's always so stressed out. you can't blame him, it's hard being media famous. you nearly roll your eyes at your thoughts. yeah, it's cool. he's cool.
you step out of the shower and pull on a regular looking outfit that won't stick out. your shades and sense of hairstyle do all the talking for you. you grab your bag and step out of your room, promptly shutting your door behind you quietly. you step lightly down the stairs and spot your brother in the kitchen, standing and resting his hands on the counter and a stern gaze out of the window. you stay silent behind him.
there's no way he could have saw or heard you, but he just always knows.
"dirk."
he never calls you that. you feel like the room is spinning. what's wrong with you? answer back.
"i'll be home late. there's food in the fridge and spare cash on your desk."
you didn't get the chance to respond, he simply turns around and pats you on the shoulder before swiftly walking out the door with his keys, an unreadable expression on his face. you're normally good at reading people, but your bro is a master in the art restraining emotions. you truly learn from the best.
you walk to school.
. . .
during the middle of your chemistry class, one of the school's secretaries interrupt the lesson. "dirk strider, down to the principle's office please." a chorus of whispers reign over the class, and you hear a faint: "i heard he killed a guy once!" you brush it off, simply ignoring everyone and pack up your stuff, making your way down to the office of broken dreams.
. . .
finding it difficult to stop tapping your foot in the wait, you slouch and look out of the office window to distract yourself. it's an odd day. nothing seems amiss, it's warm, as per. but there's something about today that churns your stomach. the principal finally walks into the room, sitting down behind the desk.
you have only spoke to him a handful of times, and generally, he seems like an alright guy. boring, like everyone to you. everyone is just the same, yet a new look, and another fake plastered personality with a smile to go along with it. he seems uncomfortable, as you notice he is picking at loose threads in the cuff of his shirt.
"alright, mr. strider. i would like to assure you that you are in no form of trouble, so not to worry about that." you knew that.
"unfortunately... i do have some news." your slouched demeanour perks up a bit at that, and you glance up at him through your black tinted shades with a bored look. you see him falter slightly, adjusting his glasses.
"at 1:43pm today, your legal guardian was attacked. he is currently hospitalised, and in fatal condition." he pauses and lets out a breath he was holding. "dirk, your brother may not make it home tonight."
"..."
you don't say anything. the room begins to spin. you feel sick. oh god, you're going to vomit. don't embarrass yourself, run. the speed of which you stand up and run to the bathroom in a blur is enough to make your vision whirl. you clammer into the bathroom and the stall door slams and swings back as you kneel on the tile floor and throw up your breakfast.
. . .
you wipe your mouth with your sleeve, staring in the graffitied mirror. you have sick on your shirt and your glasses are on the floor shattered because you threw them at the wall. the boy staring back at you is weak. too weak to survive without someone to guide him. to train him for life.
you feel pain sting behind your eyes and you grip your hair tight, shouting incomprehensible profanities, raising your fists and connecting them both with the mirror, watching the glass crack and fall into the sink before you.
you are numb as you watch the blood seep and consume your knuckles.
