by Jon Athan
Astonished, Michael uncrossed his arms and said, “Jesus... What kind of person would do that to a child?”
Eyes swelling with tears, Julia held her trembling hands to her mouth and said, “Please, tell me you're kidding, Daniel. Tell me you're trying to get out of trouble.”
Daniel said, “No, I swear. This kid... Man, someone messed him up. I mean, he was a lot younger than Stan. Shit, it was fucked up.”
As she walked past her husband and son, Julia said, “Don't curse, Daniel. I hate it when you do that.” She walked into the living room and said, “Let's see if it's on TV. I hope that boy is okay. It sounds so horrible.”
Michael glanced at Stanley and said, “It sounds like it's going to be a busy week, kiddo. Are you going to be okay?”
With downcast eyes, Stanley responded, “Yeah, sure...”
“You should go get some sleep. Try to clear your mind and relax for a bit. If you need anything, come talk to me.”
Michael nodded at his son, then he walked into the living room. The family huddled around the television, flipping through the local news channels. People were drawn to violent and sensationalist media – it was a winning formula.
Stanley remained seated as he watched his family. An epiphany dawned onto him. He realized everyone had a lust for violence and deviant activities, but most people buried their desires – it was 'immoral,' after all. Ed and Kat were correct in their assessment of the world. Stanley did not want to be like his family.
As he stared at his family from the kitchen, Stanley whispered, “I want to be free...”
Chapter Seven
Before School
Gripping a moldering tree trunk, Stanley lunged over a muddy puddle. His black-and-white sneakers were begrimed and mud was splattered on the hem of his jeans. His black t-shirt remained relatively clean. His heavy black backpack made the trek slightly more difficult than usual, but he managed. The bag was filled to the brim with textbooks and notebooks, making his movements stiff and awkward.
As he stared between the cluttered trees, Stanley whispered, “There you are...”
Black smoke clouded the area, undulating towards the gray morning sky. The fumes could barely be seen from afar due to the towering trees. A vile stench wafted through the woodland. The smell was atrocious, like a body decomposing during a scorching summer. The stench of putrefaction was horrendous – it could be used as a perfume to keep people away.
Stanley glanced at the front of the house. Ed and Kat were notably absent. He followed the scent, sniffing and tracking like a police dog. The smoke was the perfect beacon, too, like a black flare. He strolled towards the back of the house. He swallowed loudly as he spotted the source of the smoke and the sickening smell.
Ed and Kat stood around a barbecue pit, holding their shirts to their mouths. The pair gazed at the crepitating pit, hypnotized by the fumes and fire. From afar, Stanley could see the content. Engulfed in blistering flames, a human arm protruded from the pit – burned to a crisp. He was not appalled by the discovery, though. I wonder if it's Richie's arm in there, he thought. The young teen coughed to announce himself.
Ed smiled as he spotted their visitor. He said, “Well, look who we've got here. Our boy is back for another visit. I can't say I'm disappointed, boy. I'm surprised, but I'm not disappointed. It's good to see you.”
Kat waved at Stanley, wiggling her fingers at the young man. She said, “Hey, sweetie. How was your birthday? I hope no one made you a man before me. That would be a shame.” Stanley nervously smiled and shook his head. Kat said, “Good. I want you to promise you'll save yourself for me. I have first dibs, okay?”
Stanley said, “Sure...”
Ed spat into the pit, then he said, “So, how was your birthday, boy? I'm sure it was something special. I don't think you'd be here if it wasn't.”
Ed and Kat stared at the teenager, attentive like caring parents. Stanley kicked at a clump of dirt, contemplating his response. He was anxious to admit to his dastardly deeds, but the words were clogged in his throat. He swallowed the lump and nodded. He only had so much time before school, so he tackled the problem headfirst.
Stanley said, “I beat up a kid at the amusement park. He was smaller than me and... and something told me to do it, so I did it. I don't know how it happened. I couldn't control myself. I punched him and I kicked him so many times... I think I almost killed him. It was all over the news, too. Everyone was talking about it.”
Ed huffed, then he said, “I wouldn't worry about the news, boy. They're just feeding the same old bullshit to the public. The people, like your parents, they're going to eat it up for a few days, then they'll forget about it. They'll move onto the next 'big' thing soon. It's always the same shit.” He chuckled as he stared at the stark sky. Ed asked, “It felt good, though, didn't it? Beating that boy felt liberating, right?”
Stanley couldn't lie to himself or his newfound mentors. He nodded and said, “I don't know, but it felt better than what I did to Richie.”
Kat grinned as she strutted to Stanley's side. The teenager was mesmerized by her swinging hips and bouncing breasts. He wished he could see through her thin blue dress. The garment was tattered and begrimed, but it did not matter to the teen – he was a teenager, after all.
Kat pinched Stanley's cheek and said, “It felt better because you're growing up. You're turning into a big boy, hun. I can see you're a very big boy. I don't know if I'll be able to keep my paws off of you for much longer, sweetie. You're driving me crazy...”
Stanley rubbed the nape of his neck as he giggled like a boy flirting with his schoolyard crush. He was being teased by an older woman, but it didn't bother him. Ed and Kat joined Stanley's laughter, creating a cacophonous orchestra of clucking. Stanley sat on a wooden bench beside the pit as he stared at the blistering flames. He thought about the burning bodies inside the pit and his lack of remorse and fear. Is death synonymous with fear?
Shrugging off his emotions, Stanley said, “I don't really feel like going to school today.”
Kat sat beside the boy and asked, “Why not?” Stanley twiddled his fingers, too embarrassed to respond. Kat said, “Now, I usually recommend ditching school. It's a waste of time, believe me, but you don't want to draw attention to yourself now. You don't want to give them a reason to start suspecting you.”
Stanley sighed, then he explained, “I don't really care about what I did to Richie 'cause he deserved it. He always dragged me into things I didn't want to do. But, at school, Richie used to help me with some of the... the bullies. Now that he's gone, they're going to gang up on me. I know it's going to happen and I can't do anything to stop it.”
Using a branch, Ed shoved the protruding arm into the pit. The blackened arm was swallowed by the flames. He stood on his tiptoes and peered into the pit. The hole was brimming with severed body parts, roasting like beef at a restaurant. From the flames to the dismemberment, the pit seemed to lead straight into hell.
Ed sniffled, then he turned his attention to Stanley. He said, “Well, don't let them bully you, boy. Small or large, size doesn't matter. You can beat them like you beat that kid at the park. Don't let them bully you. It's that simple. You understand?”
Kat caressed Stanley's cheek and said, “He's right.”
Pacing in front of the bench, Ed said, “You fight back, boy. You use one of those heavy ass textbooks those dumb fucks at school give you. You stab him with a pencil. A yellow pencil, not one of those mechanical pieces of shit. Those will break before you penetrate his skin. You make anything and everything a weapon, you hear me? And, if you can't grab a weapon, you... you kick his knee while you're playing soccer or any other sport. You kick that shit in. 'Oh, it was an accident.' Hell, you don't even have to lie if you don't want to. If they ask you why you did it, you tell them to fuck off. You fight back, boy, it's your right.”
Stanley was astonished by Ed's speech. He felt empowered by his wisdom. He killed his best friend, he brought a child to the brink o
f death. He accomplished more than any schoolyard bully. He was beyond the point of no return, he had broken free from his chains.
Leaning closer to Stanley's ear, Kat whispered, “Fighting back, beating the shit out of punks, that really turns a girl on. It can make any girl wet.” She giggled as Stanley blushed. She said, “I'm sorry. You don't even know what that means, do you? You're so cute.”
Stanley chuckled as he leaned away. He liked the attention he received from Kat. He was tall, lanky, and introverted. Common high school girls weren't drawn to him like they were to jocks and assholes – a strange magnetic attraction. Yet, sitting on a dilapidated bench and surrounded by burning bodies, he found himself with a woman who cared.
Ed said, “Stop teasing the boy, Kat. I told you, he'll come to you when he's ready. Besides, he's got to head to school and handle his business. Right, son?”
Stanley nodded and said, “Right.”
“What are you going to do to those punks if they try anything on you? Huh? What are you going to do to those little bastards?”
“I'm going to... I'm going to fight back. Even if I kill them, I'm going to do what I have to do. It's my right.”
“That's right! That's my boy!”
Kat rubbed Stanley's shoulder and said, “Don't worry about what they think or what they feel. You go ahead and do whatever you want. And, if you can't handle them, you bring them over here and I'll take care of them for you.” As Stanley stood, Kat gave him a gentle spanking. She smirked and said, “Go on. Get out of here.”
Stanley gazed into Kat's eyes, then he glanced at Ed. He smiled and said, “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”
Chapter Eight
The School
Stanley gazed at the whiteboard, confused. Dozens of numbers and letters were scrawled on the board with black marker. Complex equations teased his mind, taunting his addled brain – give up, you're stupid. In Stanley's mind, the numbers and variables were drifting closer together, becoming muddled nonsense. He couldn't make sense of the complicated mathematics.
Mr. Garcia's monotonous voice did not help. The man rambled like a robot with a scripted monologue. His low, dawdling tone only added to the sheer boredom and confusion. The bald spot he tried to hide at the top of his dome was also distracting. The coffee stains on his white button-up shirt and khaki pants were unusual. Stanley could focus on everything but mathematics.
Stanley whispered, “I just don't get it...”
The freshman glanced at the vacant seat to his right – Richie's chair. Without his best friend, the back of the classroom was silent. The pair couldn't make jokes about Garcia's gleaming bald spot – spit shined every morning, right? He could not cheat or ask for help, either. He was alone in the back of the classroom, suffering through the lesson without a friend. For a second, he wished to see his chubby pal stuffed into the tiny seat – both for companionship and humor.
Stanley whispered, “At least you don't have to sit through this crap.”
Since meeting Ed and Kat, the entire education system became crap in his eyes – utter bullshit. He spent hours trying to learn the complex mathematics he was certain he would never use. His mind was being stuffed with useless education, filled with knowledge he would forget before he could escape the short high school walls. Technology had the answers, education was obsolete.
Stanley glanced to his left, then he bit his bottom lip. Mark, his personal bully, sat a few seats away. Mark was brawny, strong and nimble. He wore a tight white t-shirt, blue jeans, and black sneakers. He seemed like a regular young man on the surface, but his mind harbored sinister thoughts. He was a brutal bully, beating on the weak and helpless without remorse.
The hulking teenager glanced back at Stanley. He scowled and indistinctly flapped his lips. Stanley could not hear his classmate, but he understood the message. He was an expert at reading lips – at least, he could read Mark's lips with precision. His options were often the same: I'm going to kick your ass, you're a faggot, or where's your boyfriend?
Stanley frowned and shook his head, hoping to defuse the situation. Mark smirked and cracked his knuckles. The popping noise was loud and obnoxious, but the class remained stagnant. Mr. Garcia, lethargic and dull, was unaware of the rampant bullying. Maybe he's deaf and blind, Stanley thought, maybe he doesn't give a fuck. The latter seemed to be common in school.
Mr. Garcia stood on his tiptoes and stared at Stanley from afar. He asked, “Mr. King, are you paying attention?”
Stanley blinked erratically as he snapped out of his contemplation. He nodded and said, “Yeah, sure.”
“Okay, well, what's 'N' in this equation? Hmm?”
Stanley narrowed his eyes as he gazed at the board. Again, the numbers and letters drifted closer together. He could not find an 'n' or a suitable solution. He glanced down at his sheet of paper, dismayed. He had not scribbled a single note since class started. His best bet was to pick a number from the board – any number would do.
Stanley glanced at his teacher and responded, “It's... I don't know. It's 60 or... 76, I guess.”
Mr. Garcia huffed and shook his head. He tapped the board with the marker and said, “That's funny since there is no 'N' variable in this equation. So, I wonder what math problems you're working on back there.”
With his hand over his mouth, Mark said, “He's probably thinking about his boyfriend.”
Most of the class erupted in an orchestra of laughter. Stanley bit his bottom lip as he glanced at each and every teasing peer. The teenagers guffawed like if they had heard a hilarious joke. Homophobia seemed to be popular in the classroom.
Mr. Garcia said, “Settle down, everyone, settle down.” As he stared at Stanley, he tapped the board and sternly said, “Pay attention.”
With Garcia's dismissal, Stanley realized the education system was, in fact, crap. He couldn't help but chuckle. He was surprised by his teacher's indifference. The man scolded a student struggling to learn more than he punished a savage bully. With his nonchalant attitude, Garcia allowed the bullying to spread like an infectious disease. A bad grade is wrong, bullying is okay.
Stanley gritted his teeth as he glanced at Mark. His bully childishly simpered as he chattered with his friends. The vicious teen was blatantly proud of himself, stroking his ego in front of an audience. He didn't hide his actions, he showcased his deeds to the world. Mark glanced back at Stanley and winked – a taunt.
Stanley tightly gripped his sharpened yellow pencil. He licked his lips as he stared at the honed tip. The simple piece of wood called for blood and Stanley was happy to respond. He was ready to fight back, regardless of social norms.
Stanley muttered, “I'm not going to let you bully me anymore. I'm stronger than you because I'm free. If I want it, I take it. There's nothing wrong with me... You're going to pay, you fucking asshole. I swear, you're going to pay...”
***
Stanley tossed an empty carton of chocolate milk and a burrito wrapper into the garbage, then he shoved the foam lunch tray into the trash can. His lunch was unhealthy, high in fat and sugar. Much like his math teacher, the school system was indifferent to the physical well-being of the students. The blame could be placed on the faculty or lack of funds, but it did not matter. The menu always remained the same.
Stanley couldn't bother to think about his lunch. He walked out of the loud cafeteria, strolling through the open campus. His peers chattered and bantered at the outdoor tables. Each table represented a different clique, forming clusters of arrogance. Some teens inconspicuously flirted, trying to avoid the security guards and prowling faculty members.
As he walked past the quad, Stanley whispered, “Lucky bastards...”
The young teenager walked towards the back of the school. He found shelter behind a handball court – a towering blue wall erected from the ground. The shade and loneliness offered some comfort. He was tired of the buoyant mood at the school, he wanted to escape his disappointment.
As he flicked pebbles aw
ay from the wall, Stanley murmured, “Everyone gets to be happy here except for me. Everyone has friends and... and girlfriends, but I don't. It's not fair.” With downcast eyes, he stared up at the overcast sky. He said, “Ed is my friend, Kat likes me. I don't have to be here. It's my life, it's my choice.”
From around the corner, a male asked, “Who are you talking to, bitch?”
Stanley didn't have to glance towards the voice, he could recognize it in his sleep – Mark. Stanley whispered, “Shit...”
As expected, Mark walked around the corner with a smug smile plastered on his face. His gangling lackey stood behind him, constantly chuckling and muttering. The pair stared at Stanley with deviant eyes. Mark had dastardly plans for his feeble peer.
Mark asked, “Where's your fat-ass friend, bitch? I thought he might be in line stuffing his face, but he wasn't there. He wasn't in math, either. So, he must be absent, right? What happened to that asshole?”
I killed him, Stanley wished he could blurt out the confession. He did not feel guilty about it, he was not trying to relieve his conscience. He wanted to claim Richie's death as an achievement. He wanted to strike fear into his enemies. I killed him and I'm proud, he thought. Yet, he remained quiet.
Mark said, “You guys spend a lot of time together. I heard you guys have been going into the woods for the past couple of weekends. Spending time alone and shit... What do you guys do out there? Huh? You mess around with him? You like the chubby ones?” Stanley scowled at Mark, insulted by the insinuation. Mark chuckled, then he said, “Look at that, this little faggot thinks he's tough. Bitch, what are you going to do without Richie? Huh? What are you going to do? You going to cry to security like you did last time? Huh?”
Infuriated, Stanley staggered to his feet. He breathed deeply as he clenched his fists. His fingernails pierced his skin, cutting into his palms. He trembled from the rage swelling within. Yet, Mark and his flunky simply laughed at Stanley. They were not threatened by the skinny teenager. They knew him well.