Bullied - Chapter 2

Some say the end is near.
Some say we’ll see Armageddon soon.
I certainly hope we will.
I sure could use a vacation from this,
Bullshit, three-ring circus sideshow

Ænema



Tool

Chapter Two

The tardy bell rang. Jon walked in the front doors of the school. Teacher’s voices from classrooms echoed through the empty halls. Ok, just go get your coat and go home.

He walked down the main hall. He passed the purple walls of the English and Music hallway across from the entrance of the cafeteria. The smell of burned beef and grease still poured from the cafeteria.

I won’t be eating in there again.

He picked up his pace.

Jon turned left down the yellow walls of the Science and Math hallway, which his locker stood tucked away at the very end of. Classroom doors stood open and teachers called out attendance.

“Matt Andrews.”

“Here.”

“Sally…”

“…ephanie Williams?”

“Here.”

“Holl….”

Here.

“…Turnball.”

“Jon Turnball?”

Giggles escaped the doorway of Jon’s first period class and echoed down the halls.

“ Nora Jam....”

“avid Moore”

Jon stopped.

“Yo.”

“Here will do fine Mr. Moore.”

“Yup.”

Jon moved passed the door quickly and stopped on the other side.

He is only two classrooms away from my science class. Jon’s mind spun a web of worries. His chin dropped to his chest as he moved towards his locker again.

This must be hell. Don’t know what I did, but… I’m in hell.

Fourteen. He spun the combination dial to the left, going around the number twice. One. Closing classroom doors echoed down the hallway. He spun the dial right. Thirty-…

“Mr. Turnball.” The voice of Mr. Adams, principal of the school, startled Jon and he spun the dial past the last number.”

Jon turned toward him. “Yes sir?” He looked at a spot of mortar that seeped from the crease of two of the over-waxed floor tiles between Mr. Adams’s shoes.

“Running a little late today?”

“Yes sir.” How did he know?

“And I understand you left school yesterday in quite a hurry.”

“Yes sir.” Does he know everything?

“Care to talk with me about it?”

Jon put his hands in his pockets. “No sir”

“Well Mr. Turnball, this is a tardy. With this and skipping the half a day of school unexcused means… You know what that means don’t you?”

Jon’s heart sank. “Yes sir.” Detention.

“Well then,” Mr. Adams said as he wrote on a pink pad of paper. “You will need to report to room one-zero-nine immediately after seventh period.” He tore the top sheet off the pad and handed it to Jon. “This’ll let Mr. Winders know we have spoken about this tardy.

“Yes sir.”

“Now gather your things from your locker and get to class.”

“Okay.” Jon turned to his locker. He heard the squeak of Mr. Adams’s shoes and looked. Mr. Adams walked down the pale-gray hall that ran parallel with the main hall connecting the Science and Math hall with the English and Music hall.

Jon turned to his locker. Detention. Mom is never going to understand this.

Jon put his hand on the combination dial. Fourteen…One…Thirty-three.

Jon pulled his notebook and science book from his backpack. He stuffed his backpack in the narrow opening of the locker and slammed it shut.

I can’t believe I got detention!

Jon turned and walked down the hall to his first period class. The door to David’s classroom was closed.

I need to avoid this spot after first period. He looked down at the main hall.

If I go that way, at least I’ll have the hall monitors watching for trouble. He continued to his class.

He stood in at the door of his classroom for a moment, placed his hand on the knob and turned. It didn’t move. Great!

Mr. Winders loved to make examples of tardy students. Jon knocked, reluctantly on the door. Jon looked at the scuffed toes of his once white shoes. The door opened.

“Why look everyone. Jonathon decided to bless us with his presence after all .”

The classroom filled with laughter.

“You have a pass I assume?”

Jon held out the pink paper Mr. Adams handed to him. Mr. Winders took it, looked at it long and hard and returned it to Jon’s hand.

“Very well. Come in and have a seat, any seat you wish.”

There was only one seat available: his seat.

**********************************************************

Jon sat through detention once before. It was quiet, only one or two other kids in the room. It worked out to be hour of sitting in silence, working on homework; a blessing to him.

Jon walked into room one-o-nine. Mrs. Williams sat at her desk and marked red ink all over English homework. Jon scanned the room.

I’m the only one here.

He moved to the far side of the room and sat in the first desk by the windows. The flickering overhead lights didn’t hurt his eyes as much with the natural light from outside filtering in.

He opened his backpack, pulled out his notebook and math book and opened it to the dog-eared page.

“Look here, its shit stain.”

Robyn. Jon looked towards the door. Why her?

Jon thought it was funny when he heard what she did in gym class, but wasn’t ready to spend an entire hour with her. He turned back to his book.

“That’ll be quite enough out of you Miss. Woodard. You’re late again I see.” Mrs. Williams said.

“They must not have enjoyed your artwork in the cafeteria, huh?” Robyn continued as if Mrs. Williams had said nothing.

Queasiness made a home in Jon’s stomach.

“Miss. Woodard, would you like another week added to your detention schedule?”

She has a detention schedule? I guess showing breasts to the boys gym class would get anyone that.

Robyn sat in the desk right next to Jon. She never answered Mrs. Williams, but the taunting stopped. Jon smelled the familiar scent of freshly smoked cigarettes. An unpleasant smell. It reminded him of home.

Jon tried to do his homework, but was unable to concentrate. He felt Robyn’s eyes burning into the side of his head. He never looked at her, but he knew she was waiting for him to. Jon looked at his math book, and flipped the page every so often, but he wasn’t really reading it.

What am I going to do after detention? I could stay after, pretending to have a homework question. No not a good idea. She could wait for me anywhere then. No I need to get out of this room first.

Jon listened to ticking of the clock. A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek. Tick… Tick… Tick… Jon jumped as Mrs. Williams’s chair squealed when she stood up. Jon’s teeth ached at the sound.

Why doesn’t she just scrape her nail across the chalkboard.

“I will be right back; I expect that you will continue with your homework…” Mrs. Williams said looking at Jon, “or what ever you are doing, she said turning her attention to Robyn. She walked out of the room.

Where is she going?

Robyn turned and faced Jon. “So shit stain; a little jumpy aren’cha? Why’d you get detention?”

Jon turned back to his book.

Ignore her and she will leave me alone.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.”

Jon turned the page in his book.

“Hey shit stain,” Robyn said a little louder, shoving Jon’s shoulder.

Ignoring her isn’t going to work.

Jon turned to face her. His eyes met hers for a moment and then he looked at her gray tee-shirt. “I am here because I was late to school.”

Not that you really care.

“Oh really.” Robyn laughed. “Sure it wasn’t cause you spewed all over the cafeteria?

“Yes, I’m sure. I got here late and Mr. Adams gave me detention.”

“I remember. How’s your elbow?

Jon didn’t answer, just stared at her shirt.

“So you like staring at my boobs, huh?”

Jon’s eyes darted to the desk behind her. “I wasn’t looking at them.”

“Sure you weren’t you little perv. I oughta beat the shit out of you right now.” She moved to get up from her seat.

“Mrs. Woodard? What do you think you are doing?”

Jon snapped his head back to his book.

Thank you.

“Just stopping the little perv from staring at my boobs.”

Jon’s face warmed and he looked at Mrs. Williams shaking his head.

Robyn looked at him. “You lying piece of shit. I swear Mrs. Williams; he was gawking at my breasts.”

“Well now Robyn, since you have a week’s worth of detention for that little stunt in gym class, I doubt that Mr. Turnball was unprovoked.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Robyn shouted.

“Mrs. Wilson,” Jon piped in. “I wasn’t looking at her breasts. I was just explaining to her why I was here.”

“Jon, you are dismissed. Consider your detention obligation met. You may go now.”

Jon picked up his backpack and placed his things in it. He looked at the clock. 3:45.

I can still beat mom home.

“As for you Mrs. Woodard, you will have the privilege of joining Mr. Hanson for detention next week as well.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You should have thought of that before you... well you know.”

Jon walked around the front of his desk and past Robyn. She kicked at him, but only grazed his pant leg.

“You are such a bitch,” Robyn whispered.

“What was that Mrs. Woodard?”

Robyn sat silently.

“Let’s go ahead and make that two more weeks,” Mrs. Williams said.

Jon walked out of detention. The tension in his shoulders released a bit. He walked to the front doors of the school, stopped and put his coat on. He stepped out the front door and drew a deep breath air through his nose. Fresh air.

One hundred and nineteen…One hundred eighteen…One hundred seventeen…One hundred sixteen…

Four, Jon’s neck tightened. Three, his stomach cramped. Two, his heart pounded. One, he fought to breathe. The garage door was open and his mom’s car sat parked inside.

Mom’s home. Mom beat me home.

**********************************************************

Jon walked into the family room from the garage. His mom stood at the kitchen counter, phone cradled to her head. She spun around and said, “Never mind, he is here now.”

Oh man.

Him mom slammed the phone on the cradle. “Where have you been?” she yelled.

“I was at school.”

“School got out at 3:00. What have you been doing since then? I called Grandma, Sandy and Ned. I was just about to call the police. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was late getting to school this morning and got deten…”

“Late? How could you be late? You were fed and dressed before I left for work. What the hell happened?”

“I was watching cartoons… and I…”

“No more television in the mornings…you understand?”

“Yes.”

“So, you got detention again huh?”

“Yes.”

“You remember what your father and I said would happen to you if you got detention again?”

“Yes,” a switchin and grounded to my room.

“Go to your room. Your dad will be in there after he gets up and I will call you out when dinner is ready.”

Jon turned and headed towards his room.

“Good thing you brought that coat home mister.”

I know.

Jon closed his door behind him. He put his backpack on the floor next to his bed. Walked over to his closet, untied his shoes, took them off with his hands and placed them neatly in his closet.

Jon draped his coat over the end of the bed. He turned and looked at his radio, but thought better of it.

She probably means I am grounded from that too.

Jon looked at his backpack.

I don’t feel like doing homework.

He sat on his bed and pulled his nightstand drawer open. He grabbed his book and opened it to the dog-eared page. I can always count on you Mr. Merrick. The motor from the garage-door-opener resonated through the house.

Jon heard his parent’s bedroom door open. He heard heavy footsteps down the hall.

Dad’s up.

Jon dog-eared his book and put it back. “Maybe later Mr. Merrick,” he whispered. Jon lay back on his bed and listened to his parents.

“I don’t know what has gotten into him,” his mom said.

“I do. He’s getting at that age where all kids begin to rebel. It’s a phase, it will pass,” his dad said.

“Why do you always take the hands-off approach with him Tom?”

“What the hell are talking about?”

“You never discipline him.”

“Am I to blame for the way he is turning out?”

“Always say that’s what boys do at that age.”

“That’s because most of the time it’s true.”

“You don’t do anything but provide excuses for his behavior.”

“You know I work… graveyard I mind you,” his dad yelled.

“Well I work to you know,” his mom countered.

“I know.”

“I put in as many hours a week as you do. Then, I’m expected to clean the house, cook your meals, take care of your kid and still make time to have sex with you!”

Gross. I didn’t need to know that.

“Well you know what Helen? I bust my ass around this house as well.”

“All you do is sleep. You come home from work and sleep.” You wake up. Eat dinner and then take a nap before work. You don’t do half as much as I do!”

“Is that what you think?”

“Hell yes. If you think I’m wrong, prove me wrong.”

“I work ten hour nights and yeah I sleep all day and I take a nap before work, but when it comes to my weekends, I bust my ass around here. If it weren’t for me, you still wouldn’t have a dryer. The leak in the roof, were you going to fixed that?”

A moment of silence.

“Yeah I didn’t think so. No, I spent three weekends of hunting season putting a new roof on this house! Who mows the yard? Me! Who empties the garbage? Me! And built your deck in the backyard? That’s right, I did.”

“Don’t let your head get too big Mr. Villa. The deck isn’t even square and the dryer takes two cycles to dry a damn sock!”

“You think you can do better?

“I think you have it easy around here.”

“Aw, piss off.”

“Thomas Andrew Turnball!”

Jon heard the thudding footsteps of his dad coming down the hall. His bedroom door flew open and his dad stood there in his underwear, the pee-flap hanging open slightly. jon looked at the floor.

“Jonathon.” The volume of Tom’s voice didn’t drop a bit.

Jon looked at the wall of the hallway behind his dad.

“What the hell are you thinking?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What the hell did you do this time?”

He doesn’t even know why mom is mad?

“I was late to school and got detention.”

“We live two blocks away.” His dad’s voice lowered and he shook his head. “How the hell were you late?”

“I was watching…”

“Cartoons? Yeah figures. We had a deal, remember? Go out back and get a switch off the maple tree and bring it to me.”

Jon slipped his shoes on walked down the hall and through the kitchen to the sliding glass door of the family room. His mom stood in the kitchen with her back to him the whole time. He opened the sliding glass door and walked outside.

Jon always picked a thicker switch, because his dad hit him easier with it and the thinner ones stung a whole lot more.

What kind of parent makes a kid get his own switch?

The lower part of tree, thinned out too well, made Jon look to the upper branches for a good switch. He snapped a good one off, stripped the leaves and nubbins and carried back into his bedroom.

His dad took the switch from him and said, “Take the position.”

Jon walked over to the bedpost at the foot of the bed. He dropped his pants to his knees.
At least it’s dad.

His mom had a bad aim and usually switched his lower back and upper legs, missing his butt completely. His dad took his time. Jon grabbed the bedpost with both hands.

“This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you,” his dad said.

What does that mean, I’m the one getting hit.

The first switch landed. It didn’t sting too much, but Jon wailed like a wounded dog. He learned a long time ago that the sooner he cried out the easier his dad was with the rest of his swings.

“One,” Jon called out.

Jon heard the next one coming. Swoooo-…The incoming whispered in the room... -itch… as it connected with Jon’s underwear. He cried out again bur he wasn't faking it this time. He wanted nothing more than to let go of the bedpost, but knew the switching would only get worse if he did.

“Two,” he squeezed through his clinched jaw.

Three… Four... Five… Six… Seven… Eight… Nine… Ten…

“Pull your pants up.” Jon did. “You need to think about this,” his dad continued. “Do you think we enjoy doing this?”

“No.” You must if you do it all the time.

“That’s right we don’t. But you give us no choice. You need to start thinking. Start using that brain and we won’t have to do this, okay?”

“Yes.” Jon wiped the tears from his cheeks.

“Now stay here until dinner time. We’ll call you out.” His dad made is way to the door.

“Okay. Can I listen to my radio?”

“No you can’t!” his mom yelled from the other room. “As a matter of fact, I will bring you your dinner.”

“There ya go,” his dad said as he pulled the door shut.

Dinner in my room, she is “really” mad. I don’t understand. It’s not like I got in fight, or stole something.

Jon sat on his bed, carefully. Although he picked the least painful switch he could find, it still hurt and he knew it would leave bruises.

Why don’t they like me?

Jon scooted carefully up the bed and laid his head on his pillow.

Maybe they would be happier if I wasn’t here anymore.

Jon rolled on his left side facing away from the door. He stared at the sky-blue wall.

I could run away.

“There, ya happy?” His dad said.

Where would I go?

There was no reply from his mom.

Anywhere would be better.

Heavy footsteps thudded down the hall and his parent's bedrom door slammed.

But where?

Jon heard the shower start.

Anywhere but here.

Bullied - Chapter 1

Jon entered the cafeteria, his nose instantly pummeled with the smell of grease and burning beef. His stomach turned at the smell. He scanned the rows of tables, looking for a place to sit, far away from the kitchen.

“There it is,” Jon said eyeing a chair by the stage. He made his move as the first few kids trickled out of the serving line. Just in time. He sat in a chair facing the entrance of the cafeteria with only the stage behind him.

He bit into his tuna salad sandwich. Not my favorite, but has to better than what they’re serving today. He watched kids walk their trays of trash to their preferred seats. How can they eat that stuff? My dog wouldn’t eat that garbage.

He watched kids enter the cafeteria and rally for position in line to receive their gut-bombs. “Lemmings. They are all a bunch of lemmings. Push one lemming off a cliff and the rest will follow,” he said to himself. He opened his baggie of chips. How do they make these?

Noise grew to a deafening roar as more kids wandered into the cafeteria and competed with others for conversation volume. Blah. Blah. Blah. Jon pulled a chip out and stuffed it into his mouth. All they ever talk about is their favorite band, who likes who or what’s happening at the mall. “How boring,” Jon said.

A group of boys walked into the cafeteria as Jon took another bite of his sandwich. Eighth-graders. Jon opened his thermos and poured some milk in the lid-cup.

Jon recognized the redhead in the group. He’d accidentally bumped into him in the hall before third period. Even then, Jon had recognized him, but couldn’t remember how he knew him. He sank in his seat and kept a watchful eye.

Jon stole quick glances at the group of boys. He wanted to take a good long look to try to place the redhead, but knew he couldn’t. If he looked too long, the boys might notice him.

The redhead pointed in Jon’s direction and the entire group moved in, following the redhead’s lead. Lemmings and he must be their leader. Jon took a big gulp of his milk. Even lemmings need a leader to be the first to jump off the ledge.

Jon continued watching the boys out of the corner of his eye. Please turn. Please turn. Let it be someone else. Please. The boys stopped across the table in from of Jon.

“Hey there,” the redhead said. “Remember me?”

“Yeah,” Jon said. “Sorry about earlier. I didn’t see you. It won’t happen again.” Jon made no direct eye contact and a lump swelled in his throat.

“You think I’m here about that hallway thing?” The redhead let out a chuckle and the lemmings followed his cue.

Jon looked at his knee under the table and put his sandwich down. Butterflies flew around his stomach. “Well, yeah,” Jon said. Why else would you be here?

“You really don’t remember me?” The redhead paused dramatically, looked at his lemmings and they grinned. “Well I remember you. I remember you real good. Three years ago you got my knife collection throwed away,” the redhead leaned over the table. Jon leaned away from him.

“What? How could I have anything to do with your knife collection? I don’t even know you.” It wasn’t easy for Jon to get the words out. The butterflies and the tuna in his stomach weren’t playing well together suddenly.

“Think hard about it, three years ago.”

Jon tried to remember, but couldn’t and shook his head.

“You told your teacher I pulled a knife on you. I was tooken to the principal’s office and my parents were called. I was kicked out of school, and only one day left. I had to go to summer school so I wouldn’t be held back.”

Jon tried to remember, but could not.

The redhead growled. “When my parents got me home they grounded me for the summer, I got a beating and my knifes was throwed away. I bought those knifes with my allowance and one was from my grandpa.”

Pain bit Jon's chin as the redhead gripped it with cold clammy fingers. “Look at me when I talk to you,” the redhead said as Jon’s face was forced up. Jon saw scrunched eyebrows and a gleam of anger raging behind the redhead’s eyes. The name David crept into his thoughts, slipped across his tongue and through his lips. Jon remembered. How could I have forgotten that?


**********************************************************

Returning from recess one late spring day in the third grade, as Jon walked into his classroom, an older kid stood by the door. Jon and Mike, a classmate, teased each other. Jon didn’t notice David until he spoke to Mike.

“Hey Mike. Is this kid bugging you?” David asked.

“Hey David. No he’s not bugging me,” Mike said, turned and walked into the classroom.

Jon turned to look who had asked. David was enormous. He was tall, with big muscles and was using a pocketknife to clean under his fingernails. Jon’s breathing accelerated.

David stopped grooming himself, grabbed Jon by the shoulder, and said, “You better not be bugging him. Understand?”

Jon looked at the knife at David’s side as he nodded. His heart pounded hard enough he could hear it as well as he could feel it.

David let go of him and Jon entered the classroom and walked up to his teacher. Jon waited for the rest of his classmates to come in. Mike, already at his desk, pulled his math book out.

“Mrs. Ewing?” Jon asked once the last person was in the door.

“What is it Jon?” Ms. Ewing replied.

“The fifth-grader standing outside the classroom door threatened me with his knife,” he whispered not wanting others to overhear him.

“Are you sure Jon?” she asked.

Jon nodded.

**********************************************************

“David,” Jon said again. The lump in Jon’s throat fell into his stomach. Two gags escaped Jon, followed by a tuna-milk-potato chip-bile geyser. The slop shot out of his mouth, launching his lunch like a chunky-fluid missile.

David tried to get out of the way, but not fast enough. He moved his face in time, but the vile flow hit him in the chest, decorating his neck, pea-green shirt and arms in a cream-of-tuna-chip soup.

Jon heard gasps and gags from nearby tables. David slipped on some of the puke and he reeled back. His arms flailed to keep his balance, throwing vomit from his hands through the air towards innocent onlookers, and he fell into one of the lemmings.

“Holy shit! What’s wrong with you? Oh man, it smells like shi… What the fuck did you eat?” David gagged. “You want me to beat your ass now?”

The urge to vomit subsided, but only for a moment. His cheeks warmed up as he felt embarrassment setting in. The butterflies returned. No, not again.

David stood up and looked at the front of his shirt, “Yeah, you remember alright.”
David lunged at Jon, and stopped a few inches from his face. “You owe me over a hundred bucks to replace my knives.” David looked at his short once more, then looked back at Jon. "And now you owe me a new shirt too."

One of the lemmings nudged David and said, “Watch it. Patrol coming.”

Jon looked past David’s face and saw a teacher, across the cafeteria, walking their direction. Thank god! This’ll be over soon.

David smacked Jon on the forehead with his vomit-coated hand. “Hey shit stain, did you hear me?”

Jon’s stomach began churning again. “I’m sorry that happened,” he said as he spat remnants of chips and tuna vomit.

David moved back.

“I didn’t mean to get your knife collection taken away, but…”

“Throwed away!” David yelled.

“Hey, what’s going on over there?” the teacher asked.

David looked back at the lemmings and motioned his head in the direction of the approaching teacher.

Jon peered around David again. Hurry please! Two of the lemmings moved towards the teacher.
“If they was just taken away,” David continued in a more controlled tone, “That might mean I would get them back someday.”

David slapped the side of Jon's head. Jon felt the vomit drip down his hair and across his ear.

“You remember Mike?” David asked.

Jon nodded.

“Well he’s my brother. I was only giving you a hard time, having a little fun. You had to be a little fucking baby and go cry to teacher.” Jon remained silent.

The teacher dodged one of the intercepting lemmings and held her hand out causing the other to sidestep her, “Get out of the way,” she said.

“Sorry,” Jon repeated.

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it, shit stain. I promise you this,” David's voice lowered to a whisper, “you’re gonna pay for my knifes, then you’re gonna pay for this puke-soaked shirt. One way or another, you will pay shit stain. You are gonna pay.” David accentuated the last “pay” with a sharp poke at Jon’s forehead.

“Mr. Moore!” the teacher shouted. The cafeteria was suddenly silent. “What is going on here?” she asked David, crossing her arms.

“Let’s get out of here.” David said as he turned and walked away from Jon with the lemmings following close behind. The teacher, blocking their path did not budge.

“Mrs. Haden, if you don’t mind, I would like to go home.”

She still did not move.

“Look.” David pulled his shirt out towards her and gagged. “He puked on me.”

Mrs. Haden took a step back, moved her hand over her nose and mouth and turned her head. “Fine, go on,” she said, her voice muffled by her hand. She stepped to one side and David walked around her. The lemmings followed.

“Do you need to go see the nurse?” Mrs. Haden asked Jon flatly.

Jon looked around the room. Everyone stared at him. It started with one person. Then a second joined in. Then someone else join, then another and another. Before Jon knew it, everyone in the cafeteria laughed. His vision blurred as tears welled up.

When David and the lemmings were out of Jon’s sight, he grabbed his backpack and darted from his chair, out of the cafeteria and out the front doors of the school. The sounds of laughter echoed in his head. He ran home.

**********************************************************

Jon sat on the curb in front of his house, thinking about what had just happened. “Why did you have to throw up? You think you had it bad before? Just wait. Now “Everyone” knows you’re a wuss.” His head dropped down, hanging limp between his knees.

Jon felt a shiver race up his spine. I’d better go inside before I get sick. He stood up and walked up the driveway to the front door. Before unlocking the door, he thought, I had better go in the garage door. I don’t need to make a mess in the house, mom would kill me. He turned and moved around the front of the house to the side garage door.

Jon undressed in the garage and inspected his clothes for puke splats. “I don’t believe it”, he said as he tossed his clothes in the dryer. “Not a spot.”

He walked in the door and tiptoed through the house. Don’t need to wake dad up.

Jon brushed his teeth and washed his hands and face. He dried and combed his hair. Nothing can look wrong or mom is going to know.

Okay, all that is left is to wait for my clothes to dry. He checked everything again.

Jon felt a gurgle in his stomach. I need to eat something, he thought. He went to the kitchen and prepared himself some peanut butter and jelly on saltines for a snack with a cup of apple juice.

Jon heard the dryer buzz. He fetched his clothes from the dryer and put them on. With snack in hand, he headed to his room. He walked in, sighed and said, “Home sweet home.”

He put the snack and juice on his nightstand and looked around the room. Make it look normal. Jon walked to his toy box, pulled his Lincoln Logs out, and poured them into a tidy pile on the floor.

He walked over to his bed sat on the edge, opened the drawer to his nightstand and pulled out a book. “Okay Mr. Merrick, let’s see what happens to you,” he said looking at the cover of the “Elephant Man”.

He looked at the clock. Two and a half hours, I might just be able to finish this before mom gets home. He grabbed a cracker off the plate, scooped a glob of peanut butter and jelly onto it and stuffed into his mouth. He opened the book to the dog-eared page and tried to put the memory of the day’s events behind him.

**********************************************************

Jon heard the garage door opener strain the door open. He looked at the clock on his nightstand. Four o’clock. “Oh, only a few pages left,” he said. He dog-eared his place in the book and put it back in the nightstand drawer. He crawled off his bed to the floor.

Keep things normal. He began playing with his Lincoln Logs.

He heard the garage door opener churning again, differently than before, this time closing the door and his stomach knotted up. I hate lying to mom, but I have no choice. She can’t find out about today.

“Jon, are you here?” His mom asked. Jon snapped his head up away from his thoughts.

“Yeah mom, I am in my room playing,” Jon responded, his voice shaking. Calm down.

“Why is the garage floor all wet?” The knot in his stomach tightened as he fumbled for an answer.

Don’t wait too long, or she’ll know something happened. Nothing came to him. His breathing quickened.

“Jon?”

Unable to think of anything else, he got up from the floor and walked to the kitchen where his mom stood. She was sorting the mail with her back to him. He tried walking past her to the garage door. Get past her, clean it up and she will forget. He made a move for the garage door.

“Jon?” his mom repeated as she turned to face him. “Why is the garage floor all wet?”

Jon turned and said the first thing that came to his mind. “When I was coming home from school, a car drove past me and splashed me with a puddle. I was all wet, so instead of coming in the front door and make a mess on the carpet, I came in through the side door of the garage.”

“The city needs to do something about those damn drains backing up.”

She believes me.

“Well how did your clothes get dry?”

“Only the bottoms of my pants and my shoes got wet.”

“Okay, but how did they get dry?” she asked again.

“I, ah… I put them in the… dryer.” He couldn’t make eye contact with her, he knew how she would react to this.

“Jonathon Michael Turnball!”

His head lowered.

“You know better than to run the washer or dryer. How many times have we told you not to mess with those things? How many times?”

“A lot,” he said. He was in trouble, but at least she didn’t suspect he was lying.

“Exactly! Next time just leave your damn clothes in the utility sink and put something else on. Understand?”

“Yeah, sorry mom. I’ll go clean it up,” Jon said.

“Just go to your room. I’ll take care of it before someone slips on it.“

Jon went back to his room and sat on the floor. He picked up his Lincoln Logs and put them away in the closet.

“Jon,” his mom called from the living room, “Where’s your coat?”

My coat! Oh man, I forgot my coat at school. He replied, “I forgot to get it from my locker after school.” Jon walked out to the coat closet where his mom was standing.

She looked at him. “It’s been pouring all day long. How could you forget your coat?” His mom said. He could hear the anger in her voice.

A door opened down the hall. “What the hell is going on?”

Oh man, Dad is up.

His mom turned towards the hall. “Nothing, just go take a shower I’ll have dinner ready when you get out,” his mom said.

“Okay.” His dad said. The door closed.

She turned her attention back to Jon. “Well?”

“I was in a hurry to get home.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to get my homework done so I could play with my Lincoln Logs.”

“You got your books from your locker but forgot your coat?”

Jon’s heart swelled into his throat. “I had all my books already. I got them before my last class. I didn’t think about my coat then, cause I still had one more class. I’m sorry, I won’t forget again.”

“I don’t know what to do with you,” his mom said shaking her head.

Oh man, here it comes, Jon thought. He looked at the red carpet between his feet.

“If it wasn’t for the fact that it is attached to your neck, I swear,” you would forget your thick head sometimes. “You need to be more,” responsible, “Jonathon. Stop and think before you act. You’re eleven years old and” its time you start acting like it.

Jon nodded, “Okay.” He knew the speech. He had heard it a thousand times before.

“That coat better be here tomorrow or you will be grounded to your room for a week. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

“Good, now go clean your room. I’ll call you for dinner.”

**********************************************************

Jon left his house just in time to hear the first warning bell from the school. Good. Everyone will be in class before I get there. It wasn’t raining, which made his walk to school a little less miserable.

He walked the two-blocks to school at a slow pace, counting the cracks in the sidewalk. He knew how many cracks there were and even where they were, but counted them just the same.

One Hundred and sixteen, Jon’s neck tightened. One hundred and seventeen, His stomach cramped with a hundred knots…One hundred and eighteen, his heart thudded against his chest. One hundred and nineteen, he fought to breathe normally.

Jon stopped, looked up and peered through the glass doors of the school. A few people sprinted through the hall trying to beat the tardy bell.

“Hey there shit stain,” a voice sounded.

Jon flinched. Robyn. He turned and confirmed it. Robyn Woodard stood six inches taller than the other girls in his class did and could kick the crap out of most the boys in the next grade up. She lived across the street in the low-income apartments known by locals as “The Zoo”.

“Nice job repainting the cafeteria yesterday,” she said still moving towards Jon, throwing her cigarette on the ground and blowing a lung full of smoke into the air.

Jon tried to step out of her way, but stumbled over his own feet.

“Get out of my way,” Robyn said as she shoved him.

Jon was already on his way down but Robyn's little shove made the fall even worse. Jon fell on the rough concrete and winced as he skinned his elbow.

“Careful shit stain, you might hurt yourself,” she said with a laugh. She opened the door and walked in. Jon could still hear her laughing as the door closed again.

Jon sat up and looked at his elbow. Skin was missing and blood started seeping to the surface. Robyn’s smoldering cigarette burned on the ground next to him. A white-gray cloud of smoke billowed from the red ambers into his face.

He shook his head back in forth, “I can’t do this.” He picked himself off the ground, and started walking home. Suddenly his mother’s voice sounded in his head.

That coat better be here tomorrow or you will be grounded to your room. Do you understand me?

Jon turned around and headed to the front door.

The Hunter

The Hunted

The raindrops are fat, cold and plentiful today, The Hunter thought as he wiped the wind-propelled rain from his face. Just adds to the challenge of the hunt. He surveyed the ridge across the canyon. Something moved. It begins.

The soil refused to absorb anything more. The frenzied flow of rain pooled up under the shoots of grass and unkempt shrubs that grew into the narrow path atop the canyon ridge. The muddy surface of the path surrendered under the pressure of The Hunter’s boots and caked onto the sides of the soles like barnacles to the hull of a ship. He stopped and looked at the tree line across the canyon.

It’s going to get away, he thought.

*******************

It was unusual to be hunting alone, but Randy’s normal hunting partners decided not to join him. Don’t want to go out in the storm, he recalled them saying. They’re just a bunch of pussies afraid of their own shadows. He didn’t believe the myths and wasn’t going to let local superstition stop him from filling his tag. Their loss. I’ll fill my tag this year and that’s what’s important.

Randy followed the set of tracks in the deer trail through the trees. The branches of the old fir trees provided a welcomed canopy from the rain and kept the tracks from ruin. The trees didn’t completely stop the rain. Instead, the rain collected on the branches to form huge drops. Damn water bombs, he thought as he wiped a strike from his cheek.

Randy heard a rustle up the trail and drew his rifle up to a ready position. His veins strained against the blood flowing at a furious rate. He stopped for a moment to calm down. Basic instincts are not what I need controlling me. Now calm down.

He held his breath and listened for more sounds. I wonder if it has moved on. He turned around and surveyed his surrounding. A scraping sound pierced the otherwise rain muffled air and he flinched. Over there, he thought turning towards the break in the trees. His heart thumped against the rhythm of his lungs as another shot of adrenalin flooded his saturated body. What the hell is going on? I’ve been doing this for years. I don’t get buck fever. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Calm down and take your prize home.

Randy inhaled deeply. The light scent of pine trees and decaying needles reminded him of home. He held the cold moist air in for a moment and released it. That didn’t work; he thought. He looked around, expecting to see something. There’s nothing to see dumb ass. I’m the only one here and I have the rifle, he thought, as he looked at the Winchester in his hands. He moved towards the sound, released the safety on the rifle and raised it to the ready position.

Randy broke through the trees and looked down for tracks. The rain all but destroyed the unprotected prints in the muddy soil. Still warm, he thought bending down to look at a pile of steaming deer droppings. Must be close, he thought. He stood up and continued the stalk.

He rounded a sharp bend in the trail and there it stood a trophy buck with two doe grazing in tall field grasses. One, two, three, he counted the points of an antler. Six point buck. Today is my day! He crouched down and moved to a bush for cover. The buck and doe faced away from his position and the wind blew rain in his face. My advantage, he thought.

Randy stopped breathing suddenly as his flesh crawled. He snapped his head left, looked, then right and looked. Quit being such a puss, he thought to himself. Concentrate on why you’re here. He closed his eyes and turned to face the buck.

I have all the time in the world, he thought. He raised the rifle, opened his eyes wide, inhaled deeply, exhaled partially and peered through the scope. He could not acquire a clean spot to place the shot. I can’t waste any meat with a shot in the ass. He lowered the rifle and finished his exhale. He looked for a better position, keeping one eye on his target.

Right there, Randy eyed a spot between a large fern and a maple tree. He rose to a stoop and stepped towards the fern. The buck turned and started eating a tall patch of grass. Randy stopped and watched. Today is my day, he thought. It doesn’t get any better than this. He turned back to face the buck, raised the rifle and crouched down to stabilize his aim.

Randy placed the crosshairs two inches left of the front-right shoulder blade of the buck. He inhaled deep and held it for a moment. He squeezed the trigger in unison with a slow exhaled. The ground in front of him exploded with a bright flash and thunderous concussion knocking him to the ground. A roar sounded from behind him and he scrambled to recover.

Randy got to his knees, disoriented and confused by the event. Ozone, the smell of electricity permeated air, was that a lightning strike? He looked to where the deer were. That figures. The buck and doe were gone.

Randy scrambled to his feet and looked up to the sky. He squinted as dark-gray clouds dropped rain on his face, but no thunderheads, he thought. What the hell was that?

Randy turned his attention to the direction of the roar. His heart skipped several beats as a flash of blinding light appeared from the end of a weapon in the hands of an unearthly creature. The light enveloped him.

Randy’s heart seized. His muscles contracted. His ears garbled with static. His vision blurred. His nose burned with the smell of electricity and hair. He collapsed to the ground as an explosive roar enveloped him and rattled his core.

Randy looked at the clouds, his eyes no longer squinting to keep the rain out. The clouds lost their marshmallow definition and blurred into a black mass as darkness settled in on him. The sound of static faded to silence and the smells of forest vanished with his last breath.

*******************

“If not for the rain in my face, it would have been a one shot kill,” The Hunter said.

He leaned over his prey for closer inspection. “It’s not a trophy kill by any means,” The Hunter said wiping the rain from his face. “At least I have something to take home.” He holstered his weapon.

The Hunter lifted his armored right hand and reached for a smooth pad strapped to his left forearm. His long, narrow finger drew an invisible, but ordered pattern on the pad. “Time to go home,” he said and waited for the arrival of his ship.

A moment later, the angular, black craft appeared through the clouds and landed in the grassy field. A ramp and door appeared and The Hunter snatched his trophy by the waist and carried it up the ramp of the craft. He stored his trophy in the preservation bay for the ride home. Hunting season was over now. He would be back again next year, for Earth is a plentiful preserve for The Hunter.