CLANG CLANG CLANG
The bloody knife hit the gym's polished floors.
Ohhhh... Haaaa...
Ohhhh... Haaaa...
Kieran tried to steady his breathing as he sat in the chair behind him, sweat profusely dripping from his forehead, his vision hazy, fingers trembling. Trying to settle himself, he ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, drawing it back before his vision finally settled. He brought his hands down to his thighs—only to see that his fingertips were black, rotten, like he'd been dead for months and had just started to decay.
Immediately, he pushed back from the chair.
CRASH!
The chair buckled and dismantled into several pieces as all of Kieran's efforts to calm himself went straight down the toilet. His eyes went wild, darting every which way until finally—he turned to see the bloody body, if not full-on corpse, hanging by its tied wrists. A cut pattern ran all across its body. The chest wasn't moving, and blood continued to drip from every part of its skin.
Kieran instantly picked himself off the floor, clenched his fists to stop them from shaking.
Ohhhh... Haaa...
Taking one last deep breath, he adjusted his top, trying to create even a small layer of separation between the drenched fabric and his already freezing body—but to no avail.
What is going on?
Why am I still in school?
Who's that hanging?
These were just some of the many questions that swarmed Kieran's head before he realized all his questions boiled down to one:
"WHAT'S THE LAST THING I REMEMBER?"
*****
HMM
HMMM
HMMM
The sound of slurping echoed as Keiran and Alexa's tongues twisted into one—
a parade of saliva, an exchange of bacteria and bodily fluids.
The heart of any teenage romance.
Keiran and Alexa were in the girl's locker room, with Alexa pushed up against a locker, as every so often the metallic rattling echoed down the halls.
> "I'm really making out with that Dumbo's girlfriend," Keiran thought to himself.
"I'm sure I'm the best she's ever had."
CLINK
CLINK
CLINK
Keiran could recognize the sound of those weird old lady heels from a mile away.
It was Principal Adams—the ball buster and Keiran's ultimate hater.
> "Damn, she was supposed to be in homeroom."
As her steps grew louder, the tension creeping along Keiran's neck crawled even higher.
He tried pulling out of the kiss, but as Alexa warped her legs around him, he was totally at her mercy.
The door finally swung open to reveal an incredibly pissed-off principal standing with furrowed brows and mouth slightly agape.
Alexa immediately pushed him away, threw her hands in the air, and let out a slight, high-pitched shriek.
> "Ma'am, I didn't know! It was all his idea!" she said, throwing a finger at Keiran and making her lips pulp—
but her eyes said "fuck you."
With all eyes on Keiran, standing in the girls' locker room, lipstick smeared across his face,
a girl everyone knew was lying hurling accusations—
and a visibly active boner.
There was only one thing certain:
Keiran was very much screwed.
*****
All that could be heard by the nosy staff outside Principal Adams' office was nonsensical grunting and ramblings — all at the highest frequency the human voice could go.
Inside sat Keiran, with beads of sweat permanently plastered on his forehead and a worried look in his eyes, almost like fear. Oh, not because of the principal — to him, she was just an angry red Smurf. Red being the only way to describe her face — like an overripe tomato — and her brows that merged into one. Every so often, she would scream "Delinquent!" as spit flew from her mouth onto his face.
Alexa wasn't even there. Of course, the princess of the school got a pass. Her parents were rich and couldn't handle a scandal. But Keiran— the orphan who barely came to school but was required to by law — he couldn't get expelled, but she could bury him so low he'd see the devil from above.
After hours and hours of screaming, her last words were simple and firm — a bit too little after all the yelling and wild hand movements, but alright:
"Detention. Every day from 3 till 6 until I decide when to let you go which will be never!!."
*****
After school, Keiran grabbed a mop, and his task was very simple. The janitor had been with him before and personally knew how annoying Keiran was when told to do something simple — Keiran took stubborn to a whole other level.
He grabbed the mop—
SPLASH!
Keiran tipped the bucket over and slowly threw his hands in the air, pretending it was an accident but putting no effort into it whatsoever.
The janitor's face began to bubble red as he stomped over to Keiran, getting face to face with him. Keiran didn't even flinch — wearing that annoying look on his face as if begging the whole world to punch him. The janitor ripped the mop from his hands and screamed in a strained voice:
"JUST GET THE TRASH!"
Keiran rolled his eyes so hard you'd think it hurt. He dragged his feet to the nearest trash can and slowly pulled out the trash bag, then proceeded to drag it across the floor to the sewage line — leaving a slimy trail for the janitor to clean.
The janitor screamed and screamed for him to stop — just before Keiran slowly turned his head and mouthed, "Oops."
He pushed the door open and walked to the back of the school building, where the dumpsters were. As he heaved the bag into it, he began walking back toward the school.
That's when he heard it.
Slow, heavy footsteps.
The already cold temperature dropped even lower. A homeless person walked through the shadows, scratching the back of his neck and approaching Keiran.
Keiran took a cautious step back and clenched one fist behind his back — just in case.
The man was dressed in dirty rags. His skin was both pale and filthy, barefoot, bald, and trailed a terrible stench with every step — like a rotten corpse, but somehow worse.
As he approached Keiran, the boy noticed the tears running down his face.
"What's wrong?" Keiran asked, a confused look on his face.
"I can't take it anymore," the man spoke, his breath putrid, his teeth practically brown and decaying. His eyes were almost lifeless as he grabbed Keiran's arms.
"I'm done. I just want to be free."
The moment he spoke, Keiran felt a chill trail down his spine, the hair on the back of his neck stood, and goosebumps spread across his skin.
And just for a moment — it felt like he left his body.
THUD!
The homeless man's body slumped to the floor.
Keiran jumped back, eyes wide, and ran back into the school — hands cold and terrified.
Immediately running for the janitor as he slipped on the recently mopped floor, and his head bounced back off the floor—but right now that didn't matter, as he didn't even slow down before reaching the janitor and telling him everything, sounding like a deranged stoner. And of course, he didn't believe him. It was Keiran.
"I'M NOT LYING, PLEASE BELIEVE ME!!" Keiran screamed at the top of his lungs.
SWING
In one fatal blink—as Keiran blinked his eyes—he saw the janitor's headless body standing in front of him. The head was still in the air, and the mop was still in his hands, like his body had failed to register his death. And as the head finally slammed to the floor, so did the mop. The arch where his head once was began spraying blood just before the body dropped backward.
BOOM
Keiran stood perfectly still, with a clean arch of blood across his face, his eyes bulging from their sockets—staring directly into the eyes of the decapitated head in front of him.
Just as he hears a calm whisper in his head:
"So, you're my new plaything… let's see how long you last."