52. (BoyxBoy)

52. Page 7.

The next lesson was indeed IT, with the infamous Mrs. Mississippi. "Arrive early and sit at the back, trust me," Aiden advised Matt. As Matt raised his eyebrows, Aiden added, "You'd be surprised at how far she can spit." Matt laughed, obviously not believing it, but as the boys entered the room, they sat at the back, anyway. Together.

It turned out, Aiden really had good advice, as they exited the classroom together, they seemed to be two of the few students still dry, and free of spit. Darren and his cronies, Aiden noticed, were soaking - Mrs. Mississippi had taken a liking to them.

"I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" Matt raised his voice over the school bell, turning to face Aiden.

"Yeah," Aiden said softly as his eyes followed Matt, who was now walking speedily down the corridors. "See you tomorrow," he said, a little late. But he knew he was lying. Because tomorrow never comes. Certainly not for Aiden Matthews: 16 years of age.  16 years and 52 days old. He wasn't even a quarter of the way through his life. Or was he?

Is it possible to know exactly when and where you will die? You would say no, I presume. Is it possible to live, knowing when you will die? I would say try it, but you can't. It's powerful, death.

Two things are certain in this life: we are born and we die. But some people aren't even born. Miscarriage. So, some people aren't born, but we all die.

Think about it. Jordan may turn out to be a virgin; Louie Spence could be straight, and the only thing on this little planet for certain is death.

Oh, and taxes. (To quote Benjamin Franklin. Doesn’t everyone know their 18th century leading authors, printers, political theorists, politicians, postmasters, scientists, musicians, inventors, satirists, civic activists, statesmen, and diplomats?)

Aiden reached his pale blue locker, which had lost its colour, but redecorated with graffiti and various stickers plastered on over the years. Sighing, he twisted the lock. Not that it would ever work, of course. It was a struggle. He tried turning it left, then right, rotating his wrist. Obviously, it didn't want to open. Letting out an exasperated breath of anger, he kicked the locker. Not hard, but hard enough to leave a fuzzy feeling in his foot and a slight dent in his locker.

Oh well, he would just leave his bag in there. There would be no use for it tomorrow anyway and Aiden didn't want to bother the caretaker - that would result in a longer, slower, more painful death (if you haven't met Mr. Roads, think yourself lucky).
 
He ran his finger across the dent and backed away. He turned both ways, and saw the crowd escaping the day of school was thin. There were a few dawdlers hanging around and nobody was really taking any notice of him. So he spun on his heels and strode down the corridor.  He walked slowly, but at a steady rate.

The surrounding was so familiar. The blue of the lockers, yellow of the walls and a few vibrant school uniforms still poling around. The carpet was worn and a now dirty shade of brown. The signs, directing people around the school were fading. Posters were peeling off. He passed a stack of chairs, in a confused heap of red. There were classroom doors looking retired. It was an old school. A simple, local comprehensive. It wasn't heart-wrenching. He didn't feel any
commitment to the school. There was no need to say a few words of
goodbye. This was it, and he was exiting it.

He opened the double doors widely and stepped outside. He was met with a blast of cool February air. The trees whistled a low tune as they felt the breath of wind and stood tall, as their branches flew around, in an almost delicate manner. The green and brown of the leaves scattered along branches of trees. A wooden fence running alongside the trees had a smell of fresh paint, which, absurdly, added to the nature. The outside smelt strongly of woodland and flowers. It was a
cross between Autumn and Spring. Aiden let the soft breeze surround him as he walked down the path, heavily covered with concrete. The sky was almost purple. A pretty purple. Shades of blue and pink mixed with the purple of the sky to create a mess of colour. It was almost beautiful.
 
Aiden walked past an assorted arrangement of shops and big structured houses, before reaching his council estate. The graffiti was bright and threatening, and council flats towered over the whole estate. It wasn't that bad compared to some places, but it wasn't the pleasantest area to live in. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. A rottweiler or something. Aiden didn't stand around to find out. He hurried off past his estate. Past his flat. Past his mother. Past his life.

And he smiled.