SDMN| Stories

• DEAD MAN | ETHAN

Stumbling forward, the left side of his face came in contact with his own cold, metal locker, a loud 'thud' echoing through the hall. He tried to push himself back up, to regain balance, but a strong hand held him in place. Shoulders jerking and anger seething, he jolted from the grip, only to be thrown back-first straight against the metal.

"Have a nice fall did you, fag?" A thick Nigerian accented voice spat, torment lacing his words.

"Yeah I did thanks. Had a nice fall straight into your mothers-"

SLAM. SLAM. SLAM. His body was repeatedly thrown back into the locker. Face scrunched up, he flinched, ready for impact. A smart comment wasn't exactly such a smart comment in this situation, but it was just too easy to do. It was probably his mouth that got him into situations like this, but he tried not to think about it too hard. Wouldn't want to risk changing himself.

"Want to say that again? Huh? Say it!" The boy challenged, making eye contact. He wanted to move, maybe he could've had a better chance in the fight if he wasn't being pinned against his own locker.

Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't say it. Come on, you know better than to-

"That's what I thought, bitch. Scared of me, are ya fam? Yeah. 'Course you are."

He just had to go there. Couldn't of just thrown a few more punches and left, could he? His pride and ego was too far out of this world for him to do such a thing.

"Why would I be scared of a wannabe rapper with shitty hair and a god complex? Pathetic rap battles at break. So fucking scary lad." He spat back, narrowing his eyes. The height difference was only a few inches, but it didn't stop him from retaliating the eye contact.

He knew he was in for it now. No one, calls out JJ Olatunji. Especially not when he has you against a locker.

"How about you remind everyone what you do at break? Gay make out sessions in the bathrooms? Ring a bell? No?" JJ smirked.

His eyes widened for a second before settling, remembering not to show weakness. It took a good minute to realise that 'everyone' referred to the small crowd of students that had gathered. With little effort, he recognised a few of JJ's mates, and some people in his own grade. Simon Minter was among these, and was standing, to his surprise, only a few steps away.

Had he been there the whole time?

"You want to hit me too, Minter? Want to help your boyfriend out?"

A hand quickly released his shoulder, reappearing at his throat.

"Did I touch a nerve?" He stupidly managed to choke out. He never knew when to shut up. No, that's a lie. He never wanted to shut up. He had to show everyone he wasn't afraid.

JJ glanced to Simon, nodding his head. They exchanged some secret conversation which left him curious, and struggling to breath. The hand hadn't left his throat.

SLAM. After an attempt at shoving JJ away, he lost balance and fell to the ground. Simon immediately came over, delivering a smooth kick to his side.

Good kick. He's a football player after all.

"You never know when to shut up." Simon laughed, all smug like.

No, we've been over this. He doesn't want to shut up.

"It's embarrassing how gay you are." JJ snarled, he was now crouched down on his knees beside him. PUNCH.

There we go, there's the punch.

The blow landed strategically to his cheek, making him shut his eyes for a moment. He was confident he could take the punches, but wasn't confident he could get up to fight back. So he didn't have much of a choice, but to listen.

"What would your parents think?" PUNCH.
"Oh wait." PUNCH.
"That's right." PUNCH.
"They left you." PUNCH.
"Now what are you?" PUNCH.

Okay, first of all, ouch. Secondly, that's a good question, I have a feeling you're about to tell me.

"You're a lying, lonely, parentless faggot."

Called it.

"Not to mention thieving. It runs in the family though, right? Like father like son. You know what's next?" This line of abuse was from Simon this time.

No, what's next?

"You get to drop. Dead." KICK. CRACK.

Crack?

His left eyebrow and cheek was now dripping blood, he lifted a shaky hand to his face. Fingertips barely brushing his nose, pain shot through his skull. That's what the crack was. A horrifying sound of his own nose breaking.

"Can't wait." He mumbled, sitting up. Pain raced through his head, causing him to grunt and wince, something he had refused to allow himself to do earlier. Forcing himself to look up, he once again came face-to-face with JJ.

"See you tomorrow, fag." This time he literally spat, throwing a bag at him.

Stupid JJ. Stupid dumb boxing skills. Stupid parents money. Stupid Simon. Lanky prick.

He took the bag thrown at him, quickly realising that it was his own. Well, what was left of his own, the textbooks that never made it to his locker were now ripped, notebooks had pages torn, pencils- well, there weren't any -who brought pencils nowadays anyway? One thing that didn't appear to be destroyed was a single sheet of paper that sat towards the back in the empty laptop pocket. It wasn't crumpled up, so it wasn't his. It was a note.

He unfolded it carefully, suspicious as to what could be written on it. A few drops of blood stained the white paper. Another drop of blood got into his eye. He squinted with his good eye to read the note.

"You owe me. Fuck up and you're a dead man, Ethan Payne.
- J.Bradley."

Oh for fucks sake.