A Villain's Tale
Chapter One - Past Prejudice
Sam Guldorn kicked moodily at the ground as he strolled briskly around the school field. Around him, he could hear the happy shouts and yells of his classmates, and the dull thud of a football being kicked around. He ran a pale, spidery hand absent-mindedly through his dark, unkempt hair, his watery eyes itching from extensive computer use. He smiled slightly, thinking of his friends, still inside, eyes glued to their monitors. At least he had the sense to go outside every now and again. Though, to be honest, coming outside often made him feel worse. He looked up at the happy teenagers, chatting and laughing, having the time of their lives. He turned away quickly, as if burned at their sight.
He briefly considered going over to join one of the groups. He was pretty sure he could get on with some of them. Sure, he may have to just sit there quietly, but he had nothing better to do. He started towards one of the groups, hitching a smile on his pale features.
The football came out of nowhere and hit him square in the back of the head. He stumbled forwards, hearing harsh laughter coming from behind him. He straightened, acting as if nothing was wrong, feeling the mud dribbling down the back of his neck.
"Oi, geeky!" yelled a voice at him. He kept walking, ignoring the fast approaching sniggers.
He heard heavy footsteps approaching, and his way was blocked by Leon, the school bully and head chav of his "Crew."
He towered over Sam, grinning thickly. He was at least a head taller, and a lot wider than Sam. His hands were placed confidently on his hips, his chunky arms covered by a White Nike hoodie, worn "rebelliously" over his school shirt. Sam grimaced, and tried to get past.
"Whoa, where you goin', geeky?" he said, holding out one of his arms to block his path. Sam could hear Leon's crew approaching, encircling him, and tried to push his way out, tired of this routine.
Leon laughed nastily, and pushed him back in the circle. Sam stumbled, and he laughed even harder, his voice joined by his cronies. Leon pushed him again, and this time Sam stumbled to the ground, his too-large school shoes slipping on the muddy ground. He reached out instinctively with one of his hands, and caught hold of one of the smaller ones, gripping him by the front of his shirt. He snarled at the struggling youngster: "You think this is funny, do you?" Tears of anger and rage leaked down his cheeks as he shook the youngster, his other hand struggling to keep him upright.
The youngster abruptly stopped laughing, and broke Sam's grip. He ran off, crying loudly.
Sam got steadily to his feet, and realised the circle had gone deathly silent. The laughter was gone from Leon's face, replaced by anger. He advanced menacingly on Sam. "That was my brother Brad. What d'you go threatening him for?"
"I'm sorry," said Sam, and meant it. He watched him run towards the school, wailing.
Leon hit him. Sam went down, hard. He could feel the wet mud pressing against the back of his shirt, and the warm blood on his face. He tried to get to his feet, but Leon lashed out with a booted foot, catching him in the ribs. Winded, Sam lay still, not wanting to provoke any more violence, and too weak to move even if he wanted to.
Satisfied, Leon and his gang headed back for the school. Sam waited until he could no longer hear their heavy footsteps, and then got gingerly to his feet. He touched his face with one grimy hand, feeling the blood leaking out of his nose. He dug with his other hand into a pocket, finding a handkerchief, which he used to stem the flow. He stumbled towards the school, glancing at his watch.
He looked again, thinking his eyes were deceiving him. Break had been over a full ten minutes ago! The dull pain in his nose and ribs seemed to fade as a new emotion gripped him: panic. He stumbled forwards a bit faster, wondering vaguely if his leg was broken. It certainly felt like it.
He neared the dull, familiar school buildings, and stumbled on the concrete, falling forwards again. He righted himself clumsily, and wondered cynically if this day could get any worse.
"GULDORN!!!"
Cursing under his breath, he turned towards to the source of the voice, which confirmed his cynical theory with flying colours.
Mr. Barker, disciplinarian and Head of Year 8, held in a mixture of respect and fear by most pupils, marched purposefully across the playground, his eyes flashing with fury. As usual, he wore a dark suit, ill-fitting over his muscular frame. Following in his wake was Brad, no longer crying, but looking miserable nonetheless.
Sam quickly stood up straight, trying to look as dignified as possible, despite his muddy clothes and bleeding nose.
"Did you attack this boy?" growled Mr. Barker, his voice sounding like an oncoming thunderstorm.
"Please, sir…I can explain…" began Sam meekly.
"I don't want to hear your excuses, boy!" spat Mr. Barker, leaning forwards and regarding Sam's appearance with contempt, as though Sam had purposefully bloodied and muddied himself to aggravate him.
"He did, sir!" piped up Brad, his voice whiny and persistent.
"Well…I did, yes…but…" sputtered Sam, looking from face to face.
"So, you did!" yelled Mr. Barker. "You launched an unprovoked attack on a first year!"
"Yes…" said Sam, through gritted teeth. "But…"
"I don't want to hear any more of your snivelling excuses, Guldorn!!" said Mr. Barker, straightening up, the contempt in his voice multiplying. "I will expect you in detention, after school, all this week!"
"But, sir…it wasn't…"
"Get out of my sight!" yelled Mr. Barker. "And get yourself cleaned up! I don't want you trailing mud around the school!" With that, he turned and stormed back inside, accompanied by Brad, who turned just before he went inside, shooting Sam a look of triumph.
Sam sighed, a dozen retorts dying in his mouth. Arguing with Mr. Barker would get him nowhere, and he didn't fancy any more detention than he already had.
He limped towards the school, as the first spots of rain began to fall. He sighed, and made for one of the doors into the school. He pushed it with his left hand, his right hand still dabbing at his nose. It didn't budge.
He limped over to the next one, and encountered a similar problem. The rain was beginning to beat down hard now, soaking his already muddy uniform further.
Giving up, he stumbled over to a bench under an overhanging roof, and sat down heavily, his mind full of anger and ideas for revenge.
On that day, Sam Guldorn died, and Lord Magnus was born.