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"Mom, I'm scared."

"Why? There is nothing to be afraid of."

The seven year old boy shook his own head. His eyes were filled with tears.

"There are lots of things to be afraid of", he said simply.

The boy remained silent as he stared out of the window, while he was eating breakfast. His eyes were glued on the other children in his neighborhood who was laughing and playing outside his house. He was way too shy to ask if he could join them, even if his mother almost begged him to do it. The boy had always been quiet, not being sure what to say in social situations and therefore saying nothing. A loner. An outcast, Once in awhile when he was confronted for something bad he'd done, like accidentally pushing his little sister down the stairs, he denied it and ran off into his own room. He could still recall the memory of the tears streaming down her pale face like a beautiful river in the spring. However, there was nothing beautiful or fascinating in watching his sister suffer that way. She was only four years old, after all. He felt extremely guilty whenever he thought about it, even if he didn't admit it to himself.

Barkovitch was always a good boy. However, no one really noticed. It didn't bother him too much. He mostly spent his time to solve a difficult puzzle or play in the woods all by himself. Sometimes he came home with bruised legs and a bloody nose, but he was laughing all along and said that he was pretending to be a "pirate". His mother didn't want him to play in the woods, and said it could be "dangerous". The boy couldn't care less. He was quite... unusual, but he was happy that way, in his own land built of trees, pirates and solitude.

His name was Gary Barkovitch.. And... today was his first day in school.

"I'm sure you'll find lots of new friends. Don't worry, honey. Everything is going to be alright. Now, be a good boy and and give mommy a great big hug. Oh, and don't forget your back pack!"

Barkovitch groaned.

"No", he said. "Of course not."

x

Barkovitch couldn't stop fidgeting in his seat. The other kids in the classroom were making him nervous. They didn't say much, but they stared at Barkovitch and sniggered at every move he made. He could almost imagine how the butterflies inside his stomach woke up and started dancing the dance of life in a way of celebrating their existence - incapable of dying or simply disappearing.

Butterflies. Kids. Death. Butterflies. Kids. Death. Butterflies. Kids. Kids. Kids. Death.

… Weird thoughts.

The teacher had left the classroom quite some time ago, and no one had seen him since that. The teacher had told them all to draw something nice on a piece of paper. Barkovitch tried to think of nice things, like sunshine and forests, but all he could think about was dead butterflies. He was still aware of the fact that everyone was staring at him. Staring and sniggering. Especially the boys.

Relax. They are just curious. Maybe that's why they are staring at you. It's fine. He-

"Oh my god! Are these butterflies? Wow, they are sooo cute! Your drawings are really, really, really pretty!"

Barkovitch slowly turned around and stared right into a pair of green eyes. The girl giggled hysterically as she held up the piece of paper and stared at it in deep fascination.

Barkovitch panicked.

"Oh, I'm Betty, by the way. What's your name?"

He opened his mouth in order to say something, but nothing came out of it. Only silence. It felt like someone had glued his feet onto a road, and there was nothing he could do to run away from the car that was driving in high speed against him, prepared to knock him out and smash his bones.
The butterflies in his stomach was no longer butterflies. They were tentacles that slowly burst out of his chest and danced sensually through the air - like a ballerina - making their way towards his throat. Ripping it out.

Another boy came over to Barkovitch. He was tall and blonde. Barkovitch could tell that he probably was a future leader-type. He stared at Barkovitch in disgust.

"Butterflies? You can't draw butterflies", he chuckled. "Butterflies are for girls."

The boy brutally ripped the drawing away from Betty's hands and held it up so everyone could see it. She looked a bit shocked at first, but then she strutted away in a cheerful manner, ignoring the situation, laughing it off, not wanting to be a part of it. Only a very smart or a very cowardly kid would've done something like that.
… Betty was neither.

"Look! He is drawing butterflies! What a dork!"

Laughter echoed through the classroom and Barkovitch felt like someone had punched him in the face. He frowned and looked down at his hands. Somehow, he felt worthless.
The thought striked Barkovitch like a gunshot to the head.

… Worthless? What a strange word. Me? Worthless? No, that can't be, I...

Then something unexpected happened. It was like a thin, thin, thin line broke inside him.
This couldn't be right. He had to do something. Now.
He stood up from his seat and looked the boy deadly in the face. His eyes were filled with fire.

"Give it back. Now."

The boy let out a mad cackle.

"Oh, really? What are you going to do about it? Fight me? You're way too small for that."

Barkovitch tried to remain calm and expressionless. He didn't want to show any signs of weakness. His voice was cold and harsh, seemingly strong and unbreakable, but every breath he was forced to take caused him psychial pain.

"I don't want to fight. I'm just asking you to give it back."
"Fighting is necessary."
"No, it's not."
"It's not that bad, really. You're just a coward."

The anger flushed through his body, turning his cheeks red.

"I am not."
"Prove it."

Barkovitch slapped him. The boy didn't stand a chance. He collapsed on the floor, covered in red substance.

There was a long, awkward silence. How long did it last? Five seconds? One minute? Five minutes?
It didn't matter. Barkovitch had lost all sense of time. He just wanted this to be over.
He closed his eyes and gave into the darkness. So much blood.
There was a voice from behind.
"Gary Barkovitch, I think we need to talk about this."

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