It was an accident.
At least, that was what they claimed. And a year later, everyone had forgotten it had even happened. The boys who did it graduated, and went to the local college. They probably forgot, too.
But Tom certainly didn't forget. And under the watchful eye of the Crow, he learned to think of nothing else but that train that would take him from the afterlife back to Earth, so he could play out his revenge. But don't look, the Crow sang. He was only supposed to take the memories in small doses, when the Crow wanted him to. And then, when he himself became the Crow, he would be able to control how often he saw it. But nothing could stop his mind from wandering, when he was alone, on that long train ride back to the world...
Tom was a lonely kid. He had never made friends very easily, and liked to keep to himself during free hours, either sketching away pictures in his notebook, or reading very old literature. No one paid attention to him, but that was fine, because he didn't pay attention to them, either. He was content being in his own world, with his own fictional characters and scenery. Hazel eyes surveyed the pages he loved more than any other human, his pale fingers found a pen and created beautiful pieces of art. Deep brown hair that looked almost black under the shadow of the pavillion that sat outside the school walls, jagged and usually a little messy, framed his face and met up in a soft widow's peak on his forehead.
Sometimes he would draw a girl. Her name was Aleda, and he thought she was beautiful. Her name meant "small and winged one," and he thought it fit her perfectly. Other than her, his eyes never seemed to travel into the faces of others. And if he ever was caught looking at her, he would glance away, a blush starting to grace his features.
He managed to go his whole life without anyone laying uncomfortable eyes on him, until his last year of high school. A group of boys, a typical conglomerate of teenagers that were on sports teams and were fairly popular, decided to make him a victim of their boredom. In-between classes, when he was walking through the halls, they would often corner him and basically just interrogate the hell out of the kid. At first, that was it. Just playful, annoying questioning about what he'd been drawing during Math or asking why he liked to read so much.
They especially liked to ask about his drawings of Aleda.
"Who is this?" They would ask. "She looks familiar."
"Is she your girlfriend?"
"I couldn't see why she would want you, you're so goddamn weird and quiet all the time..."
But it moved on after a while, to taking the books from his hands and either not giving them back, or ripping them up. Tom found the situation confusing, and, unknowing of how to deal with their actions, kept silent. He didn't feel any teachers would care, nor did he think the issue was important enough to mention. Just some bullies looking for amusement.
The boys kept poking the fire. He eventually stopped bringing his books, and stopped with his drawing at school, hoping that would make them lose interest. It didn't work, so he began finding different routes around school to avoid them. Only days of that lasted until, like dogs following a scent, they found his new track.
They toyed with him, pushing his back against the brick of the wall beside the door that led inside, to the hallway. It wasn't anything too violent, he supposed, at first. Just making sure he wasn't able to run.
"Avoiding us, now?" asked the one who usually seemed to take the lead. His name was Aaron Mitchell, and he was on the soccer team. Tom had come to refer to him as Prince Charming, because he had the swept-back blonder hair and killer smile that so many of the girls in the school seemed to so easily fall for. His two cronies, one just a regular jock (that one was called Harry Wisefield), and the other, also on the soccer team. Tom wasn't sure who that third one was, namewise. He just liked to follow the other two around and be in their crowd. Tom's nickname for that one was Mouse, because despite his strong physique, his face appeared almost rodentlike and small.
Tom said nothing, moving slightly, trying to just back on his way to class. Aaron pulled him forward, pushed him back hard. This wasn't going to be so simple; his back hurt now, and some spots flashed before his vision. The school bell rang. Late for class.
"I say we try and convince him to stop avoiding us," Harry spoke up, nodding his head in the direction of the bathrooms. The third boy jabbered on in approval, and Tom looked from one face to the next, confused, starting to squirm.
"Hmm, that sounds like a very good idea," Aaron approved, his hands gripping one of Tom's arms hard. Tom fought, still not too sure of what was about to happen, as Harry grabbed his other arm. He was dragged to the bathroom doors and Aaron kicked them open, pulling Tom inside, with the third boy following behind. Tom wasn't a weak kid, in fact, he was surprisingly strong, so eventually, all three of them had to keep hold on him. It was almost hard, because he was rather thin and kept getting close to slipping out of their grasp.
He was brought into a stall and bent over one of the toilets. It was disgusting, up close; even more so than usual, now that Tom had a vague idea of what the group's plans were.
"Howabout a bath, Tom?" Aaron asked, and even though he couldn't see it, Tom was sure there was a grin on his face. "Your hair is looking rather greasy, to me. And they do say hygiene is very important, especially if you want that girl you draw so much to so much as look at you."
Tom's fighting grew again, this time worse, his hands flying and trying to grab at whatever part of the boys he could reach. Mouse called him a "stupid motherfucker," and Aaron punched Tom in the face.
His head smashed against the side of the tank in the scuffle, and his body suddenly went limp. Harry, who had still had a grip on Tom, dropped him, and sent a kick to his stomache.
"Hey, get up."
Blood flowed around Tom's head, slowly. Aaron stepped back, the grin fading as slowly as the pool of blood grew. Mouse had already taken off running. Harry was about to disappear, as well, mumbling that he was really late to class and should go.
Aaron finally turned away, as well, walking quickly outside with Harry. They managed to get away with it. They told eachother it was an accident, and when Mouse had a moment of weakness and confessed to his coach, the coach said they should keep their mouths shut if they wanted to stay on the team.
"Stop looking!" The Crow said in Tom's ear. He snapped out of his reverie, visions of the past disappearing. His eyes turned from the train window, finding the bird on his shoulder. "These are things you do not want to see again, boy."
Tom nodded, his fingers going up to brush over the makeup that had been put on his face. His face depicted the mask of Irony, white-white with black on his eyes, lips black with lines outstretched to make him look like he was always smiling, even if he frowned.
"We are arriving..." The Crow said, and suddenly, it flapped its wings. The train began to shake, lights flashing, a screeching noise filling Tom's ears. He covered them, eyes squeezing shut. A hand touched his shoulder. He opened his eyes again, and there was the conductor, skeleton face and skeleton hand.
"Last stop, sir," a voice said, coming from the skull, though it's mouth didn't open.
Everything went dark. Tom called out for the Crow. He heard it caw, "push."
Tom felt envoloped, suddenly, and his lungs heaved for lack of air. He pushed, and pushed, muscles searing as he roared along with the force that he used. And then he burst from the earth, coffin door flying open, grass and dirt going everywhere. He gasped, grabbing at the ground and pulling himself out of his box, crawling to his headstone where the Crow sat.
"And so it begins."