Warning: This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence, homophobic slurs, and death. Read at your own risk.
I could feel his tangled blonde locks curled around my fingers, his nearly-limp body doing its very best to keep his weak, trembling knees from buckling under his own insignificant weight. It was almost cute, in a way. My fist in his hair was the last thing holding him above the grimy, cracked bathroom tiles, splattered with the occasional dribble of blood that missed his shirt. His bottom lip wobbled slightly as he took a sharp breath through his nose, which was crooked from the repeated blows he had suffered. I shook out my other fist, dragging it down his cheek, glaring into his pained blue eyes with a smug smile as I saw streaky red tracks follow my knuckles.
"You like that, fag?" I sneered, dropping his hair and letting him wither to the ground. "'Course you do. Think I wouldn't see you starin'?" No answer, of course. He was bruised up pretty badly, cheek and eye all swollen, drool and tears winding over his deathly pale cheeks like his body was betraying him. Begging me to stop when he wouldn't say a word. I could hear a soft whine from his throat, the unevenness of it and his hiccups the only sound echoing around us besides my own voice and the sniggers of the boys watching from over my shoulder.
"Sure showed him!" One bellowed, sending the rest into a fit of unintelligible giggles. I snorted and crouched down closer to him.
"You gonna answer me, boy?" I narrowed my eyes, focusing on the fat tears welling in the corners of his eyes as I slammed my open palm into his neck, lifting him a little higher, pressing my fingers hard into his jaw. "Huh? Are ya?"
"I-I..." He whimpered, choked voice only barely audible. With visible strain, he lifted one of his arms. It trembled and shook like a leaf, but he managed to bring a hand to the one around his neck. His stubby nails scratched at my skin, legs spasming as he struggled to find strength enough to stand, push me away at the least. "S-st..." He couldn't get out a single word. Pitiful. His lips parted just a tad wider, I watched him try to swallow, squeezed harder when I felt his throat move. He coughed and blood sprayed my hand.
His eyes trained on the tiny drops, identical to the globs hanging from his lip. Slowly, he looked up towards my face, knowing I wouldn't be pleased.
"Oh, Lenny. Look at the mess you've m-"
"Len!" Before I could spit my last word in his face, another voice called his name. A body landed hard against the heavy door. The goon holding it shut was obviously startled, because it peeked open a crack and an arm shoved its way through. With a grunt from the girl throwing all her strength into besting a boy twice her size, the idiot slammed back from our side of the door. I watched, pressing the blonde boy's head up into the sink. The girl screeched in pain as the door crushed her arm.
"Get 'er in here," I growled, annoyed at the interruption. One of the giggly boys from behind me rushed to pull her inside, and the lousy door guard shoved his wooden charge back into place.
"So queer boy's gotta have his big sissy fight his battles for him?" I snickered, and she spat at me as her arms were twisted behind her back. I dropped Len's neck. For what he'd done, he deserved more than just a beating. Looking at me like I'm some girl, how demeaning. Disgusting. He would pay for that.
"Gotta say, boy, she's quite the looker," I commented, swaying back to my feet and backing her into the wall. She furrowed her brows and shoved me away. Len squirmed on the ground, desperate to defend her.
"Geddoff me!" She growled. I ignored her and glanced back at the silent boy on the ground.
"If you were more like your precious sissy over here..." I snaked an arm around the girl's hips, pressing my hand against her body from under her skirt. "You might've had a chance!" She kicked my leg hard and I slapped her cheek, stepping right back over to my first victim as she fell to the floor, the same shiny blonde hair hanging over her red face.
Len's mouth hung open, like he couldn't believe what I had done to her. "R-r...in?" he blubbered, crossing his eyes angrily to glare at his own numb lips. Maybe I had hit his head a little too hard.
He slumped against the sink, staring back up at me. With his pout and half-swollen face, he looked more like a retard than anything. I chuckled and spat down at him, watching him flinch as he felt a wet splatter on his cheek.
"You piece of shit!" Rin screamed at me from the ground, hand pressed against her slowly forming bruise.
"Fucking bitch," I hissed in her direction, picking her brother back up by his hair again. I might never get tired of his hair between my fingers, his desperate whines as he clawed at me, his sister's indignant cries for help. He could take one more blow to the head, I was sure.
I slammed him down into the sink. He screamed as he felt my push downwards, but the sound could barely escape his lips before he was cut off by a stomach-curdling crack.
Something was wrong. His hands on my arm went limp. His knees buckled. He slipped out of my grip, sliding down to the ground, trailing blood from a thick puddle slowly running down the drain. His mouth hung open, so did his eyes. They were identical to his sister's, who was the first to realize what had happened.
"You..." She breathed. "You killed him!" I had to do something. She was staring at the corpse, hoping desperately she was wrong. "You killed him!" The girl shoved the awestruck idiot away, falling to her knees over the body. My audience looked to me for instructions. I did the only thing I could think to do. I grabbed onto the sister's matching hair, smearing blood into the pure color. She screamed, and I kneed her in the gut, shouldering open a stall and heaving her weight inside. The goons crowded around me, anxious to see what would happen. Rin whimpered softly as I picked her up as high as I could and tossed her head down into the toilet.
Another crack could be heard, and blood leaked out into the water. She was still moving and struggling, though. I shoved her further down, staring at her bubbles of breath. I couldn't have her telling what I'd done! Getting rid of her was the only way!
Her feet had stopped kicking by the time I realized what I had done, her hands still and bubbles gone. She was as limp as her brother. I turned to the three boys who had seen everything. They looked as terrified as me.
"Breath a word," I growled. "And you're next."
Most of the story will not be anything like this! And I promise, the majority of it will not be from this awful, nameless person's point of view! Just a note, though it may not be very obvious with my limited knowledge of historic vocabulary, this is meant to take place a very long time ago. Somewhere around the late 1800s, actually. Something to keep in mind!