Stigmatized by Shace
For a different flavor. Inspired by the book Innocence by Jane Mendelsohn and The Lake by Daniel Villasenor.
Part 1: Genesis
The early morning sky ends in ribbons of blue and white, blurring into the horizon like fine wisps of gilded cotton. The trees quaver, their spindly arms genuflecting against the wind's gentle soft, soft touch.
In this morning when the sun awakens for a brand new day, the details suffusing the earth begin to alter: There is light staining the stones and rocks now, as the road in which a lone black car moves smoothly in the empty expanse, once obscured moments before in a semi obsidian haze that was the slumber of dawn. And there is coherence, as if awaken itself from its sleep by the whisper of the earth.
And in the simplicity of the moment wherein people cannot see or perhaps choose not to see the transition of the waning dusk to the hopeful dawn of a new day, the season changes, sweeping the smell of salt and sea and sweat away in a flurry of propitious wet and cold.
But he sees this, with palms pressed against the smoothness of the glass barring him from ever touching the world from beyond this naïve window as if in a trance of deep longing and curiosity.
The trees roll in a thick distortion of dark green and brown when he passes them by, the engine making a soft whirr and the key chains hanging from the ignition key rattling, keeping him awake—not that he'd choose to sleep after all. His eyes settle on the never ending rows of green, and bark and leaves outside.
On the inside it is the opposite of everything: it smells of cigarette and wine, and he wonders just how it would feel like to weave his hands into the winds', smell the hope in the air instead of the suffocation of his mother's momentary lapse of reason, the boudoir of her lament for her lost child.
The chauffer has warned him several times during the trip that he shouldn't open the windows, and he did as ordered without asking why. He's too enthralled with what he's seeing that he shut up for once. It's six fifteen now. He checks the faint numbers blinking on the clock.
He wonders what'll it be like there—the new school his dear mother's brought him to. He knows it's nothing new. It's just like every other school more or less: Nameless faces, faceless names. It was all the same. But the difference was that this one's so much farther away than the last two. Maybe this means his mother doesn't want to see him any longer. Maybe this means the woman hates him now, loves her new stepdaughter.
Maybe different means another thing. But different—he's known the world ever since he was a boy.
It's a few more minutes before he arrives in the front of the school. This one has high black gates that open up into a large asphalt walkway leading to the stone steps of the school entrance. He doesn't bother to know what it's called anymore. He doesn't bother, really because they'll be sure to send him out anyway.
He peers outside: boys in pleated pants and neckties each one trying hard not to stare back at the car. They all look the same.
The chauffer is nice. He's called Howard, and he's the only one that he ever trusted since childhood. Howard says to him while looking back, "Come on Duo. You can go now." His name is Duo. Duo Maxwell. It's like a dead language spoken in some way it feels so strange just hearing it.
Duo sighs. His lips quirk upward, forcing out a smile that barely lights up the violet and blue hues of his eyes. "You think they'll be nice and not beat me up?"
"You're afraid of getting beaten up?" Puzzlement is etched in Howard's face. "I always pegged you for a tough guy, kid."
Duo shrugs. "Well I just don't want to fight anymore," Resignation? "It might get me kicked out again."
Before Howard thinks a reply to that, the car door opens, closes and then out comes Duo. The strap of his bag hangs on his left shoulder, and as he smugly tries to walk across the school grounds he can't help but notice the looks he's receiving from fellow students.
Their eyes are hollow, like some endless black faux of the human eyes. Duo throws them a fake grin. Others are nice to acknowledge him as he walks by.
He hears their voices in his ears, a ringing echo etched in his mind forever. It's like every other school, he surmises as he walks along the corridor littered with piqued students.
He is halfway to the safe harbor of his classroom when somebody pulls him from behind and pushes him against the door. The boy is tall—maybe a senior. Duo sees his vision sparkle as his head connects with the wall. "You new here?"
He nods. "Welcome then." And then before Duo is able to retaliate by possibly kicking the boy pressed against him, he finds himself thrown into the janitor's closet.
The door closes, locks as Duo blinks in the darkness sprawled on the floor, nostrils flaring at the strong scent of disinfectant. Duo waits in the darkness, lying there. There is calm repose, silence like he's known it before.
His voice is muffled when he calls for help. "Bunch of sickos," he murmurs as he stands up to his feet and grapples for the doorknob. He pounds the door with a rolled fist. "Hey let me out! Somebody let me out!"
He yells for a few seconds. And he tries every possible method to get attention from a potential rescuer but to no avail. He leans his weight against the door, the knob pressing painfully into his side.
"Somebody! Let me out of here!"
He hears voices behind the door, indistinct, something like, "I wish you people would just get a life."
The door opens, and Duo falls as he's pressed against the door into something firm on the floor. It's a boy with piercing blue eyes and messy brown hair, chest heaving with every breath. "Tradition," he says flawlessly as Duo stares down at him as if in a trance. "Welcome to the school."