Chapter Two- Every End Has A Beginning
"Sweet are the uses of adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head". William Shakespeare
I go out for lunch every Tuesday and alternating Friday with Margaret, a quiet girl from my English class.
He knew this, obviously. Now that I know him better, it seems quite clear that he must've done. He would've followed me for weeks- but because Margaret was in the way, he would never have the chance to pluck me off. You may be asking yourself why he didn't just take me and kill her. Good question. I'll be sure to ask.
It was Tuesday, that I was sure of, but I'd forgotten the date. I was just desperate in my count to the end of the week- as always. I left campus, taking the ill-used hallways and shrub covered paths, always sneaky, even though I was fully excused- pass in hand. I liked pretending I got off on the adventure of it, the risk. The truth was, I hated every second of it.
Margaret was sick that day. She wouldn't be coming with, but that was alright. Although I felt bad about it, both of us knew I invited Margie along so I didn't look like a lonely freak...not for the tantalizing conversation.
I walked along, the wet from yesterday's rain soaking through to my socks. Low hanging branches dropped moisture onto my meticulously cleaned school-issue cotton blouse. I'd probably get in trouble for that.
It was too cold. I should've brought my coat...I crossed my arms over my chest, shivering. Damn! By the time I get to the restaurant, I'll be a human popsicle...It was the kind of damp, Early-Spring cold that permeated the bones and turned your lips blue.
Usually you didn't see this kind of weather after April, but that was the New Hampshire weather for you.
Now that I think back on it, the cold, the damp, it was more than appropriate.
The long, tree lined walk to the front gate had always succeeded in giving me the creeps. The ancient branches hung low, letting no sunlight in, no sound out. Every noise was amplified in the forested tomb, the innocent chattering of a squirrel could sound like a barrage of arrows 'shooking' by into the brush.
The funny thing was that I never heard him approach. Didn't hear one leaf rustle as he slinked through the branches. It was the slight draft on my neck that finally alerted me to his presence--as he jumped down, eerily close. It didn't occur to me to scream. I just stood. Stared. Probably not the best idea, considering who was standing in front of me.
"...Toad." I said in an awed little whisper. That wasn't the reaction he was looking for, of course. He'd wanted fear or disgust. Something that would move me from being a person to just another flatscan--just another number.
What he didn't want was a gangly teen staring at him as if he were some sort of legend come to life. A hero, an icon. But that's what I did.
And it made him angry.
Chapter Three