Rimmer had never realised what a busy and dangerous place his school was before, in-between classes the corridors where a stampede of students and Rimmer felt that every one of them was watching him.

News had spread fast about his suicide attempt and then rumours started:

Rimmer had hung himself on the rugby posts.

He'd leapt off a bridge.

He'd shot himself in the head.

He'd drank some hydrochloric acid he'd stolen from the science department.

The list was endless as was the questions; Rimmer would often catch people staring at his bandaged wrists that his too small blazer failed to conceal. Mr Johnston had hauled the whole of Rimmer's maths class up to the headmaster's office, where they received a wrathful lecture, which left a handful of them in tears.

The only boy untroubled by the headmasters scalding was Brian Lawson, he'd been expelled from his last school for an extreme case of bullying, so one puny individual trying to top himself would hardly leave him racked with guilt. However Brian wasn't stupid, if he was caught bullying again he'd be kicked out of Io house, and his parents would kill him but he didn't want to stop throwing his weight around. It made him feel superior, and if he were knocked from him position of 'top dog' then this meant that pathetic wimpy Boneheads like Rimmer could take his place.

'Still' thought Brian happily 'there are plenty of ways to remind people who's boss, without the teachers noticing!'

Rimmer sat in English in his usual position head bowed, shoulders hunched, not making a peep. The class chattered quite nosily in the background.

Brian surveyed Rimmer with his hawk like eyes, now was the time to strike...he tapped the arm of the boy sat next to him "watch this" he said smugly. He weaved his way through the maze of desks before he reached Rimmer's; by this time half the class was watching, abandoning their work to observe the maltreatment of a fellow pupil. Rimmer felt his heart freeze as Brian's shadow fell across the desk; he slowly lifted his head to see his enemy grinning from ear to ear at him.

"Hello, Arnold" he said spitefully, he said Rimmer's name in the same threatening tone as when he says Bonehead.

"Go away" said Rimmer, in an inaudible whisper

"How are you feeling, Arnold? Are you okay?"

"Go away" hissed Rimmer, suddenly finding his voice,

Brian jumped back in mock surprise, "Well" he said haughtily, "I was only trying to be nice!"

Rimmer felt his blood boil, what was up with this...this creature, he'd pushed Rimmer so far that he felt the need to kill himself, and yet Brian was still here, laughing and joking as though trying to commit suicide was nothing. He was proud of what he'd done, proud that he'd tortured another human being so much they wanted to stop living. Rimmer was going to put a stop to it once and for all.

"trying to be nice?" he yelled, leaping to his feet, knocking his chair over in the process "this is what you trying to be 'nice' made me do" he fumble with each of the safety pins on the bandages and tore them off, "look" he screamed, thrusting the dark red, vicious scars into Brian's face, which turned slightly grey at the sight of them. Rimmer then turned round to show the rest of the class who were chuckling from his outburst, an eerie death like silence fell over the classroom.

Rimmer's breathing became shallow and erratic, he could feel the cuts, grinning in glee at the attention they were receiving, "this is what I did because all of you were 'nice' to me every single day, if that's what you set out to do, congratulations, you've succeeded spectacularly!" Rimmer brushed his curly hair out of his eyes, and strode out of the thunderstruck classroom, head held high.

He spent the remainder of the lesson outside in the corridor, trying to calm down. His recent show of anger and strength un-nerved him, where was this boy that could get knocked off his feet by a tennis ball, are would sometimes struggle carrying his books around all day.

When the bell finally rang, Rimmer prepared himself to go back in and grab his things, he waited while the class shuffled out, most of the class looked guilty, and sickened with themselves, some mumbled their apologises to Rimmer as they passed, but they were worthless, the damage had already done, their words had already shattered Rimmer's soul.

After the last boy had left, he tiptoed in and had just closed his hands round the handle of his bag, without being unnoticed when Mr Marten spoke.

"ah, Rimmer, may we have a little word?"

Rimmer flushed pink "is this about me walking out of class, sir?"

"no" said Mr Marten, gesturing for Rimmer to sit at a desk, nearest him "it's about your English essay"

"I've failed haven't I sir!?!" wailed Rimmer, frustration and disappointment flowing though his body like a infuriated tidal wave "I'm sorry, sir, but I tried this time, I really, really, really tried-"

"Rimmer-"interjected Mr Marten

"I was in the library for hours and hours trying to finish it , sir, my hand felt like it was going to drop off at the end-"

"Rimmer. You've passed!"

"I put every scrap, every ounce of effort I had and-" he paused and re- played his teachers words in his head. "I...I...passed?" he said doubtfully.

"yes," said Mr Marten, handing back his essay.

Rimmer couldn't take in what was being said, he couldn't have passed, he was Arnold Rimmer, and Arnold Rimmer and passed do not go together. There had to be some mistake He checked the name at the bottom, nope it was his name. Rimmer looked at his tiny signature and allowed his eyes to wander up the page to where an 'A' was emblazoned in the red ink he usually feared.

Rimmer was in shock, but it was a nice type of shock, he'd gone light headed and his fingers and toes were tingling. "but" he said at long last "how did I pass, sir. I didn't write about the correct topic"

Mr Marten smiled at Rimmer "a writers greatness is not determined by whether they can follow instructions on essays, but by what they write, be it on whatever subject. You have a gift, young man. You are able to capture a feeling, preserve a moment and write about it in a way most men can only dream of. You write with power, dignity and potency. You are blessed...and as for not writing by the rules, did Shakespeare write by the rules, did H.G Wells or Dickens? Would great writers produce masterpieces if they worked by the book. No, Rimmer, they would not, that's what makes them great. They go against the flow, break the rules, they rebel! And you, my young lad are already setting of on that inspired road to greatness!"

Rimmer sat staring at his English teacher aghast. He'd described him as 'gifted' and 'powerful, him Arnold J Rimmer, boring, plain Arnold J Rimmer, who failed at everything and was anything but special.

"is that all, sir?" he asked, still shocked.

"yes, you may go now, Rimmer"

He gratefully picked up his bag, and shuffled to the door in a daze. He quietly closed the door, and gazed his pass with wide-eyed joy. Rimmer smiled the largest smile he'd ever performed in his life. It didn't matter what happened after this, he could fail every test or pass every test with 112% for all he cared,

but he'd hold in his heart the pass he'd received today till the day he died, and even longer.

Okay, here's my thanks so far A BIG BIG BIG BIG

Thank you goes out to:

Feared Director

Jane Sherwood

EnJee

SnkNJak

lucid-03-days

Thank you sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo much for taking the time to review my story, your comments brighten my day and make me want to write more stories.

Thanks again.

Ral-edge!! (I love you all)