"'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way', would anyone care to explain the opening of the 'Tale of Two Cities'? Anyone at all?"

Jack didn't particularly like English with Mr. Reed. The room was boring and ugly to simply put it and the teacher was a reflection of the design. And not only that but he had a tendency to pick on people when they preferred to just blend into the class. He was fond of calling on Jack for his opinion, mostly when the literature was dark or morbid and it was starting to get under his skin.

"Come on. Anyone at all? Yes, Miss Williams." A petite blonde had raised her hand.

"Yeah, well, I think-"

She thinks?

"-Like totally setting us up, ya know? I mean even the title does that, so it's pretty much using a bunch of big words that contradict each other and yeah, like, I mean, Dickens is dead right? So we can't for sure say that what I'm saying is right, but I'd bet it is."

"Yes, okay. Good Miss Williams. That is what Dickens is trying to portray in this when he-"

And there was Mr. Reed off on another tangent as if the students really cared. Jack didn't, how was English supposed to help him do anything in life? He could speak just fine and Jack had no intentions on becoming a writer; that was for girls and men with too much time on their hands and not enough to do. His teacher droned on, still discussing what Dickens meant as if he had personally known the man.

But back to what Jack wanted to do with his life, well on that note he wasn't sure. Something exciting, something to keep his interests, something with a rush. Yeah, it sounded nice. He didn't really want to be helping Rob for the rest of his, Rob's life. Though he had to admit that the lessons he learned from him were much better than anything his teachers had ever taught him, at least he could use the lessons.

Thinking of Rob provoked thoughts of Amy. The pretty, strung out, heroin addict. He'd been thinking about her a lot as of late. Her story, though very cliché, had struck a small nerve, he wasn't completely heartless. He wondered if she was getting her next fix or if she was selling herself out to get the money for it or thinking of him as much as he thought about her. That's just stupid, Jack reminded himself.

"'It is a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done and a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known', Jack would you care to explain this?"

And there was Mr. Reed to rip him of his peaceful thoughts.

"Ah."

"Come on Jack, everyone takes part in class talks, you know that."

Bastard.

"In literal terms he's saying that he's happy to die, simply because it's the right and most noble thing to do."

"And why is that Jack?"

Mr. Reed was grinding his nerves.

"He's got nothing in life, he's worthless. In a way it's the only redeemable thing he can do, he's just pointless through the rest of the story, causing problems when there shouldn't be any."

Mr. Reed tisked him. Tisked. Mr. Reed wasn't happy with what he had said. Mr. Reed could go die, after all, it was the only thing he could do with his own pointless life.

"Jack, don't you understand the passion and emotion behind this? Carton dies a brave death and his last thoughts show that and-"

And blah, blah, fucking blah. Jack thought Carton was a mess of a man. The guy does so much wrong then takes the easy way out by letting himself be killed. He didn't even kill himself, didn't take his own life. If he really was feeling as sorry as Mr. Reed was making him out to then just like a samurai does would have been the brave thing to do. Class seemed to drone on and on and on. When the bell finally rand signalling the end of school, Jack was more than happy to grab his things and leave.

"Hey! Hey fag! Yeah you! Come here!" Jack chose to ignore the guys yelling at him.

"Faggot! Hey don't be rude!" One of them grabbed Jack by his left should and spun him around.

"Hey, we just wanted to talk fag." Jack glared heatedly.

"So, word on the street is you're fucking men for drugs. Well, the other way around really, taking it up the ass just to get your fix. You're pretty pathetic. Though I guess it can't be helped right? I mean you learned whoring from your mother-"

The next words out of the other teen's mouth went unheard. Red, hot fury filled his mind and white noise filled his ears. His whole body twitched and his hands shook. This, this Bastard dared to say anything against his mother. The woman who did everything for him, the one who tried to stand up to his father while he was down. Jack's body felt weighed down but that wasn't going to stop him from killing this guy.

"Security! Someone get the school security guard now!"

Why was someone calling him? Jack didn't know. He hadn't even touched the guy yet. Hands. Hands were pulling at his clothes, his face, his hair. Lots of hands but all he focused on was the anger, the rush. Something collided with the side of his head and it allowed his mind to clear. That's when he realised that the teen was below him and his hands were around his neck. He let go quickly and someone grabbed him from behind, dragging him back. The teen didn't move but his chest rose and fell with light breath, Jack had hoped he'd killed him.

"Do you understand what you did son? You put Sam in the hospital. This is a serious criminal offense. If his family presses charges..."

The cop talking to him was gruff, scruffy and old. Jack didn't really care what he had to say, Sam had deserved exactly what he did to him. The bastard had called his mother a whore. Jack had explained what had happened, the only thing the cop said was that it didn't matter, Jack should have better control.

"Look son, if they don't press charges your slate is clean but if they do, well your entire world will be turned upside down."

"He deserved it."

"Dammit son! You don't understand do you?"

"I understand. It was still ah, worth it."

"Okay, good for you, it was well worth it and you feel better now but it's still wrong. Son, if you go to jail you can kiss your ass goodbye. I'm going to go talk the parents out of pressing anything if they are. Just sit tight."

Jack did just that. He sat there and mulled over what he had done but the only thing he could think about was the fact that he hadn't actually killed the guy. Maybe he should fix that problem. Time seemed to move by slowly, like cold syrup dripping from a bottle. Another cop came and checked on him a few times, giving him water and finally coffee when Jack looked tired.

"I have to go to the bathroom." Jack hadn't planned on asking but his bladder was full and the cup of coffee before him made it that much worse.

"Alright, go out the door, turn left and it's the third door on your right."

"Thanks."

The hall was crowded when Jack stepped out of the interrogation room, cops and lawyers hustled around, folders piled beneath arms and worry lines etched between brows. When he got to the bathroom it was wonderful relief. His bladder felt empty and he took a deep breathe. He stared at himself in the mirror while he lathered soap between his hands. Most of the bruises were gone and only hints of green covered his cheeks. His nose still looking fresh though, probably because that Sam guy had managed at least one hit.

Jack shut off the water and dried his hands on his jeans. The walk back was much the same as the walk away from the room, people were still busy and Jack was still tired. He opened the door to the interrogation room and froze. His father was talking to a cop heatedly about something, probably about the fight and Jack felt his knees shake a bit. His father turned to him, lips curled back in distaste, before going back to what he was saying.

"So no charges then right?"

"None." The cop said.

"Very well. I'll deal with him at home."

Jack was discharged quickly and before he knew it he was in his father's truck. He almost wished he was still in the station. At least whatever they did to him wouldn't be as bad as what his father would do. The ride was quiet, his father did not speak and that scared him even more. When his father yelled he knew what to expect, he knew that the words were only the start and he could brace himself for the blows but the silence left him with nothing.

"You stupid, pathetic, worthless boy!" His father shrieked, sending another kick at him.

Jack covered his face the best he could and his shoulder got the blow. An incredible pain shot through him, his arm was absolutely on fire. Surely he had never been put in this much pain and remembered it. His father sent another kick, causing him to roll over onto the abused shoulder. White hot pain. It clouded his mind and he couldn't think, couldn't see; Jack felt as if he was nothing, an empty shell that could only feel pain.

"I can't believe you, you worthless boy! Why would you do that!"

It wasn't a question but Jack felt himself answering despite his better judgement.

"Mom..."

"Don't even boy! You're mother is just as useless and pathetic as you!"

Jack's father reached down and grabbed his son by the hair, he gave it a sharp yank and Jack cried out. The pain in his scalp was at least giving him a chance to focus on something other than his arm. Jack was righted on his feet and maybe to someone looking in on the two it seemed as though a father was helping his son after a fight but they would have been wrong. Jack winced as his shoulder was jostled and it took all he had not to just let himself fall to the ground.

His father reached forward, placed a hand on Jacks bad shoulder to steady him and with his other threw a fist into his son's stomach. The reaction was instant. A small dry heavy followed by everything Jack had eaten during the day. His fathers face grew disgusted as his son repeatedly threw up on his boots. His doubled-over form finally dropped to the ground and he laid face first in his own vomit.

Jack's father sent one more kick before grumbling loudly and left the room.

Jack saw stars.

Jack was alone.

Jack was cold.

Jack smelled horrid.

Jack felt pain.

Jack felt weak.

Jack felt angry.

Jack felt nothing.