School passed in a blur of uneventfulness. The the girls in his class and the class above came to him like always, engaging him in unentertaining chatter. And like usual, he turned his face away, resting chin and cheek in hand, ignoring them. Shuffling away sadly, he rolled his eyes at their desperate behavior. In gym class, however, things picked up – in a speed he was unfamiliar with.
"YOUNGGGG PILLLLLGRIMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!" an accented voice from nowhere shouted as a giant crash sent screaming children scattering to safety like roaches.
A hole in the cemented ceiling appeared and framed within it was the form of a man, shooting towards Scott Jr. as fast as a bullet. Eyes slanted in crazed rage, his skin was as dark as rust, with thick angered eyebrows. As clothes, he wore a striped shirt, shrouded in a beige jacket, puke-green slacks, and Doc Martens on his feet. He glared down, levitating before the young boy fifteen feet above him.
Shouting, he said, "Prepareeeeeeee yourselfffffffff!"
He rocketed toward the wide-eyed child, a wild fire danced in Scott's chocolate eyes but before the impact of this strangers body hit him, he raised his hand to halt him. Looking at it oddly, he sniffed the hand before his face, dropping to the floor and tapping his foot in impatience.
"What is going on?" braced in a fighting stance immediately preparing for an onslaught, he asked.
"Didn't... you get... my eMail?" the opponent intoned softly, head cocked to the side questioningly.
Scott Jr.'s face deadpanned.
"I'm a seven year old kid – why would I have an eMail?"
Spinning around on his heel, turning his back to the astounded child, he placed his chin between a stroking forefinger and thumb.
"Then who did I …?" he turned sharply, again, accusingly pointing his other finger. "NOOOO MATTER! We must due –"
His command was silenced as Scott engaged himself in combat. His audience gathered, shivering behind the mats as faux barricades from the chill of Canadian air and out of fear. Kicking and clawing, scratching and slapping, Scott hacked away at his enemy, mouth frowned in concentration, sweat dotting his brow. He licked his lips, whitening his puffier lower lip with his teeth.
Delivering a starting punch, the rest of his hasty hits sent them both into the air by pure force. Landing a thirty-eight – sixty-four! - hit combo, the number echoed through the gymnasium. Taking a moment, he recovered his sense and glanced around seeing the schools computer-technical teacher boasting into the speaker system. Scott Jr. shook himself out as he saw the dark-skinned pest start to come to himself.
Drawing his small fist back, furrowed brows, slanted in concentration again, he used all his strength to punch his victim, his face curling around the appendage, nose giving an audible crunch.
"Not … again," he spoke feebly, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he fell back in a splash of coins.
"Huh" Scott's brow quirked, mouth raised in astounded questioning. He began to float down.
"KO, KO, KO!" Mr. Alexander boomed in echo inside the controls box.
Picking up the change, he examined the one royal British coin and counted out the remaining dollar in assorted quarters, nickles, dimes, and useless pennies. With Scott's eyes half-lidded in attitude, he exhaled in exasperation causing his bangs to fly up. The student body came closer and with slow, scared movements, but Scott raced out of there before anyone could confront him or hear about the gossip sure to spread. No doubt he would never hear the end of it tomorrow.