This chap and I had ta throw hands cuz the flow was not flowin' lol.
I should just put a giant trigger warning at this point. From now on, shit get real. Like with the first two installments...except worse.
Silver showers had come to an end with puffy pillows darkening the sky in a gloomy-grey. Yellow school busses rumbled idly in a semi-organized line along the curb, onboarding Dimmsdale Elementary students for their journey back to the haven of home. Various cars merged in a cohesive line separate from the busses for a parent or guardian to retrieve their offspring. Other students braved the chilly weather either alone or with friends, living close enough to make their respective journeys on foot.
Coated in black fleece with briefcase clutched in his tight grasp, the 5th-grade teacher snarled as he grumbled gibberish to himself. Kicking his feet towards the refuge of his black van from the bane of another stupid-tuvid day of stupid-tuvid school. It was days like this that Mr. Crocker questioned his own principles. Where there are children, there are fairies…fairies that he had yet to prove were even in this school. Was there ever a hunch that fairies were within his reach, right under his nose?
Mr. Crocker grunted a breath. Why can he not remember?!
With temperatures straddling the line of freezing, thin sheets of white icicles layered over puddles of earlier rain in patches throughout the parking lot's black pavement. So wrapped in his sulking that his momentum stepped off the edge of the pathway at an unbalanced angle. The heel of his shoe hit the slippery surface, and he yelped in surprise as the ground gave way beneath his feet.
A sharp pain cracked the back of his skull, and black split across his vision…
"Mother! Please!" the freckled ten-year-old with a full head of smokey-black hair and black specs tugged pleadingly at the back thighs of his mother's sky-blue bell-bottoms. Standing on the front porch of their 1970s home wearing a white tee with red stripes and his own funky denim bell-bottoms. "I want you to stay!"
Sporting a matching blue blazer over a white turtleneck with white sneakers, the forty-year-old single mother tore her only son's clingy grip off of her freshly ironed pants. Adjusting the strap of her white purse as her groused lip faced him. "Stop it, Denzel! You're making me late for my second job at the A-Track Tape Company!"
"But you're never home!" the boy continued to complain. "I never get to see you!"
"Well, somebody's gotta keep this expensive roof over our heads!"
The sour in his mother's words bent the corners of Denzel's mouth downwards, and groaning in annoyance, Dolores-Day Crocker cocked her hip with a newly manicured hand.
"Don't you wanna spend time with Victor?"
"No!" Denzel whined, cracking his voice. The name itself sparked fight or flight in his nerves. "He always does bad things to me!"
Dolores huffed. Why did her son insist on crying wolf and wasting the time she doesn't have?! "Oh, don't make up stuff, Denzel!"
"I'm not!" Denzel stressed, arms outstretched for emphasis. "You would know that if you were here, but instead, you dump me with Vic!"
"Ugh!" Agitation groaned in Dolores's throat, grabbing at her black shoulder-length bob. "You're starting to sound like him now…"
Her words stabbed another hole in his bleeding heart, hanging his head dejectedly. Why did his mother insist on comparing him to the bastard who left them?! He'd never leave them like him, but, apparently, she has no problems leaving him…
Coming from the sidewalk, a redhaired teen had arrived at the Crocker household. Silver spikes poked through the black leather cuffed around his wrists and the collar of his olive-green T-shirt, untucked over black denim ripped at the knees paired with red chucks.
"What's crackin', Mrs. C?!" the sixteen-year-old greeted with a plastered smile, scruffs of hair over his top lip. A pep in his step as he approached the middle-aged woman's thrusted chin.
"That's Misses C to you, Victor!" Dolores acidly corrected as her greeting. Wasting no more of her precious time, she rushed past her hired babysitter to the driver's side of her red sports car. "I'll be home late, so make sure Denzel doesn't stay up past his bedtime!"
"Yessum, Misses C." Victor, who preferred to go by 'Vic,' grinned craftily. "I got it alllllll under control!"
Denzel cowered with clenched fists to his chest, backing away through the front door. Anticipating all the horrible things awaiting him once the tires of his mother's car were no longer visible.
Vic waved to Dolores as she started her car, waving until she reversed out of the driveway out onto main roads. His friendly smile remained until squealing tires disappeared down the street, curling in his ominous turn towards the child's limbs faintly trembling.
Fear frowned behind his black specs as he backed further into the main entryway in failed attempts to keep the distance between Vic's portentous steps forward. The edges of Vic's menacing lips curved further as he shut his prey into the home turned torture chamber.
"Guess what time it is."
"Um…" Denzel gulped before he made sheepish strides towards the staircase "…I-I think it's time I go to my room-"
The tall teen lunged at the small child, clawing black hair by its roots. Denzel's legs dangled before his face was forcibly smashed into the wooden floor, cracking the glass of his specs. Black rims hung loosely from one of his ears as dizziness swooshed across his brain, no autonomy to his own head as his babysitter lifted him off the ground. Brute strength slammed the boy's body into a nearby wall with no remorse, knocking glasses feet away from the brutal scene.
Before Denzel could catch a breath, Vic trapped Denzel against his torso with a snaked arm around Denzel's neck. Squeezing like a snake constricting its food for consumption. Denzel choked a cough, his legs kicked wildly as Denzel's tried with what might he had to claw at Vic's hold. Grasping at the straws of his life as nails dug into his capture's skin in hopes of freeing his obstructed airways.
His efforts proved futile as Vic merely tightened his arm, bulging his bicep. Snickering as his restrictive squeeze choked the color from Denzel already pale skin. Rigid gasps replaced his breath as eyes strained at the ceiling, lungs convulsing for breath. Black slowly circled around the white ceiling, pressure ballooning in his skull…
Fuchsia and shamrock-green appeared out of the blue, their feathers fluttering in a panic. A ringing in his ears drowned out their frantic squawks. He tried to call out but couldn't, finding his voice stripped from him as a drowsing pressure continued to drag him down…
The gold crowns atop their heads glimmered among the darkness that blurred his vision into black…
"…Denzel?! Denzel!"
An Irish woman's muffled cry blinked eyelids in their groggy haze. Darkness blurred out of his vision to chubby cheeks and ginger curls of her beehive bun.
"…Denzel, are you alright!?"
It was hard to tell if it was because his glasses were missing or if motion-blurred versions of her were from his slack head bobbling. His restored breath felt a firm hand planted on his chest in attempts to pull him back out of the drowsing pressure, rousing him into consciousness.
"Can you hear me!? Say something!"
Her familiar voice came more clearly, her dirty pillows jiggling in her viola-blue mink coat as she shook him. When her frantic teal orbs corrected in his view, he felt the pressure fading from his mind as he croaked "…G-Geraldine...?"
Acting quickly, Geraldine Waxelplax pulled Denzel by his arm, supporting his back. Making him weakly groan as she sat him up on the curb of the path that led into the parking lot. "The school nurse is still here..." she fretted, observing her ex's disoriented blinks as he returned the glasses that'd fallen to his face. "You should get checked out."
"No…" he uttered hoarsely, head spinning too much to swat her hand away. "I'm fine…"
She kneeled beside him, watching him bend over with elbows on his knees as he clutched fingers to his head. "You hit your head really hard on that ice! What if you have a concussion?"
Despite the whooshing throb between his ears, he raised his sullen gaze towards her. "…don't pretend to care now…"
Boggled eyes stared at first before they scowled out of spite. "Mr. Crocker, don't forget that I am your boss!" Principal Waxelplax voiced her stringency.
Mr. Crocker rasped a low scoff. "Don't patronize me…"
"Mr. Crocker, can you just put your pride aside and get help for once?!"
"I don't need anyone's help…"
"UGH!" Principal Waxelplax stomped to her feet, hands grated at her sides. "You are always so flippin' stubborn!"
"…oh, is that why you dumped me?"
His rancorous reminder weakened the defenses in his boss's glare, stealing a second of breath. "…Denzel, I-"
"Save it."
Bitter pride willed for wobbly arms to push him to his feet. His legs nearly gave from the blood rushing to his head. Vision swayed through his glasses, stumbling in his footing. Darkness threatened to submerge him again…
…until a solicitous grip caught him.
"Seriously, Denzel…" Geraldine stood in front of him, the top of her beehive eyelevel with his forehead. Keeping him steady with both hands on his arms, her tone softened with genuine concern behind teal eyes. "…I'll take you myself."
As his dark-blue stare fought through vertigo, Mr. Crocker couldn't understand why she seemed so pressed on making sure his noggin wasn't broken. She was the one to break up with him because she called him coo-coo for believing in the existence of fairies!
The existence of fairies…
…that dream…felt so real…
He had to have been around ten years old…he knew that because he was ten when his mother had picked up another job at the A-Track Tape Company…making her home less as he feared for his life more whenever Vic 'babysat' him…
...and those parrots…green and pink…like Carlos and Wilma…except…parrots don't wear crowns on their heads…only…
FAIRY GODPARENTS!
He felt a twitch in his limbs, giving Principal Waxelplax more cause for concern of a TBI because his twitch seemed erratic. At the moment, this didn't matter so much as the notion that he, Denzel Crocker, was a fairy godchild.
And he, Denzel Crocker, had…FAIRY GODPARENTS!
His body twitched again, leading Principal Waxelplax to listen to her intuition and assist Mr. Crocker back towards the school. As his awkward feet tripped over the other despite Principal Waxelplax steadying him, there was still one burning question…
If he truly did have fairy godparents…where did they go?
Cosmo's comforting palm massaged circles below Wanda's wings as she heaved projectiles of sparkling purple vile into the trashcan of their godson's room. Given little chances to breathe between vomit shooting from her esophagus, Wanda was soon granted reprieve as she inhaled in deep huffs, wiping purple from her lips.
"I want this stupid nausea to go away…" she groaned gruffly over the trashcan.
"I know, baby…" Cosmo sighed disheartened, utterly helpless to his wife's misery.
"Can't I just wish the nausea away?" Timmy asked, seated on his bed with a sullen chin in his palm. Tired of seeing his godmother suffer…
Cosmo surly scoffed. "I wish you could…"
"This is part of the fairy birthing process…" Wanda grumbled, scooting from the trashcan when she felt nothing more to upheave. "Nothing can disrupt it. Not even magic…"
"Oh come onnnnnnnnn!" Timmy slouched his shoulders, growling his irritation. "I'm sick and tired of fuckingrules!"
"Hey language!" Wanda firmly scolded, appalled. "You don't use that word!"
"Okay…" Timmy huffed tartly "…sick and tired of shitty rules…"
"Don't use that one either!" Wanda scolded again. Did Vicky influence this foul mouth of his?! "Matter of fact, don't use any bad words, you hear me?!"
Timmy subtly bounced with another grunt as he flopped backwards onto his duvet, glum in his glare. "Whatever…"
In observation of his godson's behavior, the fairy godfather redirected his gaze from Timmy to his wife's stern expression. Timmy seemed more cross than usual, which, was not outside his realm, but concerning, nevertheless. The last time their godson smiled, the last time his eyes beamed with life…felt like forever ago.
"Timmy, what's the matter with you!?" Wanda probed.
"Nothing…" the ten-year-old held a cold gaze to the ceiling. He wished he could be wherever Sophia was…and he knew he'd be smart to keep that particular wish under lock and key.
Aggrieved, the fairy godmother deepened her frown. "Don't you lie to me-"
She doubled over in a clenched grunt, clutching the sharp pinches stabbing her stomach.
Husband mode immediately kicked in, holding her against him to keep her steady. "What's wrong?!" his worry flashed in his eyes.
Timmy raised his head, brow furrowed at his godmother's teeth gritted in slashing pain. Only when what seemed like ten agonizing seconds past did the pain subside and was Wanda flinched in bated breath.
"It just came out of nowhere…"
Lingering pain in her voice made Cosmo grimace. "Maybe you should get checked out…"
"Cosmo's right."
Cosmo blinked to his godson, once again boggled that he wasn't wrong "…I am?"
Sitting up in his bed, the darkness shrouding Timmy's mind shot straight to worst case scenario. "What if…something's wrong with the baby?"
Wanda had to take this into consideration. That pain was unlike anything she'd experienced before, and it was so sudden. First time or not, no way was that a normal aspect of pregnancy.
"You're both right…" she sighed, opting to put aside her earlier qualms with her godson. Wincing as she straightened her back, leaning on her husband's intent assistance to help her into the air. "I'll try to get an appointment…"
Dejection kept their gaze on his godparents, pinching at the skin on his left arm. He remembered his promise to Cosmo and Wanda, that he'd tell them if he was having dark thoughts again. Truth be told, darkness had plagued his mind for weeks now. However, he didn't know how to tell them…or even if he could.
And now, with this mysterious pain in Wanda's stomach, he couldn't bear the thought of burdening them more than his godparents needed right now…
Dark clouds secreted the black tranquility of the sky as the bark of an alert greyhound broke the still silence throughout Happy Trails Trailer Park. Most of the mobile homes had their lights out, retiring for the late evening. All except for one Flagstaff camper.
Light from the muted TV flickered as Victor Byrne sat at the table booth, changed into his night attire of a fitted KISS band tee and blue-and-white plaid pajama pants. Rubbing the red ring around eyes still adjusting to a regular day schedule from his former night shift. At the beginning of the year, he'd changed his schedule to be available for his nieces and so he could be mentally present for the trial. Of course, that meant sleeping on the short bench seat so the girls could have the single queen bed, but that was a sacrifice that he was willing to make.
Ruffling fingers through red shoulder-length strands, Vic released a weary sigh, mind wrapped around the trial that would still be ongoing. Between multiple recesses and intermission and Mr. Asshat Alazraqui bringing in other so-called 'witnesses' to testify, the jury had more to deliberate on. Just like with using Tootie's pre-recorded statement, Ms. Monet was already steps ahead; she'd persuaded the Turners to agree to be on standby to take the stand since Tootie had escaped to their house the night that Jim nearly beat her to death…
Pink orbs glanced up at the sound of navy curtains drawn back, seeing his oldest niece in her black oversized tee with a skull and crossbones in the center. Her own pink eyes still red from crying as she made her way to sit across from her uncle. "Tootie's finally asleep…"
"That's good…" Vic sighed in relief, propping his forehead in his palms. Poor girl cried for hours after they'd come home from a long, emotionally draining day at the courthouse. At least, according to Ms. Monet, Tootie would not have to be present for the remainder of this drawn-out trial.
Leaning back against the booth, Vicky sat with arms crossed. Vic observed her downcast gaze. "…how ya feelin'?"
Vicky shrugged faintly. She'd sleep for an eternity if she could…
"Wanna talk about anything?" Vic offered. "I'm here ta listen."
In a pause, Vicky met her uncle's earnest stare. Her emotions had been all over the place that day, and she felt too drained to reignite the angry fires of sadness that had nowhere else to go for the longest time. "Not tonight…"
"Fair…" Vic sighed in acceptance. He was a teenager once. "…but…" he straightened in his seat, his tone seeming uncertain "…can I talk to you 'bout somethin'?"
"Duh, Unc." Vicky slyly lifted the corner of her mouth. "I listen too, y'know."
Vic chortled quietly, feeling more comfortable despite indirectly treating his teenage niece like a therapist. That was one thing that he was glad remained even while Vicky was trapped under Jim and Nicky's roof. In spite of Jim's demand to cut off contact, Vicky had managed to keep in touch with him, and they would always confide in one another "…you remember Grandma Vicky?"
"Haven't seen her in like six years." Vicky considered the elderly woman that she was named after for the striking resemblance. "And Tootie was so young when Jim stopped associating with grandma. I doubt she remembers her…"
Vic let out another somber exhale, figuring out where to begin. "Well…when your grandpa died when me and Jim were kids, your grandma leaned on Christianity to cope…"
That revelation made Vicky stiffen. She did remember a bunch of crosses and pictures of Jesus on the cross all over her grandma's house. Being surrounded by all those religious memorabilia felt kinda…weird.
"She wasn't entirely like Jim," Vic made sure to clarify "but she picked and chose what parts of the bible to follow…" he stalled, a wrinkle in his brow. About to admit what he'd tucked in a safe for decades "…including believing that marriage should only be between a man and a woman."
"Wait…" Vicky put two and two together, blinking in disbelief. They've talked about a lot of things, but sexuality was never a topic "…Uncle Vic, you're gay?"
For something that few preach to be proud of, lingering shame looked away with slumped shoulders "…don't like ta show it."
Noticing this, Vicky lightly frowned "…why?"
Vic pursed hesitant lips. "I'd always known…since I was just a boy…" he spoke, gaze directed at the table instead of Vicky's attentive eyes on him. His voice softened by unpleasant memories "…but when I was thirteen, mama was cleanin' my room and…she'd found this letter I'd gotten from a boy I liked."
Yep, Vicky did not like where this was going…
"…and she jus' started yellin'…" his nostrils started to flare, tensing his jutted jaw "…'You a sinner goin' straight ta Hell'…'The bible don't accept that gay shit'…'This gotta be some phase; no son of mine takes it up the ass'…"
"Whoa…" Vicky raised her brows. She had no idea that Vic dealt with such spite from his own mom. "…that's messed up."
"What's more messed up…is that she forced me into this conversion camp…" he lowered clenched fists to the table "…the only thing it changed was how I thought of myself."
Vicky crinkled her nose, shaking her head. Over three decades later, her uncle still listened to those negative voices. Battling and concealing the shame of his true self, all because his mother chose religion over accepting her son for what he couldn't change.
"…I shoved myself back in the closet… had girlfriends and all that…all the keep her happy…" for the first time, he lifted narrowed eyes to his niece "…but on the inside…I was angry…and I took that anger out on this kid I used to look after…"
For some reason, Vicky found that oddly familiar…
"I did all kinds of terrible shit to that kid…and I got away with it cuz his mom couldn't give less of a shit. Then he grew up and had made this big announcement at the university…raving on and on about this crazy nonsense of fairies 'floatin' among them'…" self-reflection shook his head "…then I realized…man…I musta really fucked this kid up…"
Gaping her eyes, Vicky knew of only one fairy-obsessed man that had once been her 5th-grade teacher "…you mean Mr. Crocker!?"
"Yup." Vic exhaled "…hard to believe, huh?"
"Uh, duh?! That doesn't even sound like you…"
"I know…" Vic frowned in regret. "But I'm tellin' you all this cuz…this whole case with Jim and Nicky and all the shit they did to you and Tootie…" he licked his dry lips "…it made me think about how hurt people hurt people."
"Yeah?" Vicky arched a bitter brow. "…then what's Jim's excuse?"
"Mama and Jim used to be close until he became a witness…" Vic elaborated "…when he cut us both out of his life, they had this huge falling out. She really laid into him, sayin' he was makin' a big mistake, calling him all kinds of names…like…it was nasty. I dunno if that had anything to do with his anger, but…it's no excuse. Just like I had no excuse…"
Vicky sighed in a downcast gaze, starting to consider her own actions.
"…Crocker's dad wasn't in his life and his mom wasn't around a lot…and that ain't stop me from treating him like dirt because I despised who I was…" sadness lowered his eyes "…and when I saw what he'd become…that's when I saw the error of my ways…" he then raised them back to his niece "…but I wonder if he could've ended up differently…had I not hurt him because I was hurtin' inside…"
Meeting Vic's gaze, Vicky thought of a response "…if Mr. Crocker's life was already messed up, it probably wouldn't have made much of a difference…"
Bearing this in mind, Vic lowered his chin, staring down at his softened fists "…maybe you're right…"
Deep thought lapsed silence between them as Vicky considered how she treats the twerp. Vicky had seen the Turner's antipathy towards him firsthand. Whether they were aware of her actions towards their son or not, it didn't seem like they cared as much as other parents do. She'd said that she would never be nice to someone who kills his own sister, but what if that was contributing to the same terrible cycle?
"…do you see me differently?"
Vicky looked up to her uncle's somber features. Thinking back to everything he'd said, it must have taken a great deal of courage for him to open up. It takes that same courage to admit that you were wrong, to acknowledge that your actions have consequences. She'd be a hypocrite to fault him completely…
Her answer was simple.
"…no, I don't." she spoke solemnly. "You were man enough to change your ways. Jim and Nicky will never change…"
He stared, not expecting that type of response. With everything she'd been through, he'd expected her to demonize him as someone who willingly abused a kid. The fact that she still found respect for him, in spite of his past demons…tugged at his heart "…that means a lot to me…honestly."
Vicky glanced back towards the closed curtain before she faced her uncle "…are…you gonna tell Tootie?"
"…I will." Vic nodded in assurance, feeling more prepared. "When she's old enough to understand. And when this trial ain't so fresh in her mind..."
Hmm, that makes sense. "Good point…"
Disguised as a teal tabby, Rose could only make out bits and pieces of the conversation behind the drawn curtain. Aside from the occasional raised inflection in Vicky's voice, they were speaking quietly. From what she could make out, she thought it best for Tootie's uncle to explain in his own words. Tootie might not take it well if it came from someone other than the horse's mouth.
Rose's right ear flicked when quiet whimpers stirred, turning to the raven-haired girl crying weakly through closed eyes. In response, Rose stood on her paws and inched closer to her godchild, settling her fur against the curled body tucked beneath the black-and-white plaid of the duvet. She brushed the whiskers on her cheek to Tootie's flinching fingers, a reassuring gesture that Tootie wasn't alone. The little girl's fingers laxed in response, ceasing their flinching. Calmed into ebbs and flows of rhythmic breaths.
Assured that her godchild had resettled with sleep, the fairy godmother lowered her chin to one paw folded over the other, events of the trial replaying in her mind. Vividly seeing Tootie's fear, experiencing the worst of her abuse as if it was happening all over again. To hear Tootie call herself useless, call herself a failure, ripped at Rose's spirit. Considering her own abuse from an ex in her far distant past, she herself had been in similar shoes as Tootie. Testifying in court, reliving those awful memories in front of an audience. And yet, she couldn't relieve Tootie of those memories. She couldn't change her negative self-view. All she could do to comfort her godchild was rock her.
Not to mention that heart-wrenching speech from the troubled teen. The outpouring distress in those tears of a child who would rather cry in solitude. Seeing Vicky on the stand had sparked a memory of when Jorgen Von Strangle had first given her Tootie's case file. He'd shared a classified fact that, at the time, Rose couldn't believe. Looking back now, it made so much sense…
Vicky Byrne was a former godchild.
Jorgen did not disclose the name of the godparent, but he'd revealed that Vicky was assigned a godparent when she was just shy of eleven; unlike Tootie, Vicky didn't buy into many of the religious beliefs that were shoved down her throat. She didn't believe that magic was evil, so she was more receptive to her godmother than Tootie had been with hers.
Vicky had wanted to share her godmother with her little sister, but her godmother had warned her never to expose her to anyone or else she would go away forever. Vicky heeded this warning, wearing her mint-beaded bracelet everywhere she went. Whether it was church meetings, field service, family worship, or at school. Despite her circumstances and the abuse she suffered, her fairy had made life more bearable. She could retreat in her room in the comfort of her godmother's arms. She could wish away the pain, and she no longer had to suffer in the pain alone...
…she could be happy.
Throughout that month, Vicky's life seemed to get worse. She would come in her room crying in her closet, that is, if Jim wasn't chasing her with a belt or a switch. Her godmother would hold her and offer comfort in the form of hope. She would whisper in her ear that one day, she would find a way out. It didn't feel like it now, but one day, she will leave and not look back. She will be free. Vicky had clung onto that hope, holding on with the thinnest thread…
Then one day…her world flipped upside down.
Nicky had found a Twinklebell plush beneath Vicky's pillow one day when she was cleaning her room while Vicky was at school. It was a plush that Vicky had wished for, and she would sleep with it at night and tuck it away where it couldn't be found. Vicky was running late and had forgotten to tuck her plush away, a mistake that had sealed her fate.
A fist to the face had greeted her when she'd opened the front door. Jim had then yanked her into the house and demanded she tell him where she'd gotten the satanic possession from. Out of anger and spite, Vicky had revealed that she wished for that plush. To prove a petty point to her parents that magic was not of Satan…Vicky had exposed her godparent.
Without warning, Jorgen Von Strangle thundered down from a giant copy of Da Rules, and he had stripped her mint bracelet from her. No matter how hard Vicky had cried and pleaded, Jorgen showed no grace. You violate the ultimate rule, you suffer the consequences. Thus, all wishes had been unwished, all memories had been erased with the memory wiper, and her godmother was sent back to Fairy World. Never to be seen by Vicky again.
According to Jorgen, due to the extreme beliefs of her religious household, the Council had felt it a huge risk assigning Vicky to a godparent. It was an even larger risk assigning Rose to Tootie; however, Rose had a feeling that Tootie actively went against her prior beliefs and had kept Rose a secret because of her parents' hostile reaction to anything and everything magic.
Though…Rose had to wonder. Had the Council listened to their doubts and not assign Rose to Tootie, would Tootie have escaped from her parents' leash? Conversely, would Vicky have turned out differently had she not lost her godparent?
With a disheartened sigh, Rose finally allowed her eyes to close. Letting her mind drift with one final thought…
As it stands, Vicky was labeled irredeemable. No matter her misery, Vicky was never granted a godparent again.
Leaden clouds hung low in grey blankets, wintry wind blowing early morning air in artistic swirls. Three teen predators hovered near a street sign of a suburban neighborhood, awaiting the anticipated arrival of their preys.
"Y'all sure y'all wanna do this?" Frankie questioned his friends, the caramel complexion of his nose reddened slightly from the cold air. Hands tucked in the pockets of his baggy khakis. "I mean, at this point, we neck deep..."
Cornrows protected from the weather by a red beanie, Bradley cracked his knuckles. Facing down the sidewalk, hostile brows creased. "We neck deep cuz of that bucktooth fag snitchin' on us in the first place."
With a gold chain dangling from the neck of the Dimmsdale Ballhogs jersey beneath his black parka, LeRoi fumed with crossed arms. Facing the same direction as Bradley with nostrils flaring in vengeance. "And we not gonna let him and his ginger spaz get away with fuckin' up our lives…"
The day prior, LeRoi, Bradley, and Frankie had returned to school from Christmas Break and were immediately called into Principal Lewis' office. Everything that had transpired with Gary Vladislapov had been a huge threat to his life, and when the district caught wind of this, they'd threatened the middle school with huge fines from the city. Principal Lewis needed to take more drastic action, make an example out of those troublesome 8th graders. As a result of their continuous harassment and assault, the district had no other choice but to expel the bullies from Dimmsdale Middle School, and their parents would be receiving official letters in the mail.
As you would expect, LeRoi and crew were pissed. Their parents were scrambling to find another middle school that would take them so that they wouldn't lose their year. Their reputation was tarnished among their peers. Their families were disappointed in them, some relatives going as far as to deem them failures of society at just thirteen.
They had nothing going for them; their lives had blown up in smoke, all cuz that Gary fag started the fire…
Now, he was gonna be the one to get burned.
"There they go!" Bradley pointed when gelled black hair and a ginger bowl cut appeared in their line of sight from down the sidewalk.
Wearing their yellow belt-buckle and dark-teal chain, the two 6th graders slowed their steps upon the sight of their tormentors. Gary snarled, gritting his teeth. The heck were those guys doing here!?
"L-Let's find another way to school…" Dwight cautioned, intuition flaring.
"Yo, faggot!" LeRoi yelled out, aggressive in his stomps towards them with his friends not far behind. "Imma beat cho' ass for gettin' us expelled!"
Feeling his teeth chatter as he swallowed past a lump, Dwight reached for his best friend's arm. Instead of retreating to safety, Gary firmed his fighting stance and yelled back.
"Getting expelled was your fault!"
"Shut the fuck up!" LeRoi shoved savage palms to Gary's chest, causing Gary to choke an audible gasp as he stumbled back.
"Y-You're not supposed to touch us!" Dwight stood beside Gary while he regained his bearing, blood chilled to the bone.
"Lewis said we can't touch you at school." Bradley taunted, inching ominously towards Dwight. Highly amused by the faint tremble in the ginger's legs. "This ain't school."
Frankie stood close to his friends whilst keeping his distance from the scene, still uncertain if they should go through with their plan of revenge. They were surrounded by houses, which meant surrounded by potential witnesses. LeRoi and Bradley ain't think this all the way through; they could face juvie for this if they got caught.
"C-C'mon guys, w-we don't want any trouble!" Dwight figured that, maybe if he implored them, they'd leave them alone.
Clutching the weighted pain in his ribs, Gary glared into LeRoi's scowl. If he showed fear, they win. He can't give them that satisfaction. "Go find something better to do! Oh, wait." he coughed a snort. "That's right-"
LeRoi suckered a punch that smashed into Gary's chin. His ears grated from ire knuckles colliding with jawbone as he plummeted head first to the sidewalk. Muting his world into darkness.
"GARY!"
Before Dwight could lunge for his fallen friend, Bradley tackled him from behind. Pinning knees dug into Dwight's shoulder blades before Bradley clawed a wad of ginger hair. With a forceful yank, Bradley sharply cocked Dwight's head, sending a thousand needles of a burning sensation down the back of Dwight's neck.
Croaking through the pain, Dwight clenched his eyes. "Irving! I-I wish-"
Dwight's face crashed into concrete.
Every smash of skull to the white sidewalk morphed drops of crimson into one small puddle. Even when his glasses snapped in half and skin broke along the forehead oozing trails of Dwight's blood, Bradley's fury did not relent.
Shallow breaths stiffened in Frankie's chest. The situation was getting dire, and he had to step in. "Bradley!" he pushed his friend before Dwight's head hit the concrete again. "Look what you did!"
When Bradley followed Frankie's pointed finger, his anger was swiped with terror.
Violent spasms erupted through Dwight's arms and legs, the whites of his eyes visible through flickering eyelids. Electric jolts overtook Dwight's slim body at a rapid rate, grunts gurgling through the white foam that'd begun to bubble from his throat.
LeRoi's eyes bulged in a panic. "RUUUUUN!"
The three boys sped away like the wind, abandoning the scene of violent seizures and a lifeless kid bleeding from his slack jaw.
"Gary!" Alondro called to his godchild sprawled along the ground, growing more distraught the longer Gary remained unresponsive. "GARY!"
"Dammit!" Irving growled, horrified when his godchild's face reddened in aggressive tremors. Healing magic was too slow; these kids need medical attention and fast. "We gotta get them to a hospital. Now!"
Sparking urgent wands, the two godfathers poofed their godchildren straight to Dimmsdale Hospital.