The Storyteller chapter 1. - In which positions change, and a story begin

He stands quietly for himself in the schoolyard. A mob of children run past him, and he retreats nervously back underneath the roof. There's a recognizable look in his eyes, a resonating way he has eliminated all blind spots. He’s acting like prey. Prey fearing smacking jaws and sharp teeth to come tear him apart. The winter weather has him cold-sweating under his red jacket, his breath is strained from every muscle being ready to excess their full potential. In a destined moment, where he looks the wrong way, a band of young boys his age passes the corner to his right. Their arms are relaxed down their sides, a wolfy grin stretched across their faces, and the energy surrounding them seems to smoulder cruel intentions. The yard quiets down as almost to assist the next scene. As he turns around and sees, a set of chain reactions is set in motion. He immediately sets into a panicked sprint, the boys soon to follow with excited shouts and laughs. Through the concrete savanna of swings and seesaws the chase goes. As he runs he knows he’s not going to escape, and his chasers know this as well . Tears of frustration starts to build in his eyes. Through some cruel or perhaps merciful twist of fate - he trips. The boys have him surrounded in no time. Getting up from the ground in a last act of defiance he spreads his arms, straightens his posture and smiles. The leader, a tall, lean boy, stands forth, grins mockingly, and delivers a punch that sends him straight down. Afterwards the rest of the group throw themselves in with kicks and punches. The leader stands in back, smile gone, but with a gleam in his eyes that’ll make it harder for anyone that sees it to have faith in humanity.

A kind kid would probably get a teacher by now, but then again, I’ve never considered myself kind. 

I’m sitting with my back towards the scene of the crime, bending my neck slightly to watch. I was reading my book, until I discovered another story was taking place. This indeed is highly interesting. The kid on the ground is Albert from my class, the leader standing in the back is Eric - also from my class. Until a little while ago, (apparently) the two were leader and second in command. I have ideas what this development could be caused by, but I certainly intend to find out. I grin to myself. The bells toll, and the kids who are still around shuffle away. With some last finishing kicks, the boys leave Albert on the ground. Eric stands for a moment to see his doing, before he looks around for possible curious onlookers (new victims). I’m already gone by then.

Inside the classroom, I’m flipping through my book, when Eric and Co. enters. He passes my seat, and I notice a drop of blood fall from his torn knuckles to the floor. Everyone know, when Eric and his group has been on the prowl. Especially the teachers - they just choose to ignore it. And it's easy to do so; no victim of Eric’s has ever been dumb enough to speak out. The school nurse is the one who does the dirty work. All those black eyes, sprained ankles, split lips - the occasional broken arm. What a hustle.

The class pass with silence and boredom. I gather my stuff and prepare to leave the room. We are few left, and I’m too caught up in my own thoughts, to notice the teacher approaching me.

”Aspen” I turn to face Mrs. Lobelia “can I ask you a favor”. Her delicate face is framed with honey-coloured hair, she isn’t meeting my gaze. I can almost guess what she is about to ask. “Would you please bring this handout to Albert?” she asks, guiltily. She doesn’t need to say where he is, she knows I know. “Sure” I say, and take the prints. I leave the classroom, and Mrs. Lobelia behind in her own shame. Her tragedy is she is a good person, in a place full of bad people.

Walking towards the school nursery, I look down at the handouts. The only reason none of Eric's hooligans has had a go at me, is probably because I’m sacred as the teachers pet. In any other situation a friendless bookworm like me would probably be pretty high on their hit list.

I walk to the nursery across the schoolyard, it has it's own neat, little building. I know the nurse, she’s a quiet little lady, who stops being quiet when you give her cranberry-shortcake. We’ve had our chats.

I walk in casually and quietly like usual. The air is stale in here, and I take a moment to enjoy the quiet. I peek in through the curtain to the nursery beds. I stop myself from making a pitiful gasp. Eric is standing, smoking by the only occupied bed (housing Albert) in the nursery. Albert’s face is looking like someone being choked, and the nurse is nowhere to be seen. I move silently to stand behind the wall. The atmosphere clearly speaks of a situation not meant for mine or anyone else's eyes.

“What? Did you come to finish the job” I hear Albert say. His bold remark is followed by silence.

“I want you to know, that whatever you do, we aren’t going back” Eric answers, after a little while. There’s a reminiscence of the past in his voice. “One question” he then says, his manner of speaking changing. “Why Theodore?”. The last word he speaks mockingly. If possible the tension in the room becomes even more tense “Because I’m tired of being second” Albert answers. There’s a short moment of silence, then a loud laughter echoes through the room in response. “You should have chosen someone else” Eric finally says. I hear Albert shout in pain, and Eric walking towards my hiding place. I shuffle behind a desk, and manage to hide there. No teachers fondness could save me if Eric saw me now. Then Eric walks through the room and out the nursery door.

I wait for a long time, trying to decipher what I just heard. If understood correctly Albert got help from someone named Theodore to take out Eric, so Albert wouldn't be second in command anymore. I get up, and walk over to the door, to open it then letting it slam. Afterwards I enter the nursery room.

Albert looks at me with little to no interest, he is in a miserable state. Like a modern art-work he’s got bruises spread randomly, yet methodically on every inch of his skin. I stand close to the bed, and try to look a little intimidated. There’s a burn mark from a cigarette on Albert’s shoulder. I can think of a no more fitting way for Eric to underline he is dead to him. “Here” I say, as I pass the papers to him. He makes no intuitive to take them, so I just leave them on the bed. I stand for a long moment, and look at the boy. He’s refusing to face me, and I’m guessing he’s crying. I turn around, and attempt to leave. “You think I deserve it, don’t you?” Albert sniffles. I stop, and turn around. He has turned his upper body to face me, and he is indeed crying. I’ve never once exchanged words with him. “Yes” I say, looking him straight in the eyes “ but I still feel bad for you” I add. He snorts at this, and throws himself down into the pillow. I turn around, and walk out the nursery door. On the way out I bump into the nurse, she smiles at me, and shuffle back inside her little holding. She probably left when Eric got there. I grimace, and kick the nearest rock into oblivion. 

Why does human nature have to rear it's ugly head, every time I manage to forget it?