All Alone.

We were asked to write a short story with the title All alone in School.

We were given an hour to Plan and write it.

Please enjoy.

When the deepest, darkest and quite frankly scariest of emotions that is hatred rises to the surface so much that it overflows, it can turn even the most stable of people into animals. This is a story of hatred, betrayal and death. Merely written as a warning: Appearances can be deceiving.

Isaac’s love of football was always obvious. Even before he could walk he would sit and watch the game with his father, so it was no surprise when he began playing locally. While he was not exactly a superstar at first (often only scoring by fluke) he had an obvious talent and with a little practice and determination, he would eventually become a great player.

In his school looks were of vital importance and while Isaac was good looking, he couldn’t help but wonder why his schoolmates were so shallow. The Grampian School for the Athletically Gifted was no bigger than most secondary schools, but the majority of the pupils were the kind to wear Burberry and listen to drum and bass. Put simply… fakes.

As he walked down one of the many corridors, he could not help but feel alone. While he got on well with most of the people, as soon as he mentioned having a problem he might like help with, they disappeared faster than pupils trying to get out of an exam hall. He felt as though he had no one to truly call a friend; no one who would stand by him as true friends should. Instead he was left with people walking around with masks on. And when you’re all alone, a big school seems a lot bigger.

It was raining. The clouds were thick and reflecting his mood. Isaac sighed as he walked out of the school, looking back at the high building. He no longer thought of this place as a place of learning, instead he looked, and only saw a building dedicated to torture. Beating down upon his head, the rain drilled a message into Isaac’s brain. That message was simple. Kill. Thousands of raindrops, thousands of distant voices all chanting, kill, kill, kill! Breaking apart inside, Isaac began to walk As his hair plastered his face it acted as a vizard, hiding the eyes of the child that was soon to kill.

The voices were quieter but he was always aware of the ever-present chant. Part of him yearned to listen, to kill those who had been fair weather friends. He was so caught up in his thoughts; he missed his Biology teacher calling his name.

“Isaac, are you awake? Hello?” the rather eccentric educator asked. While a bizarre looking man, he had a kind side. And though he knew nothing of the events to come, he was quite possibly the closest person to comprehend the pain beneath the mask.

“Sorry sir, I was caught up in my thoughts.” This was true, but he hoped Mr Rowan didn’t enquire as to what had been so interesting as he usually did. Perplexingly enough he was satisfied and went back to teaching the class about the venomous snakes of the Amazon.

As Biology ended the teen got out quickly for fear of being questioned. The constant chanting was beating a tattoo into his brain and he could barely take it. Running down the stairs, attracting several stares Isaac burst into the bathroom, before collapsing in a heap and crying. As he sobbed he noticed the chanting… or rather lack of it. The voices seemed to be speaking to him.

“Why do you cry child? We are simply suggesting the best way to break their masks.”

“You see them too? You really see them?” the teen had been hallucinating. Picturing masks on the faces of people, hiding the monsters that lurked within. He saw Renaissance Ball masks, Tribal masks, and Japanese Oni or Demon masks. He often found that the more ornately decorated the more fake the wearer.

“Yes, if we do this we are one step closer to ridding the world of their facades.”

“But… su-surely they’re not all bad, do I have to kill them?”

“If any of them remember your birthday, you may spare them.” And not one of them was to remember.

As he got ready for school after three voice free months, Isaac remembered the masks. Determined to break them he hid a knife in his bag. It was nothing special, a simple but effective kitchen knife.

Walking through the gates provoked the voice to speak once more.

“Have any of them remembered yet?” They hadn’t, but Isaac was not about to admit the voices were right. As he passed people in the corridor not one of his so-called friends wished him a happy birthday, or noticed the eyes that were once so full of love were brimmed with murderous intent. Turning a corner and seeing a men’s toilet the voice chipped in yet again.

“Hide and wait. Someone will come.” And so he did.

It was not long before one of Isaac’s teammates walked in. He was surprised to see him, but let it slide. He went to a free urinal and began urinating while talking over his shoulder.

“Hey, well done last Friday, they didn’t know what hit them.” He finished, before zipping his trousers up and walking to the sink where he began washing his hands.

“Anything else?” Isaac’s hands were shaking as he drew the blade.

“Physics te…” the boy’s words were cut short as the kitchen knife stabbed through his throat. As the fake friend bled to death on the floor Isaac look into the mirror, seeing a bone white Mask staring back at him.

“Why hasn’t his mask disappeared?”

“Because that’s your mask. Didn’t you notice?”

As the voice spoke, the mask became bigger and more ornate, With unsteady hands, the teen placed the blade to his neck, and sliced through his skin. As he saw the mask recede he smiled, the first real smile in years. As he collapsed onto the ground he saw a pool of blood begin to grow. And he realised that the happiest he had been in his entire life was when he died.

All alone.