As Cruel As Schoolchildren

He awoke with a start, pillow soaked through with sweat, unable to speak or see clearly. His head
swam with a feeling of dread unlike anything he'd ever experienced. The room around him was black,
though his eyes saw through the flurry of colors that often accompanied awakening from a deep
slumber.
“'Bout time you woke up,” a voice from the dark says. It's feminine, definitely not a man's
voice. It's soft and sweet; its words hang in the air, dripping like honey from a dipper. At the foot of
his bed there's a shape sitting like Buddha, its legs crossed in front of it, apparently looking straight at
him. He fumbles on the table for his glasses, knocking over the sleeping pills that stand straight up
next to them, rattling, they fall to the floor. Grasping a hand around one of the temples and pulling
them onto his face with a speed that would have made a cheetah flinch.
Within seconds the shape on the edge of the bed became a woman, drenched in moonlight,
dressed head to toe in black. A loose tank-top hung around her torso, black jeans clung tightly to
almost skeletal legs, calf high black leather boots with large heels jutted out on either side of her.
Black hair fell in layers over her face; it covered one eye entirely but left one to stare intently at him.
A cigarette hung limply from her lips as she breathed the smoke in one side of her mouth and out the
other.
“God, you sleep like a rock, you know that? It must be those pills.”
He continued to stare at her. He was completely unaware of her origin, he had been alone
when he went to bed. He was almost sure of it. Then again, he was rarely completely sure of anything
he did these days, least of all who he went to bed with. It all seemed so insignificant in the long run,
he was going to die in the long run anyway, why not do it with a big smile, a satisfied libido and a
sense of security about his prowess in the oldest of games.
“Well, do you speak? Of course you do.” she said, “Say something.”
“Can you put out that cigarette?”
“Sure,” she says enthusiastically, crushing the end out on his plastic bedpost. The man goes to
respond, but he's interrupted before he can get the words out. “Sorry, she says, “I'm a big fan of
these,” pointing to a pack of Marlboro's.
“You're a fan of cancer?”
“And every other infectious disease,” she grinned, “they give me job security.”
“What are you? A nurse, a mortician, or something like that?”
“Not exactly. Close though, I'm a little bit less comforting than a nurse, a little more so than a
mortician however,” she grinned, a quick flash of teeth and lip that was more of a smirk than anything.
“So how are you? How's your life going?”
“I'm not exactly sure I should be discussing my life with someone who's just recently appeared in my room while I was sleeping. Frankly, I should be more concerned about who you are and how the hell you got here in the first place. I mean, I don't know anything about you at all. What's your name, can we at least start with that?”
“What do you want my name to be? It changes from person to person. I'm kind of like a
prostitute that way; I am whatever you want me to be.”
“So a hooker has just showed up in my room?”
“I said that I'm LIKE a prostitute, not that I am a prostitute, silly. I don't appreciate those
kinds of comparisons you know?”
She looked at him defensively, angrily, and pursed her lips. Arms crossed in front of her like
a scolded child.
“Alright,” he said fumbling for the light switch, “I'm sorry.”
“You best be!”
“I am,” he groaned, finally grasping a hold on the switching and putting it to the on position.
His eyes took the necessary time to adjust before finally coming to a focused view of the girl sitting at
the foot of his bed. She was even more beautiful in the stark lighting of his Harbor Breeze ceiling
lights. She was pale, almost a ghostly, ivory, white. Her eyes were almost black, and they were
rimmed with a thick glaze of eyeliner. Her lips were painted with a dark lipstick that showed off the
cracks in them, shattering the almost vivid perfection she seemed to have created for herself. He sat
upright against the headboard, eye level with the girl now; staring straight into her eyes, unable to turn
his head once he caught a glance into her pupils.
“So,” she says cocking her head to one side in an almost childlike fashion. “What do you
want to talk about?”
“How'd you get in here?”
“Jesus, you've got a one track mind, don'tcha hun?”
“Well, a strange girl shows up at the foot of my bed in the middle of the night, I think I'm
entitled to some answers. Don't you?”
“No.”
He leaned his head back and sighed. A long breath; he blew it straight into the air, catching
the front of his hair in the process, flipping it upwards and onto the top of his head. His eyes rolled
back into his sockets and all he saw for a moment was more of the black. This girl was not giving an
inch, and he didn’t have the slightest idea as to how to make her give anything.
“Now...COME...ON!” she said slapping his knee. “What's up, how are you? How's life?”

“It's good, for the moment, I guess. Still, I'm just a little bit confused.”
“You won't be, just give it time.”
“That's reassuring?”
“You'd be surprised how many people would kill for me to be there, just so they could be reassured.”
“How do you reassure people?”
“My own special way,” she said smiling.
“You know, you sound more and more like a prostitute with everything you say. Did one of my friends send you here?”
“I've already told you I'm not a prostitute! Though, to be perfectly frank, you do look like you
could use some action,” she laughed. He wasn't amused with the joke.
The girl inched closer to him, he started moving his legs back, letting her get closer until they
were sitting, knees touching, his back pressed up against the board. She smelled like smoke and
coffee, an all too familiar type of smell, the kind that everyone knows, though sometimes only
subconsciously.
The two sat there for a long while, she stared at him with a girlish charm, the magnetic smirks
and glances that tied them together like covalent bonds. She had the face of a child, a beautiful child,
and she was curiously observing him as one observes a mysterious animal at the zoo, with the sense of
awe and wonderment that comes with the experience of seeing something wonderment
“You're a little close to me,” he ejaculated, breaking the awkward silence that enclosed the room.
“Is that a problem?”
“It's a little uncomfortable.”
“I'm comfortable,” she said and then immediately smiled as she broke into a fit of laughter,
shaking the bed with her hysterics.
“Look,” he sighed, “If I don't get your name soon I'm calling the cops.”
“Jesus, you’re so touchy,” she hissed. “ my name's Allison, or Jane, or.....I could be Stan, or
James, or Stu, or Mohammed! I can be anything! I already told you that!”
“I'm calling the cops.”
“Alright, God your so touchy, Christ, my name's Jessica. Happy?”
“Sort of,” he smiled at his minor victory, “Now what do you want?”
“To talk.”
“About what?”
“Your life,” she began, “Not when you're born, your birth doesn't interest me at all. I want to know about the times you were really living. Those times you felt most alive! All the moments like that. Tell me what it's like to really live. I want to know what your life is. I don't want to hear the sad parts, the parts that you wandered through more dead than alive, stumbling through the world like some zombie out of a George Romero movie. That's not living, I don't care about that, that kind of shit is boring, I know what that's like. What's it like to run through the woods with the wind in your hair, the risk of getting in trouble only heightening the experience? What's it like to stand on a stage in front of people knowing that you just did something that not everyone can do? What's it like to hold a guitar and create music? Tell me what it's like to be afraid. What's it like to love, even if it's only for a moment? Those are experiences we don't all get to have, and you take them for granted, everyone does.”
“You're young, you could still experience these things if you really wanted to. I don't need to
tell you about them.”
“Believe me sweety, I'm older than I look. And besides that, the thing you don't realize is that

these things mean a lot more to you when you experience them young and get to relive them later.

They aren't nearly as powerful when you get older, and at my age they're practically meaningless.”

She lit another cigarette; he didn't argue with her now, he figured that it would be about as useful as

trying to stop the sun from rising.
“I still don't see the point in all of this.”
“You don't have to see the point. Understanding isn't what matters, the events themselves are

what matters. Do you know how many people go through their lives not understanding the life itself. I

think those people are usually a lot more satisfied with it then those who do understand. And,” she

said, “Judging by your position, I'd have to say you understand enough.”
He couldn't disagree.
“So, tell me about something.”
“Like what? Love, loss, death, murder, betrayal?”
“Tell me about what it's like to be afraid of something.”
****
“Come on, wuss!”
“I'm not a wuss!” the little boy cried back at them. He was young, barely more than a

toddler, curly wisps of hair hung in front of his face, dangling in front of his eyes and clouding his

view. His little legs fumbled confusedly on the slippery wet rocks that crisscrossed the river. “I just

don’t think this is a very good idea!”
“Baby! You’re just a baby! Baby! Baby! Baby! Baby!” he called from the shore, his voice

was like a train screeching to a halt on rusty tracks, hitting him with a force that even the Richter

scale couldn’t measure.
“Shut up!” the child cried. “I’m not a baby! I can do it, I swear I can, just give me time!” His
voice was frantic and broken by a severe quiver caused by the unholy mixture of cold and fright.
The little boy’s pant legs were soaked with the dirty river water. Minnows and other small

and innocuous fish swam around the makeshift bridge that had long ago been constructed by the other
boys of the town. Many of whom were now the fathers of the boys that tried their luck at leaping

across its rocky path. His face dripped wet, but whether with tears or water was unknown even to him,
his hair drenched and hanging listlessly in his face. He tried to take one further step to the next stone,

and in that moment he quickly withdrew his leg and returned to cowering on his previous position.
“I’m scared,” he said at last. He was much smaller then the other boys, they were all six and

seven year olds, he was only four, dragged along only for the fun of trying to prove to the older boys

that he was brave enough to do the things they could do. That he could be like them.
“Of course you are,” said the biggest of the boys “You’re a baby.”
The little boy sputtered out something unintelligible. His words were drowned out by both the
roar of the river and the shouts of the other boys. The child nodded resignedly, he was a baby, there

was no question about that.
“We’re leaving you here baby. See you if you ever get across,” the leader of the boys
chuckled. He was bigger than big for a boy his age, flaming red hair was cut into thick bowl around

his head. It struck the boy as no wonder that someone with that haircut had to be strong; someone

with that hair must have had to fight a lot.
With tears in his eyes the kid heard the laughter of the older boys die out over the river’s

growls. He knew he had only one choice, he had to get across, he couldn’t stay hunched on that one

rock for the rest of his life. And so, with his heartbeat racing he took a step forward, jumping from the
rock he was on to the next stone. He nearly slipped but he managed to balance himself on the
flattened stone, arms held out to his sides like the wings he so desperately wished he had right now.
Three more stones lay in front of his eyes. Each one flattened and polished from the river,

though they were almost mountainous to his young eyes. Still, the risk of it was more important to him
than the risk of looking like a wimp in front of the older boys. The psychological repercussions of that

felt to him like a dagger that would never be removed, something that would pain him no matter what

he did. He wasn't going to risk that, not this time, not ever. And so, mind rushing with thoughts only of
the other side and the older boys on the other side, he took one more step.
At first he didn't even realize that he was falling. The water just seemed to be coming closer,

and it took his mind a few second to wrap itself around the situation that was at hand. As the current

swept him out though the gravity of the situation was impossible to ignore, this was a life or death

situation, and a feeling of interminable dread swept over him.
He grasped at the reeds that lined the shores of the raging torrent, they dipped and dragged

in and out of the water but his fingers failed to grasp any of them. Terror welled up inside of him like

a sponge, growing larger and larger with each second he was submerged. He tried to cry as water

filled up in his lungs, instead of the primal scream release however he found only more water,time

around him began to slow and soon the thoughts of death and the rushing of the water faded into

nothingness around him.
The black delusions were jerked from his mind as a hand pulled him out of the water. The

visions didn't fade, his mind remained a cloud of spots and blotches distorting his vision. He lay on

his back, water spilling out of his lungs and onto his chin and shirt. Two hands pressed up against his

chest, forcing the last of the liquid out of his body, breath returning to him in quick and fleeting gasps.
His vision returned last, following the return of the blood flow to his limbs. He looked up just and time
to see a woman walking away from his crumbled frame.
She was solemn looking, she dressed in a black jean jacket, her face obscured by hair that

extended down to her back. Her hands were ghostly pale and her fingers were long and thin. He

wondered what she looked like from the front, he struggled to get up, but the strength of his muscles

gave and he collapsed back to the ground in a heap of dust and brown grass. He accepted the fact

that he'd probably never know what she looked like, but it didn't stop him from imagining.
He lay on the grass for a few more hours, staring at the clouds and trying to find shapes

inside them. Where once he saw apes, machines, flowers, or other flora and fauna he now saw only

her. Or what he thought was her. After all, he would never be able to be totally sure if what he saw

was her face or just an idealistic depiction of her face, the fulfillment of his adolescent fantasies come

to life in the nimbus.
The future was as dark as the sky when he got up and began the walk home.
****

The black clad figure at the foot of his bed clapped her hands in an excited display of joy.
“That was great!” she shouted.
“If you insist,” he grumbled.
“I do! So deal with it. What was everything like after that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, that had to have some affect on your life? Didn't it?”
“In all honesty it didn't, I was too young to really understand it and let it change me. I just

kept on living my life, no matter how miserable a life it's been. I always wondered what would have

changed if I had died in that river.”
“Do you want an honest answer to that?”
“What do you mean?”
“You get one question answered, do you want an honest answer to that?”
A consternated look spread upon his features, another situation that he didn't understand, the

night seemed to be full of them.
“Yeah, I kind of do, though I doubt anyone can give it to me.”
“I can. Nothing would have changed, not really, you've drifted in and out of your life with no

friends for a reason. You shouldn't exist. I was new at the time, I was fresh, you were supposed to

have died in that river, I was there to make sure of that, but I pulled you out instead. I couldn't do it,

and I've regretted it ever since. I was told when I took the job as a Thrall that I would have to be

impartial, I couldn't spare people just because my feelings were getting in the way. I made the mistake
of sparing you, and you're the one who paid the price for it. You didn't make any long lasting

relationships, nothing would have changed because you weren't supposed to be there in the first place, I made a mistake in letting you live.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I'm sorry,” she said, leaning closer, “I let you go once, but I can't do it again.”
He backed up against the headboard of his bed before realizing that an escape attempt

wouldn't be particularly effective against a solid wall. He threw his hands up in a defense but she held

them down, slowly she pressed her lips against his, the taste of coffee and cigarettes overwhelmed his

senses, he relaxed and accepted the act, his eyes closed and once again he drifted off into the black.