Post by Simon Burkett on Oct 6, 2006 16:54:41 GMT -5
It was warm in the little spare room, uncomfortably warm with the thick coat on and the collar turned up. It was also hard to see through the shades when the only light in the room was coming from the little desk lamp that shed just enough illumination to read and write by. Simon adjusted his cap and sighed through scaly lips; he could live with discomfort, the alternative was far worse.
He peered through the dark glasses at the thick text book and tried to make sense of the programing language that it detailed. It was a hard enough job given the lighting and the glasses, but the constant thump, thump, thump of the bass from whatever rock track was playing downstairs made concentration almost impossible. He could swear the entire house was vibrating.
He tried, once again unsuccessfully to concentrate.
"Give me a break Murray," Simon muttered into the gloom of the room, Murray hadn't mentioned anything about a wild party. He would have hoped his best friend would have been a little more considerate given his unique position of knowing exactly what Simon's problem was.
Apparently not.
There was a crash of something downstairs followed by a drunken, ragged cheer. The hour was late, but the party was just getting into full swing. Simon had no idea how Murray intended to explain this one to his parents when they got back from their trip. By then Simon intended to be long gone, though he had no idea where to.
He couldn't go home, not looking like he did, and nowhere else would take in a freak like him.
He sighed and rocked back in the chair, a little sense of despair seeping into his soul and robbing him of any remaining desire to study.
There was a muted sound of laughter from outside the door of the room and for just a second he tensed up in fear.
"Please don't find me," he whispered to himself, but the laughing faded away just as swiftly as it had come.
He sighed again and pulled the cap from his head, allowing the bristles that had once been his hair to settle into a more comfortable position. The stupid things were never meant to be contained beneath a hat.
There was a click from the door latch that froze the blood in his veins.
"Shit!" He hissed to himself and jammed the cap back onto his head.
The door swung open admitting a waft of stale smoke, the pungent stench of alcohol, the redoubled thumping of rock music and a peal of girlish laughter.
Simon scrambled up out of the chair and glanced around frantically for a place to hide himself. There was nowhere to go.
The laughter was followed by the lithe figure of Samantha Brown, her gorgeous strawberry blond hair tumbled alluringly over one shoulder. Samantha was on the University cheer-leader team and was widely regarded by much of the campus to be the hottest of the bunch. Simon had suffered from the most terrible crush ever since he'd first seen her at practise one day.
"Hey Brad," she called over her shoulder, "there's nobody in here!" She was followed by Brad Whittaker, one of Simon's perennial tormentors.
Great.
To make matters worse he was followed by three of his equally thuggish friends who all but tumbled into the room, spilling their beers as they came.
Samantha strutted into the room and then noticed Simon for the first time standing like a deer caught in the headlights beside the spare bed.
"Oh ... hey," she said, "didn't see you there."
No big surprise.
"Are you one of Murray's friends?"
Simon nodded dumbly.
Brad snorted, "probably one of the geek squad then," he said and wandered over to where Simon stood.
"That right? You one of the nerd brigade? Why you all suited up like that geek? Your zits that bad?"
Simon shook his head and backed away a little; clearly alcohol made Brad even more obnoxious than usual. The rest of his cronies closed in.
"Where you going pizza face?" Brad sneered.
Samantha pouted prettily, "you don't have to be so mean to him Brad!"
Brad ignored her and shoved Simon by the shoulder.
"I'm talking to you geek boy! Why you all dressed up like that in the dark? You some sort of flasher perv?"
Simon stumbled back into one of the cronies and was pushed rudely back toward Brad.
"Take the glasses off so we can get a look at you weirdo!"
Simon shook his head, "no," he whimpered.
Brad sneered and pushed him backward again, "take them off him Luke!" He said as Simon stumbled for the second time. The jock behind him caught him under the arms and held him while a second one pulled off the hat and glasses.
For long moment nobody in the room said anything.
Samantha wrinkled her nose in disgust while the jocks adopted a look of amused contempt.
"You really ARE a fucking freak!" Brad laughed at Simon's scaled skin and bristly hair, "I didn't know they let mutie freaks like you live around here!"
Simon closed his milky eyes and sniffed, "I'm ... I'm not a freak," he mumbled weakly.
"What was that?" Brad said, his nasty grin about as wide as it was possible to get.
"I said ... I said I'm not a freak," Simon repeated.
The jock behind him shoved him forward again.
"You look like a fucking freak to me!!" Brad yelled this time, pushing Simon with both hands and knocking him to the floor, "you fucking mutie freak, what are you doing around here? Why don't you fuck off back to the zoo where you belong!?"
Simon turned to look at Samantha imploringly, but she turned away from him, a curtain of glossy hair hiding her expression of disgust.
"Don't look at her you sick fucker!" Brad shouted at him and dragged him up by the collar, "she dosn't want to look at your mutie face!"
Simon sniffed in misery, angry and humiliated and close to tears.
"I'm ... I'm NOT a ... a freak!" He protested, though it came out as more of a croak than the defiant cry of protest he had imagined.
The other jocks closed in.
"Sure you are sicko, just look at you, face like a lizards ass, eyes like fucking bird shit, you ... "
"Shut up!" Simon said weakly.
"What the hell did you say to me?" Brad hissed.
"I ... I said shut up."
"I think he's dissing you Brad!" One of the cronies piped up.
"Is that right you creepy little mother-fucker? Are you ... "
"SHUT UP!" This time it came out as the shout of defiance he had intended. At that moment something inside him snapped, something that he had known was there, growing, but had never dared to explore.
Greenish gas exploded from every pore of his body and filled the room, the hall and then the house.
And where the gas went, people fell.
Simon watch Brad's eyes roll up in his head and then without so much as a sigh, he collapsed. The jocks and Samantha followed and then, with alarming swiftness the sounds of laughter and merriment died until all that remained was the thump, thump, thump of the rock and roll bass line.
Simon stood, paralyzed in fear for long seconds before taking a tottering step over the fallen bodies to where Samantha lay. She had fallen on her side and Simon gently turned her onto her back. Her lovely hair covered her face like a golden veil and with shaking fingers he brushed it aside to reveal her beautiful, pale features.
She felt cold, very, very cold.
A single, glistening tear splashed onto her cheek.
"I'm sorry," Simon said, his voice thick and hoarse with emotion, "I'm ... I'm so ... " he sniffed, unable to finish the futile apology.
They were all dead.
He had killed them.
Tears dropping like falling stars he fled the room, down the stairs and through the house choked with fallen revelers.
He had killed them all.
The thought played over and over in his mind and chased him into the night.
He peered through the dark glasses at the thick text book and tried to make sense of the programing language that it detailed. It was a hard enough job given the lighting and the glasses, but the constant thump, thump, thump of the bass from whatever rock track was playing downstairs made concentration almost impossible. He could swear the entire house was vibrating.
He tried, once again unsuccessfully to concentrate.
"Give me a break Murray," Simon muttered into the gloom of the room, Murray hadn't mentioned anything about a wild party. He would have hoped his best friend would have been a little more considerate given his unique position of knowing exactly what Simon's problem was.
Apparently not.
There was a crash of something downstairs followed by a drunken, ragged cheer. The hour was late, but the party was just getting into full swing. Simon had no idea how Murray intended to explain this one to his parents when they got back from their trip. By then Simon intended to be long gone, though he had no idea where to.
He couldn't go home, not looking like he did, and nowhere else would take in a freak like him.
He sighed and rocked back in the chair, a little sense of despair seeping into his soul and robbing him of any remaining desire to study.
There was a muted sound of laughter from outside the door of the room and for just a second he tensed up in fear.
"Please don't find me," he whispered to himself, but the laughing faded away just as swiftly as it had come.
He sighed again and pulled the cap from his head, allowing the bristles that had once been his hair to settle into a more comfortable position. The stupid things were never meant to be contained beneath a hat.
There was a click from the door latch that froze the blood in his veins.
"Shit!" He hissed to himself and jammed the cap back onto his head.
The door swung open admitting a waft of stale smoke, the pungent stench of alcohol, the redoubled thumping of rock music and a peal of girlish laughter.
Simon scrambled up out of the chair and glanced around frantically for a place to hide himself. There was nowhere to go.
The laughter was followed by the lithe figure of Samantha Brown, her gorgeous strawberry blond hair tumbled alluringly over one shoulder. Samantha was on the University cheer-leader team and was widely regarded by much of the campus to be the hottest of the bunch. Simon had suffered from the most terrible crush ever since he'd first seen her at practise one day.
"Hey Brad," she called over her shoulder, "there's nobody in here!" She was followed by Brad Whittaker, one of Simon's perennial tormentors.
Great.
To make matters worse he was followed by three of his equally thuggish friends who all but tumbled into the room, spilling their beers as they came.
Samantha strutted into the room and then noticed Simon for the first time standing like a deer caught in the headlights beside the spare bed.
"Oh ... hey," she said, "didn't see you there."
No big surprise.
"Are you one of Murray's friends?"
Simon nodded dumbly.
Brad snorted, "probably one of the geek squad then," he said and wandered over to where Simon stood.
"That right? You one of the nerd brigade? Why you all suited up like that geek? Your zits that bad?"
Simon shook his head and backed away a little; clearly alcohol made Brad even more obnoxious than usual. The rest of his cronies closed in.
"Where you going pizza face?" Brad sneered.
Samantha pouted prettily, "you don't have to be so mean to him Brad!"
Brad ignored her and shoved Simon by the shoulder.
"I'm talking to you geek boy! Why you all dressed up like that in the dark? You some sort of flasher perv?"
Simon stumbled back into one of the cronies and was pushed rudely back toward Brad.
"Take the glasses off so we can get a look at you weirdo!"
Simon shook his head, "no," he whimpered.
Brad sneered and pushed him backward again, "take them off him Luke!" He said as Simon stumbled for the second time. The jock behind him caught him under the arms and held him while a second one pulled off the hat and glasses.
For long moment nobody in the room said anything.
Samantha wrinkled her nose in disgust while the jocks adopted a look of amused contempt.
"You really ARE a fucking freak!" Brad laughed at Simon's scaled skin and bristly hair, "I didn't know they let mutie freaks like you live around here!"
Simon closed his milky eyes and sniffed, "I'm ... I'm not a freak," he mumbled weakly.
"What was that?" Brad said, his nasty grin about as wide as it was possible to get.
"I said ... I said I'm not a freak," Simon repeated.
The jock behind him shoved him forward again.
"You look like a fucking freak to me!!" Brad yelled this time, pushing Simon with both hands and knocking him to the floor, "you fucking mutie freak, what are you doing around here? Why don't you fuck off back to the zoo where you belong!?"
Simon turned to look at Samantha imploringly, but she turned away from him, a curtain of glossy hair hiding her expression of disgust.
"Don't look at her you sick fucker!" Brad shouted at him and dragged him up by the collar, "she dosn't want to look at your mutie face!"
Simon sniffed in misery, angry and humiliated and close to tears.
"I'm ... I'm NOT a ... a freak!" He protested, though it came out as more of a croak than the defiant cry of protest he had imagined.
The other jocks closed in.
"Sure you are sicko, just look at you, face like a lizards ass, eyes like fucking bird shit, you ... "
"Shut up!" Simon said weakly.
"What the hell did you say to me?" Brad hissed.
"I ... I said shut up."
"I think he's dissing you Brad!" One of the cronies piped up.
"Is that right you creepy little mother-fucker? Are you ... "
"SHUT UP!" This time it came out as the shout of defiance he had intended. At that moment something inside him snapped, something that he had known was there, growing, but had never dared to explore.
Greenish gas exploded from every pore of his body and filled the room, the hall and then the house.
And where the gas went, people fell.
Simon watch Brad's eyes roll up in his head and then without so much as a sigh, he collapsed. The jocks and Samantha followed and then, with alarming swiftness the sounds of laughter and merriment died until all that remained was the thump, thump, thump of the rock and roll bass line.
Simon stood, paralyzed in fear for long seconds before taking a tottering step over the fallen bodies to where Samantha lay. She had fallen on her side and Simon gently turned her onto her back. Her lovely hair covered her face like a golden veil and with shaking fingers he brushed it aside to reveal her beautiful, pale features.
She felt cold, very, very cold.
A single, glistening tear splashed onto her cheek.
"I'm sorry," Simon said, his voice thick and hoarse with emotion, "I'm ... I'm so ... " he sniffed, unable to finish the futile apology.
They were all dead.
He had killed them.
Tears dropping like falling stars he fled the room, down the stairs and through the house choked with fallen revelers.
He had killed them all.
The thought played over and over in his mind and chased him into the night.
