Left, Right

Victor Cheng John Rutter strode out of second period English with a spring in his step. Thoughts, like darting guppies were racing around his brain. The rhythm of his pulse was swept up in a perpetual accelerando, all the while his legs carrying him to his next class, to Hunter. Left, right, left, right, left, left, right, left. Wait. John felt the splitsecond his legs misaligned, somewhere a fatal flaw in his nervous system had prevented his feet from walking. He shuffled awkwardly by Jaycie Blithe, a scowl to send him on his way. Burning hot, he swept his shame under his next fleeting step. Success. He was back on his way to see Hunter. Hunter did not know what Elenor McFarth said to him 5 minutes ago. The hair on his arms bristled with each other as he felt ants dance on his spine and limbs. The moment he walked into class, he could see their eyes peering at him. Had he grown suddenly? Did his hair look good for once? Among the gaping eyes of his classmates, John Rutter silently shuffled into his seat, a slight squeak of the chair to mark his reserved silence. Typical Hunter was staring out the window again. Atop the dreary as hell colors of Blake Grath Secondary School was a dreary as hell sky. It always rained here, there was always hell to pay for something someone did somewhere. Still, despite how dreadful their exteriors were, it seemed quite absurd that Hunter would not notice his arrival to class. John looked back out at the class again. He got up, as if to re-state his arrival to the class, and Hunter. His eyes made their rounds across the class. No one was looking at him. No one was even there. John saw cement walls, and iron bars. He moved his hands across unfamiliar clothing, smelly orange fabric that seemed to bear no semblance of style. His eyelids tensed and let themselves fall. The bell rang, class had started. No sound was made. Besides the labored breathing he heard, there was not one moment of noise in classroom 208. Steel clanked across the hall, gruff rumbling was heard. Footsteps scraped across the linoleum and a siren went off somewhere above him. Oh. John Rutter almost lost himself in the moment. Funny how one gets into the habits of their own daily grind. He almost forgot the blood covering his entire body, simply preoccupied with getting along his normal day. He almost forgot that 6 minutes and 29 seconds ago, he had stabbed Elenor McFarth in the neck. 10 times. He reached into his bag, now seeing the eyes of his teachers and peers frozen in anticipation, each widened pupil flooding relief, desire and warmth into the cavities that his heart could not fill. He remembered bits and pieces from that mundane day. He was told he received 27 kicks and punches when Hunter knocked him out that Tuesday April 8th. He even heard that Mr. Dewey kicked him once or twice for good measure. John Rutter strode out into D block and not an eye was on him. Left, right, left, right, left right.