Break Through

There’s something satisfying about smashing things. About watching them break and crumble. About watching them shatter, or crack. It was just… satisfying. To see that something out there was a million times for fragile than you could ever be. To be able to break something without hurting someone. It was refreshing.

It was a nice way to let go of some anger.

That’s for damn sure.

I haphazardly tossed another plate up, into the air above me. High enough to give myself time.

Time to ready the bat.

And time to swing.

When the bat connected, there was a satisfying chink and clatter as the plate was decimated. Undone. Guts made of glass exploded outward, scattering over the dirt.

I took a steady breath, exhaling and grinning.

Then I picked up another plate.

Big Bite

I was frantic.

And frantic was a word that I’d never used to describe myself before. Ever.

But, in that moment, that was what I was.

Frantic.

I was fumbling around, looking like a madman. Moving quickly, erratically. Up, under, around, about, and everything in between.

I checked everywhere.

Under the desks. In my backpack. On top of the shelf. I even took apart some lunch boxes, just to see if someone had slipped them inside. But, in the end, I came up empty.

Which is why I was frantic.

“Where the hell did I put them?” I grumbled to myself.

Obviously, I wasn’t expecting an answer.

Atlas, the Worst

There was a guy once who had to hold up the world.

Atlas. That’s what they called him.

In the place where the earth meets the sky, Atlas sat. And he held the world apart from the sky. Kept the heavens from crashing down into us. Kept them from crushing us.

People still talk about Atlas. How strong he was.

But people tend to forget.

Atlas wasn’t there by choice.

He didn’t hold the world up because he thought it was a noble thing to do.

Atlas was being punished. 

Restless

Taking the bottle cap, I rest it between my middle finger and my thumb. A precarious balance, but it’s a motion I’m used to. Actually, it’s so familiar that it’s easy. This cap is from an off-brand soda that I love. Tiger Drink. It’s a bit heftier than a normal soda cap, as it’s made from metal, rather than plastic, but the weight is familiar. I know it’ll make this a lot easier than a normal soda cap. Though the metal requires more strength in my flick, the weight makes it fly truer.

Building up the pressure, I flick the bottle cap.

It soars.

Ricocheting off the wall, it continues its flight. Not with as much momentum, but that’s alright. I don’t want to hurt my target.

I just need his attention.

My efforts aren’t fruitless.

Which isn’t something new, but still.

After it bounces off the wall, the bottle cap hits Ty in the head, just as predicted.

There’s a moment.

It’s something like silence. Something like holding your breath. Something like hoping you haven’t been caught—or, maybe, hoping you have. The moment bleeds impatience, and it screams with anxiety.

Look around Ty, dammit, I think.

In the next moment, I reap the rewards of my aim.

Angsty Anchor

Anchors are a very important invention. They keep you from going adrift. From wandering too far from shore. From endangering yourself, even while you sleep. Anchors are at work whenever they’re dropped. Wherever they’re dropped.

Even if you’re not a sailor, odds are, you actually have one.

You just might not know it.

It’s funny to me though. The whole idea of anchors. Because they really are very different. Both in make and model. Their purpose is the same, and they accomplish the same goals, but that doesn’t mean they’re all the same.

Because they definitely aren’t.

Not at all.

The Space Next to Me–Part 1

“Russ Towns is a thug”, “Russ Towns is a gangster”, “Russ Towns eats nails for breakfast”, “Russ Towns hates people”, “Russ Towns tortures small animals”, “Russ Towns will eat you in a heartbeat”, “Russ Towns is violent”, “Russ Towns is one scary dude”, “Russ Towns is going to kill someone someday”.

“Russ Towns is bad news”.

I’ve heard all of it before, over and over again. When I first met Russ Towns, I sort of believed it. Though, it didn’t matter much to me, personally. Mostly because I always kept to myself. Did my best not to interact with anyone. To lay low, stay out of sight.

But, then out of nowhere, came a fist.

The fist belonged to a guy who was definitely bad news.

Mediocre Mystery

The class was completely quiet. All of us absorbed in taking notes or zoning out or doing our homework. Everything was silent.

Which is why everyone heard Tate’s head hit the desk.

Monsters in the Basement

Every day, school starts the same.

“Okay, now for your daily reminder: don’t go down into the basement. There IS a monster down there, and its favorite snack is people. If you go down there, you WILL NOT come back out. NO ONE is allowed down into the basement, staff included. Stay safe, stay away from the basement.”

And with that, the principal’s face disappears from the morning announcement screen.