Grak Yarn
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Posted - 2008.06.25 13:41:00 -
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Grak clutched his data book as he walked through the station, moving with the gaggle of other schoolchildren heading towards their day. He was at that tender age where he was shorter then every other boy in the class, which was built upon by the fact that most of the class was Brutor and Sebiestor, most of whom had been hit by puberty like a gravsled hitting a melon. The whispering was getting louder now, not the ones from the people around him but the other whispering, the one that was always there. It had been quiet recently and he thought it had finally gone away, but now it was back, louder then ever. Something bad was going to happen, he just knew it.
As he finally approached the front door, he noticed three Brutor boys eyeing him. His stomach turned over and he began to run, blowing past the crowd. HeÆd been running since he could walk, and maneuvering through the crowd and the school was as normal for him as was putting on a shirt every morning. Things and people flashed by in a blur, and he thought he even heard his name once or twice, but that didnÆt matter. He practically dove into his history class, skidding to a halt just before he would have hit the teachers desk. She looked at him, and he took his seat.
An hour and a half later, he peaked out into the hallway. The voices hadnÆt stopped whispering and were getting louder and louder. He felt his stomach churn once again and moved out into the open, spotting the three boys immediately. They blocked the only path out.
ôBrutor fight, Krusual scheme, Sebiestor lead, and Vherokior clean!ö called one of the boys. They all laughed ôLittle Vherokior should go back to his daddy and learn how to cook!ö called another.
He marched forward. The voices were practically screaming in his head now. His whole life, he had listened to things like this. He had seen the Brutor boys and run because, well, thatÆs what you did. Someone bigger then you threatens you, you run and donÆt stop running till your safe. But now the voices were in his head and he couldnÆt see clearly, and his fist itched. He clutched the data book and walked right up the biggest one, who was smirking. He slammed it hard into the boys face, and he fell back with a cry, blood spurting. He was so angry. The book had *****ed, but he didnÆt care. He swung it again into the temple of the boy next to him, tears streaming down his face. He was fighting on pure emotion. All the years he had been taunted by the ugly Brutor and the sneering Sebiestor had finally caught up with them. The book was destroyed at this point, and he resorted to his fist with the last one, diving on him and screaming at the top of his lungs as he punched the Brutor. This one reacted, however, and punched young Grak in the mouth, hard, already developing muscles aiding him. With a strangled cry Grak fly off the young Brutor, blood spilling out of his mouth.
But he was mad. The sort of madness that could put a fist through a wooden plank. He immediately got up and tackled the Brutor, biting and hitting him with everything he could, knees, elbows, and fist. The young Brutor couldnÆt do anything, since the smaller Vherokior seemed to flit over him like some sort of angry fly. A teacher finally managed to pull Grak off the boy, holding onto him as he tried to flail. It least the voices were quieted now.
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