Short story Part IV
Fisher stared into the broken bathroom mirror as he wiped the spit from his eyes. The Baldwin boys had pinned him on his way in. They took turns spitting on his face and called him a SCOF– Sub-Class Overachieving Freak. He pushed his fingers thru his stark white hair and immediately thought of his mother. She always told him the rare white hair made him special, special in a world of conformity. Fisher stood and stared some more. He was only eleven, but his eyes looked dark and tired. He had already lived through a lifetime’s worth of pain and ridicule. The scars were deep and the pain constant. Tears began to well up in Fisher’s sad eyes, but were halted when he caught glimpse of his neon tag poking out form under his gray jacket. That’s right, he thought, no need to worry now. Things would fall into place soon it enough. The Baldwin boys would soon get theirs… and the world would witness his power. It was three days until Monday.
Lunchtime was never a treat for Fisher. The choices were limited, the food bland and the company nonexistent. He always sat a table in the corner, alone. The occasion gaggle of girls would walk by, whisper and giggle in his direction. Fisher hated school. In fact, he hated society in general. There was a certain comfort in his loneliness. He was happiest when he was alone. He liked to use his time in the lunchroom to single out who would be useful under his rule, and who wouldn’t. There was the leviathan, Max Nackrody, king of the troglodytes. He would be Fishers’ security advisor. Well, advisor was a big word for Max’s pea brain, so he’d tell the giant that he would be the muscle. There was Nelson Huffzler, the brainy fourteen year old who was always busy meticulously building paper cities… then destroying them with the fury of Godzilla on the fleeing Japanese. Fisher admired Nelson’s evil-maniacal streak, and would be sure to keep him close when the time came. As for the adults and girls, well they would be cheap labor. He never trusted adults, and girls made him squirm with distain. Girls were always giggling and primping and giggling… and giggling. They made his blood boil. Even his own mother would, at times, drive Fisher to the point of homicidal thoughts. This memory of his mother made Fisher aggravated and he bit maliciously into his dry chicken and straight through to his lip. He grabbed his chin and let out a quiet yelp. The pain slowly subsided and Fisher thought about how his blood always tasted like metal, then in the same thought wondered if it was normal that he had tasted his own blood so many times at age eleven. Before any further consideration, a single tone rang out through the building. It was back to classes, and for Fisher, back to planning.
Half way through the afternoon instruction, Fisher was summoned by his teacher to report to processing. Apparently there had been a problem with the authentication of his Monday Bear tag. Fisher was happy to comply, knowing what befell him if reported with an unauthorized bear. It turned out the problem was with the location of his bear. When the tracking devise inside was activated, the bear was not where Fisher had reported it to be on his application. In fact, the beacon put its location across town. 14.7 miles form Fisher’s home. Without even looking at a map, he knew where his bear was. Fisher was brought into a dark room, where everything was metal and there was a single lamp on a table. He was nervous and angry. He knew they were going to question him… doubt him. He also knew what had happened to his bear and he worried they wouldn’t believe him. Fisher sat and waited in the poorly lit room. He was cold and angry. His father had taken his bear. The more he thought about the situation, the more his head spun with questions. How did Gordon get the bear from the steel laser locked case? How would he convince the authorities of his innocence? Fisher searched frantically for answers, but the more searched, the more upset he became. Worse yet, he came to the realization that he would have to do that one terrible thing to his Father in order to save himself. Fisher had evidence– Evidence that could send his Father away forever and a day. He swore he’d never use it. He promised Gordon and Grandpa he’d never use it. He even promised his Mom.
Things were different now, however. Fisher would have to grow up if his plans were to go forward. No one was safe now and no one was off limits. No one.
Lunchtime was never a treat for Fisher. The choices were limited, the food bland and the company nonexistent. He always sat a table in the corner, alone. The occasion gaggle of girls would walk by, whisper and giggle in his direction. Fisher hated school. In fact, he hated society in general. There was a certain comfort in his loneliness. He was happiest when he was alone. He liked to use his time in the lunchroom to single out who would be useful under his rule, and who wouldn’t. There was the leviathan, Max Nackrody, king of the troglodytes. He would be Fishers’ security advisor. Well, advisor was a big word for Max’s pea brain, so he’d tell the giant that he would be the muscle. There was Nelson Huffzler, the brainy fourteen year old who was always busy meticulously building paper cities… then destroying them with the fury of Godzilla on the fleeing Japanese. Fisher admired Nelson’s evil-maniacal streak, and would be sure to keep him close when the time came. As for the adults and girls, well they would be cheap labor. He never trusted adults, and girls made him squirm with distain. Girls were always giggling and primping and giggling… and giggling. They made his blood boil. Even his own mother would, at times, drive Fisher to the point of homicidal thoughts. This memory of his mother made Fisher aggravated and he bit maliciously into his dry chicken and straight through to his lip. He grabbed his chin and let out a quiet yelp. The pain slowly subsided and Fisher thought about how his blood always tasted like metal, then in the same thought wondered if it was normal that he had tasted his own blood so many times at age eleven. Before any further consideration, a single tone rang out through the building. It was back to classes, and for Fisher, back to planning.
Half way through the afternoon instruction, Fisher was summoned by his teacher to report to processing. Apparently there had been a problem with the authentication of his Monday Bear tag. Fisher was happy to comply, knowing what befell him if reported with an unauthorized bear. It turned out the problem was with the location of his bear. When the tracking devise inside was activated, the bear was not where Fisher had reported it to be on his application. In fact, the beacon put its location across town. 14.7 miles form Fisher’s home. Without even looking at a map, he knew where his bear was. Fisher was brought into a dark room, where everything was metal and there was a single lamp on a table. He was nervous and angry. He knew they were going to question him… doubt him. He also knew what had happened to his bear and he worried they wouldn’t believe him. Fisher sat and waited in the poorly lit room. He was cold and angry. His father had taken his bear. The more he thought about the situation, the more his head spun with questions. How did Gordon get the bear from the steel laser locked case? How would he convince the authorities of his innocence? Fisher searched frantically for answers, but the more searched, the more upset he became. Worse yet, he came to the realization that he would have to do that one terrible thing to his Father in order to save himself. Fisher had evidence– Evidence that could send his Father away forever and a day. He swore he’d never use it. He promised Gordon and Grandpa he’d never use it. He even promised his Mom.
Things were different now, however. Fisher would have to grow up if his plans were to go forward. No one was safe now and no one was off limits. No one.