This is something I started working on, looking for some feedback. Possible prologue for a novel.Nuts and Bolts
No turning back, he thought. No mercy.
The dirty gym sock was twisted around the ring and middle finger on his right hand, weighted down by the contents he had put in there earlier in the morning. It was time to put on his game face and get this done. He tightened his fist feeling the cotton weave dig into the webbing between his fingers. His heart picked up its beat as he pushed his way through the crowded hall toward them.
No one saw the sock filled with nuts and bolts swinging like a pendulum back and forth at his side, but a few saw his face and that was enough to get out of his way. His eyes were red and angry, the lids still puffy. His cheeks were red from the tears that had set them on fire only a half hour before. One of his ears was swollen from the slap he had gotten and although the ringing had stopped he still heard the taunting.
“What are you gonna do faggot? Little faggot! Go ahead cry!”
Ahead they waited for the afternoon bell, leaning against the lockers, oblivious to the danger that was coming at them full steam. There were three of them. Pat Harmen, Gord Spelay, and the ring leader of their posse; Larry Gill. Larry was laughing with his cohorts as the others in the hall moved away from the approaching danger.
They were only a few feet away. Gill would be first, he decided and took two more steps swinging the sock in a windmill arch and letting out a cry that stopped everyone dead in their tracks.
“Faggot!” he screamed as the sock connected with Gill’s lower lip turning it into a stew of red and pink tissue, then one of the 3/8 coarse thread bolts poked through the cotton sock and shattered his incisor and eye tooth. The pain had not yet set in, nor had the bolt finished its work as it tore a gash up his cheek and punctured his right eye.
The other two had not even a chance to process what was happening. They watched dumbly as their friends face seemed to peel open like a zipper from mouth to eye. He slid down the locker, great gluts of blood spurted out across the locker and a girl in the hall began to scream.
“Gill,” Gord Spelay said and the sock caught him across the bridge of his nose on its second arch. He felt the gristle bend over and then there was a pop as it snapped and his nasal cavity was exposed to the open air. When he brought his hands up he was horrified to realize that his nose was almost completely detached from his face. Another kid vomited, but Gord could not see him.
Pat Harmen tried to run for it, but bounced off an open locker door and that was what sealed his fate as the third arch came down on the back of his head and the bolt that had been poking through broke free and drove itself into the back of his skull. He was dead before he hit the ground.
He tuned back toward Gill who was moaning on the floor, unable to articulate his agony through the battered hole that was his mouth. He did not see the students frozen in horror, did not see the teacher trying to fight his way up the hall. He only saw Gill there moaning like a baby. The same Gill who had tortured him for the last three years.
“Whose the faggot now Gill? Whose the faggot now?” And with that he swung the sock again and again as blood splashed upward and the screams around him multiplied and intensified. He did not stop though, he continued until the dirty white sock became crimson red and the contents inside finally broke through the content membrane and exploded out like shrapnel.
“Marty,” A voice from behind screamed. “Marty stop this.”
Gill was dead, his face a no longer recognizable, a mixture of bone, skin and blood. A few feet away Gord Spelay waited to die as he gingerly held his nose with his right hand. The initial shock had worn off and he felt the sting of what felt like tiny insects burrowing through his face in all directions.
Marty Angus stood there the blood soaked sock hanging limply in right hand, staring down at what was left of Gill. “Whose the faggot now Motherfucker,” he said through clenched teeth.
He dropped the sock and looked to his audience. “Show’s over.”
That was when Mr. Todd tackled him and they crashed to the floor.
He didn’t resist at all, and why would he? Mr. Todd was his favorite teacher.