LITMIR.BIZ

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he was the most liked – he wasn’t. But he certainly was the most feared.

      Every school in England was probably the same. You had the squares, who were good with their studies. The athletes who were good at sport. The geeks that were good at reciting Doctor Who quotes. And then you had the school bully, who was generally good for nothing. But as the kids watched him walk through the playground, he could have sworn that there was something other than the usual fear in their eyes, something new he’d never seen before: a certain twinkle. Their lips didn’t betray it, but he was sure he could detect a certain amusement in their eyes.

      Had they heard about what had happened that Summer?

      He walked up the stairs, slid his smoke into his shirt pocket and swaggered down the corridor – checking out all of the other kids. He loved the first day of the school year. Everyone was a tiny bit different. Chris Boyce now had glasses. Alice George had grown tits. Robbie Scott was on crutches.

      The hallway parted before him like the Red Sea. Suddenly the conversations that had been happening became hushed and the games of football in the corridor temporarily stopped. There it was again. This was definitely different. Last year it would have been a scared silence, but now there was the unmistakeable silence of a private joke.

      Perhaps he was the joke.

      And as the crowd parted, one of the younger kids, Albert Sullivan, tripped and fell over in front of him. Sprawled on all fours, Albert desperately clambered to pick up his books and the contents of his lunch.

      The entire corridor froze. No words. No whispers. Not even a breath. All eyes were fixated on what was sure to be poor little Albert’s imminent death. He looked down at the pathetic sight of the small boy, amazed at just how tiny some of the kids were in the younger years. He bet that he could pick this kid up and throw him a quarter of the way down the corridor. Maybe even half way.

      He reached down and the corridor let out a collective gasp. But rather than pick Albert up by the hair and lob him into the lockers, his hand pushed inside the lunchbox of the younger kid’s lunch and emerged with a “Mars” bar. He ripped it open, took a large bite and smirked as he slid the remainder into the breast pocket of his shirt.

      As he turned and continued walking down the corridor, he heard a solitary voice ring out from the crowd.

      ‘On your bike then.’

      Initially there was silence, but then the corridor was hit with an eruption of laughter that seemed to make the windows shake. He spun around to see who had made the crack, but all he saw were kids laughing. Geeks. Squares. Athletes. Girls. Boys. All laughing. All laughing at him.

      He stormed down the corridor, the laughter at his back like a whip spurring him on. He had to make this right. He had to find the little turd that was to blame for this humiliation. He had a fairly good idea of where the spineless little shit was going to be.

      The door to the boy’s bathroom slammed back against its hinges as he shoved it open. A pimple-faced kid was on his tip-toes, his face almost touching the mirror, biting his bottom lip, just about to squeeze a zit.

      ‘Fuck off.’

      Pop. The kid scrambled out of there with puss dribbling off his chin, leaving him alone in the bathroom. The bell for the first class echoed around the deserted toilet block. Deserted, save for the closed cubicle at the end of the room. He cracked a smile and walked towards it. That new song from the recent “Rocky” sequel popped into his head and he found himself singing it as he walked.

      ‘It’s the eye of the tiger, it’s the cream of the fight, Risin’ up to the challenge of our rival.’

      It was so quiet in the bathroom that he could hear the leathered creak of his Doc Martin boots with each step as he walked up to the door. He pushed on it with a finger. Locked. He placed his palms either side of the door and raised his boot.

      ‘And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night. And he’s watchin’ us all in the eye…….’

      He thumped his boot hard against the wooden door. The metal latch shattered and the door sprang back hard, revealing a scared shitless kid sitting on the toilet.

      ‘…. of the tiger.’

      The kid had his trousers up and feet tucked up on the seat, obviously thinking that the cubicle would offer him refuge. He’d thought wrong.

      ‘Good morning, Shepherd.’

      He still couldn’t believe that this was the kid who’d had the guts to humiliate him. Until that Summer, he hadn’t even known who David Shepherd was. He was the type of kid that could be in your class for four years and you still wouldn’t have known him. He wasn’t very smart. Wasn’t particularly athletic. And he wasn’t very popular. He was a kid that had slipped through the cracks. But Michael O’Connor was about to kill him.

      The kid looked in a bad way already. He had no colour in his cheeks.

      ‘Think you’re pretty fucking funny do you, yeah?’

      David hadn’t moved a muscle.

      ‘What’s the matter Shepherd, don’t feel like making any jokes today?’

      O’Connor grabbed David by the scruff of his shirt and slammed him against the cubicle wall.

      ‘You are a regular comedian, ain’t you? Putting super glue all over my bike seat and handlebars. Is that funny, Shepherd?’

      He slammed David against the cubicle wall again.

      ‘Is the fact that I had to ride to A&E on my bike funny? Well it must be Shepherd, because the god damn nurses found it pretty fucking funny.’

      He slapped David’s face. Hard.

      ‘And even the Doctor had a little fucking laugh.’

      He gave him another slap, this time with the back of his hand. A stream of blood flicked over the white cubicle wall.

      O’Connor pushed David’s head back against the wall.

      ‘Awwww – you’re bleeding Shepherd. We’d best get that washed, don’t you think?’

      And as he said it, he held David’s throat and with his boot flipped up the toilet seat. He looked inside the bowl and a smile curled onto his lips.

      ‘Don’t you just hate those filthy bastards who don’t flush?’

      The rancid smell of shit hit David’s nostrils and before he could protest, O’Connor grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and thrust his head down into the toilet bowl. David slammed his hands against the bowl and pushed his head back with as much force as he could muster - his face less than an inch away from a bowl full of murky, shit-infested water.

      ‘Now come on Shepherd, that cut needs a good wash.’

      O’Connor grinned at the sound of David’s feet scrambling on the floor tiles. The little bastard had some fight in him. He gave a concerted shove, trying to get the little prick’s head under the water. As he leaned forward, the “Mars” bar that he’d swiped from little Albert in the corridor toppled out of his shirt pocket and plopped into the bowl. It dipped below the water line and resurfaced, before bobbling in front of the boys. Its torn wrapper exposing the now shit covered chocolate bar to both of them.

      ‘Awww, this is dumb isn’t it Shepherd? What do you say we put all this behind us? I’ll tell you what, I’ll even give you my chocolate bar. How does that sound?’

      O’Connor hurled David back out of the toilet bowl and pushed him against the wall. He reached down and carefully grabbed the chocolate bar by its wrapper. Getting some of the murky water on his hands wasn’t ideal, but it was far better than what he was going to subject David to. He held the sullied chocolate bar up to David’s mouth.

      ‘Maybe this will teach you some fucking manners, Shepherd’

      The “Mars” bar edged closer to David’s lips.

      ‘Come

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