Chapter Three

"Always be kind."

It was something my mother used to always say to us. Back then, we'd taken it for granted. We believed that being kind was not a necessity in our everyday lives. My siblings and I often bemoaned the fact of having to play nice. If you tell a child to be kind, then the chances are that they will do the exact opposite without hesitation. It's like an unwritten law of the universe that kids go against the grain of everything that's been passed down to them. All of it just seems so silly now; how we would often roll our eyes, and camper off; how despite knowing us all too well, her voice never strained to reach our ears; how even after she started to fade away in wisps of wheezy breaths, she would always remind us, like it was somehow the most important thing in the world.

Over the past few months I may have gone against her wishes more than once, but never did her voice leave my head. That soft lilt in her voice when she was upset, and the methodical approach that came with her casually cold and bitter anger were what I had come to love about her. It just never felt right to forget those moments. She'd tried so hard to not forget who we were in the end.

Holding on was what strained every fiber of my being. No one knew how it felt to carry that kind of weight on their shoulders. Everyone else seemed so complacent in letting her memory fade. No longer was our house decorated with potpourri, or lilac scented candles. There were pictures, but the frames reflected life after her. It just didn't feel right to go back to a place that didn't even feel that much like home anymore.

Life without her seemed so dull and lifeless. Why was I the only one who could properly see that? Was everyone else so blind to what was happening around them?

The past few months I felt like I'd been stalling; like I was living half a life to avoid confronting the things I didn't care to face just yet. Every thought seemed to idle recklessly in my head, never daring to make its way down to my mouth. In all honesty, it must have made me seem like an uncaring mess of flesh, bone, and muscle tissue.

These days I would do anything just to pass the time before I had to go home again. Sometimes I would drive for hours without a sense of direction. Other times I would take walking tours through my hometown, constantly weaving through longer routes to delay the inevitable.

Do not mistake me for a coward, because this is the one thing that I am not.

Making my way home from school that day should have been as uneventful as always. I'd probably walk through many of the side boroughs before reaching my home. Maybe I'd even walk the entire length of the main road if it suited me. That was what should have happened. What actually happened may as well have been the complete opposite.

You see, our school has a reputation. It's not one of those good reputations where we have such a high standard, or our athletics program is second to none. No, this is one of the reputations that people often bite their tongues about. The kind that would make any informed person wince, and force them to frown almost immediately afterwards. Instead of being the school everyone wanted it to be, Booker High was one of those schools that seemed to export a steady line of delinquents. If you asked any person of questionable morality which high school they went to, there was a high chance that they'd gum back "Booker High" without even needing to think about it.

Fights and drug deals were sort of common place if you paid attention. Truthfully, the teachers did at least try. But it was sort of plugging up the holes to a dam that you knew was gonna crumble down at any moment; why wait there and be crushed by the onslaught of water, when you could get to a safe distance.

Up to this point, I'd done my best to steer clear of any sort of trouble that would come my way. My mother's words were always with me, even when she was not. It would not have been kind to get involved in something so nefarious. It would have been smart of me to just keep my nose out, which is exactly what I ended up doing. Thus far it had served me well. People like Tony, Gabe, and Caleb were child's-play compared to the bigger fish that this school had to offer.

It hit my ears, long before it hit my eyes. Whilst my face was turned down to the ground, backpack slung over one shoulder, I heard the taunts and jeers. Even from far away they sounded so abrasive. Truthfully, I should have probably walked the other way, but something compelled me in the direction of the taunts. Maybe it was a need to witness it for myself, or maybe it was the fresh reminder of those three words that seemed to haunt me.

Before I knew it, my legs had drawn me closer, close enough to hear the group anyway.

"This kid is such a fucking pussy," declared one of the boys before groans of pain reached my ears. "He won't even stand up for himself."

"Good," another boy growled. "Maybe this little bitch will recognize better next time."

"Who the fuck even paints their eyes like that," shouted a third boy, before the sound of his foot against flesh forced out a haunting howl of pain. "I mean I bet this kid was just asking for it, right?"

Before they could say any more, one of the boys must have caught sight of me. Their jeers turned into stilted whispers, attempting to hide what they were doing. How they mistook me for someone who cares, I don't even know. What I know less, is why I even decided to look up in the first place.

I saw him before I seen the other boys. Battered, bloody, and bruised on the ground in front of them. Arms and legs curled themselves in, trying to become as small as humanly possible. It was as if he were used to this. Like he knew the best way to deal with them. The look on his face was not one of pain, but rather one of defiance, as if he refused to let this ordeal define him. My eyebrow cocked upwards, not really knowing how to process him.

His nose leaked like a tap that could do nothing but drip, even when turned on completely. Skin was already starting to show the telling signs of fists, and feet against his face. His lip jutted outwards, swollen and bleeding crimson. Then there were his eyes, which seemed to draw most of the attention away from everything else. His eyes were a dark brown, a few shades darker than his own complexion. He stared right at me as I lifted my head. There was something unmoving there, like he had no regrets whatsoever. It was only when I looked again that I could see the darkened highlights of his lashes, something he had probably done himself.

My eyes drifted up a bit more to meet the gaze of the other three boys. All of them seemed intent on watching my next actions. Were this a chess game, I might have decided my next move with a little more tact. But this was the real world, and in the real world people through themselves into reckless abandon all the time.

Slowly, my bag started to slide off of my shoulder, instead landing next to me.

"Is there a problem here?" I asked.

Quickly one of the boys stepped forward, lurching over the mass huddled on the floor. He stood with such arrogance that it made me want to knock him down. "Nothing that concerns you friend."

I hated the way he said that. 'Friend.' Like I was just another jackass who was gonna play along. The world was devoid of too many special things. Maybe that's why we needed to stand up and fight; to create our own special things. Stars had once existed, so why could they not be here again.

The boy on the ground spluttered a little, the ground staining itself with the blood that retched from his mouth. Those eyes, those defiant ones, they didn't stop for even a single second. Now they just seemed to glare at me with such a vast intensity.

It felt like all the secrets that this world had to offer might be hidden in his own brash recklessness. The moment I thought that, I felt slightly stupid.

Once again, I looked from him to the now imposing threat that stood in front of me. He thought that I might falter and wander away. He thought he might have the better of me. If he truly did think that, then he was sorely mistaken.

"Guys, you really don't wanna do this," I managed to speak. The words themselves forced the boy standing inches from me to flare his nostrils in a display of dominance. Where I a lesser boy, I may have backed down.

"Go," came a feeble reply. It took me a moment or two just to register where it had come from. The boy on the ground. He'd shown remarkable resilience, and to me it just sounded pathetic.

"Listen to the kid man," he spoke, trying to sound like a hardened thug with an accent that just felt like it was for show. Knowing half the kids in this school like I did, it probably was just that. "Walk away and pretend you didn't see anything."

It happened just then, like a swirling tornado. It swept me up and held me tight, daring not to let me look down onto the hazards below. My feet were bricks, locked into place on the asphalt.

"Always be kind."

I winced, trying to reject the thought. It was an uphill struggle to not turn away, to give everyone what they wanted. I closed my eyes for a second, trying to push it as far out of my mind as I could.

"Always be kind."

Kindness was a funny thing. It was something that made people act out in different ways. Kindness wasn't always found in a smile. It wasn't always found in being nice to everyone you met. The true meaning of it ran much deeper than that. It meant something that these guys could never hope to understand. It was a call to action, to be brave when no one else would be.

"Always be kind."

As the leader took another intimidating step forward, I felt everything. I felt everything so hard that my blood boiled; my fists clenches; my jaw tightened.

And then, almost as soon as I'd felt my fist connect with bone, everything I felt turned into nothingness. Static filled my eyes, my brain rejecting everything it was taking in in that entire moment.

The blackout of rage came soon after.