Amelia's Lion-Heart

        The fist hit him in his neck.

            It was a terrible blow, one that sent him careening into the wall of lockers behind him. Jared Grey had thrown the punch into Markus, unprovoked. Although Jared would’ve claimed he had reasons, there were none in the eyes of Markus, nor in most of the onlookers. Some in the crowd that had gathered around the two of them cheered on Jared with true passion, but most of them were just following along with the rest of the crowd; just social animals not wanting to brush against the grain of their cliques.

            The brawl had started after a short and hostile dialog between Markus and Jared. Such a violent tone set by Jared could barely make the back and forth called a dialog; a better word to call it was shouting. One-sided shouting; with a blonde-haired, white, over-privileged b*****d shouting at a slightly darker skinned, dark brown-haired, Russian boy with no aspiration for violence.

            When Jared had stopped Markus in the hall, he started with,

            “Little Commie f*g.” The half-Brit was smiling with false confidence.

            “Is mockery the only ally that you have?” Markus could always draft up solid sounding retorts; responses that, upon reflection, could seem very well thought out, given the context in which they were put.

            “Like you know what friends are.” The almost ginger said with an attempt to sound sly.

            “You know that there are tremors lurking deep in your lungs, waiting to be known.” Markus’s accent was thick, but understandable. His English was fluent, despite the fact that he’d only been speaking the language for a year and a half. He was a quick learner and was able to apply his skills quickly as well; that’s what made him so successful in his high school life. Only in academic terms, though, did he seem to be good. Sure, he was an avid player of soccer, but he seldom spoke to anyone. People approached him often, but he would listen to their speech patterns and the way that they used their language, and only after hearing a few sentences, he could determine their level of intelligence. This skill, he used quite often. It proved to be useful, as he was always right. It saved him quite a few headaches from listening to stupidity; but it didn’t save him from confrontation.

            “And I am surprised that you can understand the word, ‘ally’.” Markus continued. “Basic English, and I am stunned you can comprehend it.” That statement was the one that threw the first punch into his neck. Then, Jared pressed the Russian into the wall of lockers. Jared’s curled right fist continued to press blow after blow into Markus. Of course, this was nothing for the Russian; he’d been trained to tolerate pain. Punches of an American accounted for nothing to a hardy Slav. Jared delivered one seemingly finishing blow before backing away. Markus knew that, at this point, he was supposed to slide down to the floor and be writhing in pain. But he only went along with the script. Not the writhing in pain part, but he slid down to the floor, staring back at Jared with a gaze, so far away.

            Jared stared back; he was angered that the Russian was not in pain. So the American threw his right leg into the air to hit Markus in the temple; but it was seen. Markus threw up his left hand to catch Jared’s foot, quickly rose to his feet, gripped the foot and shoved the straightened leg with all of his force back into the American’s pelvis. The assailant let out a scream and fell to the floor. The crowd and the Russian and the boyish Yankee all heard a crack; the boy’s pelvis, at least in that area, had become fractured. Markus had learned the move from taking modified martial arts classes. He took the classes when he was young, when his father was still alive.

            The Yankee looked back to the man that he had insulted. The Slav knelt down beside the American and the maimed boy responded with a slap to the Slav’s face. The man was unfazed; the retaliation was a quick jab to the throat, which made the Yankee cough without end. Spots of occasional blood came up as the boy coughed. As soon as he recovered, he spat the blood into the Slav’s face and said,

            “You’re still a f****t.” He laughed. The cocky American laughed when he knew he could’ve been killed instead of being brutally maimed. The Slav opened his mouth to say,

            “What size bra does your mother wear? I know that you’re fond of putting them on, seeing how they fit. Do you think I can’t tell? Ten years of training told me how to read another’s eyes in a matter of seconds. Do not think you can keep secrets from me. I know everything about you. And it is not just your mother’s undergarments that you wear…do you want to know what I can see?”

            The Yankee’s face was pale and he shook his head back and forth.

            “I did not think you would want to know.” The Russian said. “Good day.”

            Markus walked out of the school; he knew that the principal wouldn’t care. He was on good terms with the people who ran the school…speaking terms, at least. His intelligence and leadership showed so well that he had the opportunity to manipulate the man who ran this education center. Markus didn’t intend to use that ability for malevolent purposes, but he certainly gave the idea thought. He decided not to, but he knew he would have an explanation for what happened today in that hall.

            He walked away from the school and to a park. The day was actually quite pleasant; pleasant, by his standards, at least. Cloudy with a few beams of sunshine peeking through coupled with a mildly warm atmosphere. He sat down on a bench, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He managed to dose off before the presence of another had awoken him.

            He looked to his left and saw a girl from his school approaching him. Her hair was well past shoulder-length and black. It was cut up in the fashion that was being called, ‘emo’. Long tassels of hair down the chest, diagonally cut bangs and shorter hair in the back and sides; and somehow, the style managed to command moderately massive volume. Markus didn’t fully understand where the term came from, but he did take a liking to the style; it managed to say quite a bit about a person’s character. And he particularly liked the style on this girl.

            She was short (about five feet and five inches tall), a small and scrawny frame, beautifully dark eyes, pale skin, a pretty face, and a very pleasant demeanor that Markus liked. She was always nice to him; never hostile, always offering to help him with projects and homework. Obviously, he knew that she was attracted to him. He was just playing the game that she would play; the one that all of the people play on each other.

            But she was crying this time. He could see that her mascara had run down her face because of her tears. She sat down next to Markus.

            “I knew you would be here…” She said. He realized, he’d never asked what her name was. How could he have done that to such a nice girl?

            “For a moment, I thought that you followed me.” Markus replied. “I just now realized, I never asked for your name. The thought must have slipped my mind at some point…”

            “Amelia.” She said.

            “That is a beautiful name.” Markus said, smiling.

            “Thanks…” The breath she drew in was deep and when she let it out, it was follow by tears. Markus wiped the tears that fell from her face. She looked to him when he did that.

            “No one’s ever done that…” She said, her voice full of sorrow.

            “Is that a bad thing?” Markus asked.

            “No, not at all…it’s a good thing. It’s just that no one has seemed to care at all when I’m in a state like this.”

            “Not even your friends?”

            She kept staring at him and said, “What friends? I’m the same as you.”

            “I did not know.” Markus said.

            “It’s okay…not many people care…”

            “Jared…the blonde b*****d; he hurt you, did he not?”

            “Yeah…”

            “Physically and with words.”

            “Was that a question?”

            “No. I know. Remember, I can know what people have been through by reading their eyes. People tell me many things without actually talking to me. The ability has quite the good benefits…only in the correct hands. Now…your wounds of war?”

            Amelia looked down to her button-up shirt that was part of her school uniform. She lifted the part along her right side up to reveal a large red and purple mark.

            “He taunted me, offering me the pocket knife he carried around. He said that I should cut myself with it, just to get my life over with…he called me worthless more times than I can count. And he wouldn’t stop.” She cried as she talked and put her shirt back down. She returned her gaze to Markus’s eyes. He swept away her tears as she looked at him.

            “He’s made me want to move out of this town.” She continued. “And worse, I’ve even contemplated suicide…just to make it easy. I wouldn’t want to have my dad waste the money moving to another place. He wouldn’t be able to transfer jobs anyway…would never be able to get a new job because he’s a fat slob with just a high school diploma. You don’t know the trouble he puts me through…I have lash marks all over my back from his belt. The belt he wears is thin in width and made of leather, so it hurts more…that’s why he got it in the first place. Punching me in the face ended up leaving me with a black eye all of the time, so he started using something more discrete. I hate it…I hate my life. Nothing is ever going to be better…”

            She put her hand on his, gripping his tightly.

            “Can you just kill me?” She asked.

            “Willful death is for the weak, and you are not weak.” Markus replied.

            “Don’t say that…” More of mascara was running in rivers down her face.

            “I know that you are strong, I can see it in your eyes. You have so much more strength, more than what you realize. You have the heart of a ferocious animal, one that does not fear anything.”

            “How?”

            “It is in your eyes.”

            “I’m full of fear…”

            “No you’re not; you only think that you are.”

            “I am…”

            “You never truly could be. You only think that you are afraid because you have never had the chance to truly demonstrate your courage.”

            “Stop lying to me…”

            “Amelia! You are a strong girl. Strong, like a bull. But elegant like a swan. You have the teeth of a wolf encased in the feathers of a dove. Do not think that you are not strong; you are. You are so strong. Stronger than me.”

            “How am I stronger than you?”

            “It is because you have the heart of a lion.”

            Amelia felt a slight smile cross her face and saw a larger one spread across Markus’s face. Then, she kissed him. She kissed him and held both of his hands tightly. When she withdrew, she said softly to him,

            “The Heart of a Lion.”

 

Reviews

[Jeremia]

Beautiful. This was a great read, and the writing style and everything is something I would enjoy reading more of. You had me caught, I couldn't stop reading it. Nicely done.

[Bridgette's Ink]

Mark twain called and wants his amazing abilities back. Haha ;) this was really good.

[Cascara (aka Sprint Goe..]

No doubt, the best short story I have read on this website.
And I LOVE the ending of it!

[Tom C]

I was very drawn by the story. A page turner. Good job.

[Rene Velez]

that was extremely interesting, Great writing style, I can feel the characters come to life instantly...

[Kayla K]

You write amazing short stories, and I love reading them. They're always the most unique.

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you for a amazing story. Life can test us. Make us want to fight or run. I like how you told the story. Making each detail important. I like the girl a and the discussion. A very good ending to a excellent story.
Coyote