Adolescent Butchery (Title may be subject to changes)

A Story by Locust

A finished story for Creative Writing.... Although there are many things I'd be ecstatic to change.

Mathias Becker leaned against the brick wall of the school building where he taught, lazily making small talk with the other instructors as they watch the excitable kids at play. He found difficulty in trying to exchange conversation with the others at all with their lack of similarities. This period, recess, was only shared with Mr. Becker by two others. Katherine Cobb, the cheery, plump kindergarten teacher who always wears yellow, and Nao Tanaka, a man that was much too serious and strict to be teaching third graders. No, Mr. Becker really had nothing in common with these polar opposites, chosen profession aside. The largest and most prominent difference between Mathias and his co-workers had always been a factor to which the other two were totally oblivious. Just as Mr. Tanaka puffed out a wisp of cigarette smoke into a cloudless sky, the memories Mathias had devoted years to keeping at bay started flowing back. He remembered his smaller self. He remembered his smaller self who was eerily quiet. His smaller self who didn't know enough about caring or being cared for to realize he was drowning in his own loneliness. "Everything that was deranged about me back then..." The teacher mutters to himself, "Is still screwing me over today." Mrs. Cobb looks to her co-worker as he stares blankly, "You say something, Mattie?" she trills sweetly. She still used nicknames. Even on her elders. Regardless, her curiosity makes him return to the present. He returns her warm smile, "Oh, no, ma'am..." She nods before returning to her own agenda. Of course, Mr. Tanaka couldn't care less. There was nothing new there. Excluding the rambunctious youngsters' cries, there was no stimulation barrier to keep Mathias' thoughts from returning to past memories. He thought back, every second the gruesome images becoming more vivid. He was soon immersed entirely. Mathias looked around. He was low to the ground even when he stood up his straightest, as children tend to be. The blood was drizzled across shaggy carpets in an uninspired fashion. Though the room had its fair share of carnage, the largest quantity of blood encircled a woman with unblinking eyes. 'That was my mother,' he states inwardly. Even his thoughts were cold and monotonous on the subject. He was no older than eight when he began to bare the weight of being the sole witness to the vulgarity his mother was victimized to. 'Well, maybe she wasn't entirely a victim.' A sinister voice echoes through the present-day Mathias' psyche. 'Maybe she deserved what she got.' He shook the perverse mind frame away, 'No. No one deserves something like that. No one should have to die so horribly', he half-forces himself to say. He hated to admit, even to himself, that he agreed with the inhumane thoughts he had on the subject of his parent's 'tragic' death. Before and even after Mathias' birth, his mother was careless. She shooed her son off to anywhere she wasn't so she could drink repulsive amounts of her precious brandy, being so blunt on her distaste for him. Eventually, Mathias figured, she was sick of completing even the tiny, fundamental chores of parenthood. Memories from so long back couldn't be especially reliable, but Mathias was sure that the day in question was early on in February. The raw chill of the air really was remarkable the day his mother took him to the carnival downtown. Her unenthusiastic disposition went unnoticed by young Mathias, who hardly left the vicinity of his house. He swore he'd only been away a second, but by the time he'd returned to where his mother claimed she would wait, the woman had absconded with his already feeble sense of security. Though, even to this day, Mathias would surely claim he wasn't scared then. Back in the present, Mathias' mouth lifted in one of its corners to form a speck of a smile. The moment that currently occupied his thoughts was credible as the one instant where his forlorn childhood in solitude paid off just a bit. With such a blatant lack in children’s literature conflicting the youth’s sparking interest in the world, he had to seek out any form of knowledge obtainable, which included road maps of their urban town. Miraculously, the eight-year-old managed to navigate himself back home which was surprising, even taking under account of how it must’ve been very, very late at night when he made his return. It possibly was even into the early hours of the morning. The lights were still aglow inside the shabby, grayish-blue bungalow that’d once been a lovely little place. The child walked up to the door, fishing into a plant pot containing only soil for the spare key. Before he could happen upon the dexterous piece of metal, his ears picked up on some conversation that was being angrily projected so loud. At times like this, it was a positive factor that they lived so far from any other walks of life. Notwithstanding with how distinct this occurrence was, Mathias had severe struggle on recalling the exact words that were exchanged via shout. This might’ve been a result of the length of time that’d passed or perhaps of the exhaustion he was faced with at the time. Nonetheless, the bits he did manage to recall were fuzzy. He heard his mother called some unrefined names, ones that she fired back, and a lot of contradicting debate. This was hardly an acceptable summary of their discussion, but it was the best the teacher could feel absolute in summoning to make an accurate description. Then, there was an especially alien type of pandemonium… Then there was that scream. It was hardly believable, how just a scream could stick so deep in his mind and stay fresh and crisp for decades. Warily, he gripped the cold and dirt-coated piece of metal. Before he could make himself insert the key into its companion space, it was turning by itself. He fell back, tripping over the curve edge and going through a tangled and neglected shrub. He makes a slight thud as he makes his crash-landing. He didn’t bother to brush dirt from his clothing before he crouched and watched over the bushes for whatever was visible in the poorly-lit entrance area. He remembered a long and dark brown figure crossing his path and the silhouette of a man whose frame was that of a giant to his youthful self. He dropped something heavy that clanged as it met cement. The mysterious attacker loaded himself into a pick-up truck with peeling paint, started it up, and rode off into the night. Mathias choked back, standing and walking into the house through the door that stood ajar. The sound of pants heaved and screams released made a sufficient beacon to lead Mathias to the scene of the crime. He approached, sickened by the overwhelming scent of blood.Then, there it was; a horrifying massacre of the woman who'd made feeble attempts of raising him... And then the bell rang. And Mathias looks around. Hm. He remembered recess being a trifle longer than that. He shook his head and called his class for a line-up.