If Anna-Leigh Hadn't Lived

A bully's dying moments as one victim lashes back with unexpected help.

 

It was wrong for a boy to hit a girl.  That was the only concept Hennie could comprehend.  Anything else was impossible next to the throbbing pain in her jaw.  She lay flat on the dirt, gasping for breath through her bleeding mouth and nose.

 

            The world kept wobbling in her peripheral vision.  Hennie dug her fingernails into the earth, trying to use sore muscles to push herself to her knees.  Distantly, she knew she’d have to crawl.  She couldn’t feel the bones in her bare left foot, and she only somewhat understood that was bad.

 

            Before she could get up, a heavy boot connected with her skull.  She couldn’t even gasp as someone’s foot pushed her head back to the ground.

 

            It’s mud, she thought faintly.  But it wasn’t raining; it hadn’t in days.  And it smelled of copper . . . was that her blood?

 

            She lay there for God only knew how long until, mercifully, the boot lifted and the pressure on her brain assuaged.  But it was only temporary relief, because that same boot connected with her ribs and knocked her from her stomach to her back.  Hennie moaned pitifully.  The moan turned into a gurgle, and then a horrible retching gag.  She barely turned her head to the side in time to throw up her dinner.

 

            Tears swam in her eyes at the putrid stench.  It stank horribly, and in light of what was happening to her, it only added insult to injury.

 

            She slowly found her world swimming back into focus.  Her vision did that for a while; cleared, then fogged, then cleared, and then fogged again.  Then she blinked painfully a few times and she could see the face looming over her.

 

            A girl’s face, she realized.  A mop of curly blonde hair tumbled to her shoulders, almost silvery in color.  Cornflower blue eyes looked down at her from mascara-darkened lashes, long and probably fake.  She would have looked positively angelic, had it not been for her left eye swollen almost shut, purple and black blotches all over her face, and her lower lip split open, almost black with the scab.

 

            But the girl looked satisfied.  Hennie couldn’t remember why.

 

            “I said, how do you like it?” the angelic girl demanded.  She had her arms folded over her slim chest and was almost invisible in the forest sheathed in night.

 

            Hennie only moaned again.  She didn’t understand.

 

            But she did remember one thing.  The girl.  Her name was Anna-Leigh.

 

            The girl scoffed in disgust before turning her back.  Hennie’s brain swam in confusion until she felt someone grab her by the collar and drag her to her feet.  Two someones.  Oh, yeah, she thought.  There were three more.

 

            “Let’s finish this,” said a quiet male voice.  A guy stepped into Hennie’s field of vision, wrapping an arm around Anna-Leigh’s shoulders.  He hugged her and kissed her head.  Hennie couldn’t see his face, but she took note of his tousled dark hair.

 

            The two supporting her—they had to be strong, she knew, she weighed no less than 180 pounds—dragged her through the forest.  They followed Anna-Leigh and the dark-haired guy.  Hennie screamed when her foot hit a stray root.  Agony shot from her toes up her leg and spine and to her brain, exploding in a dazzling white light.  Pieces were starting to fall together now, as she remembered bits of what had happened.

 

            Her foot hurt because one of the guys—probably carrying her, and she distinctly recalled one guy’s red hair—had pummeled it with a baseball bat.

 

            “Shut her up,” the dark-haired guy called back impatiently.

 

            The trek paused as one person steadied her with both his arms, and the other turned to face her.  It was the redhead who had crushed her foot.  He had glittering green eyes, freckles dotting his nose, and a knife.  He held the pointed end to her throat, ordering her silent while he wrestled one-handed with something below his waist.

 

            Fear churned Hennie’s stomach sickeningly, but when his hand came up it was with a sock.  She dimly noted it was a relief compared to what she had been afraid of.  Until he shoved it in her mouth.  She gagged and nearly retched again—it had been worn, was probably fresh off the redhead’s foot.  He cuffed her with the hilt of his blade, folded the sharp end into the hilt, and took his place back on her right, trudging her through the dank woods.  Even through the overwhelming copper of her own blood, Hennie faintly smelled musty old leaves.

 

            Oh, yeah.  It’s fall.

 

            Her cries were muffled by the wretched sock.  Hennie realized her vision swam not only because of her aching head, but because she had been crying nonstop.  Her eyelids stung and the chill air only made it worse.

 

            And now she remembered how she had gotten here.  She’d seen Anna-Leigh at the corner market on the edge of town, not too far from Hennie’s home.  It had been two days since they had last crossed, but Anna-Leigh’s battered face looked even worse than right after Hennie had struck her with a thick, heavy slab of a branch.

 

            She had never liked Anna-Leigh.  She couldn’t recall a rhyme or reason behind her hatred, but she did know that hadn’t been the first time she had sent Anna-Leigh home broken and bleeding.  But as far as she knew, Anna-Leigh never told anyone.  Anna-Leigh was a weakling.  She was a terrified lamb of a victim.

 

            But here she was, watching as three boys took her pent-up frustrations out on Hennie.

 

            To Hennie, the tromp through the forest lasted forever.  Stars and brilliant lights flickered in and out of her eyes, even with the lids closed.  The taste of blood and wet sock was so thick on her tongue, it was hard to imagine she had ever tasted anything else in her life.

 

            When the walk finally ended, it was in a graveyard.  Hennie couldn’t remember seeing it before, but then again, she couldn’t even recall her own last name at the moment.  Had it started with a P?  Or was it an R?

 

            The two thugs dragged her to one corner of the lot.  It meant she banged her foot against several headstones, each one more angry than the last.  By now she was too blinded by her own pain to scream.  Only muffled whimpers escaped.

 

            Someone yanked the soggy sock from her mouth.  Hennie gagged on bile and spat something acidic to the grass.

 

            Dizzily, she noticed the hole.  And the huge mound of dirt.  And the cheap, makeshift headstone—a crude wooden cross made from old fence posts, with a silver chain dangling from it.  She couldn’t make out the pendant.

 

            Suddenly, Anna-Leigh was in her face.  Her swollen eye looked angry, and she was gnawing furiously at the cut on her lip.  Before Hennie could react, Anna-Leigh tore open her wound, sucked, and spat a mouthful of blood.

 

            The disgusting slime touched her mouth, and she abruptly found her voice.  Hennie screamed.  She thrashed and wailed with renewed strength.

 

            She remembered why she hated Anna-Leigh.  Anna-Leigh the weak, frail little angel; the precious sacrificial lamb; the fourteen year-old with AIDs who dared to walk the same halls as Hennie; the girl whose blood was filth and endangered everyone’s life by simply being a walking disaster.  Accident-prone Anna-Leigh with her poisonous blood.

 

            Hennie had never struck her with her own fists.  She always used a weapon with reach, and she always wore gloves.  Not to hide the evidence, but to keep the poison away from her when Anna-Leigh decided, ungraciously, to cough up blood.

 

            “Hennie,” mused the familiar male voice.  The dark-haired one came up beside Anna-Leigh, embracing her as though Hennie wasn’t there; as though Anna-Leigh wasn’t a walking hazard.  “Keeper of the hearth, right?”

 

            “Keeper of the black heart,” Anna-Leigh retorted bitterly.

 

            The guy smiled and kissed the top of her head.  And Hennie was flooded with memory once again.

 

            How could she have known?  Known as HazMatt on the streets, he was six years too old for Anna-Leigh, but was an underground force that had his own reputation throughout Thurston County.  He was supposed to be a cold-hearted, prejudiced drug dealer with little tolerance for humans as a whole.  How had he fallen for this poisonous b***h?

 

            Hennie summoned the strength she had left to gasp, “Go to hell.”

 

            Anna-Leigh’s already torn face twisted in fury.  She kicked Hennie viciously in the knee, causing the bigger girl to cry out and go limp.  She stared blankly into the empty grave, still uncomprehending.

 

            Without another word, she was pitched into the hole.

 

            She had no strength left after her beating.  She ached in too many places to survive, even if they didn’t do what they were—throwing loose dirt in after her.  All three boys pitched in—the HazMatt, the redhead, and the other dark-haired guy who hadn’t done a thing but carry her to her grave.

 

            Hennie could only cry and struggle feebly when the earth started to become too heavy; become too much.  Her already-crushed ribs screamed in protest.  She began to taste gritty bitterness.  Dirt filled her nostrils.

 

            All she could think was, How could I have known?  If she hadn’t been dating the HazMatt, I wouldn’t have hurt her.  If she hadn’t had AIDs, I wouldn’t have touched her.  If she hadn’t been a pretentious little b***h, I wouldn’t have. . . .

 

            When at last she suffocated to death, she only thought:

 

            If Anna-Leigh hadn’t lived, Hennie Wickham wouldn’t have died.

Reviews

[PyroKitty24]

Oh wow. I was interested throughout the whole thing. You did a great job writing this, and I can't even imagine where the plot might have come from. It's good that the poor girl got her revenge, but I think she took is a little too far. It's horrible to pick on someone, especially when they have a medical problem.

[Ryou]

Amazing.

[Corvus]

Interesting story. Raw and muffled, which is good considering it's from Hennie's point of view. Violent- a typical bully vs victim kind of tale with a twist. It goes to show you that when you fight fire with fire, you just get burned.

Good job.

[Sarah Hawkinson]

Very awesome story. So powerful. It was great to see it reciprocated on the other end. Great use of words, and the brutal scenes were very well written.

[dark and twisty]

god, this is an incredible piece. so raw and edgy and dark and violent - the ugly side of humanity fully displayed in your story very poignantly.

it incites a sort of morbid fascination and the fact that you could keep me, someone who hates vivid descriptions of violence in stories, riveted shows how masterful your writing is...how even from the start i knew your story was more than just about the violence but about people, life and how we hate each other for reasons most irrational, however rational they may seem to us..

[AmeliaRose]

fabulous! i swear, is this a real book? im serious because i remember checking out a book that soundn't like this! i like this better though. great great great job.

[Hannah!]

Whoa.

I loved this. It's gripping from the first word, and it was one of those stories where I wanted to read ahead to figure everything out (I always want to do that). I could barely keep myself from doing so. I loved the perspective that this, too-it's hard to hate Hennie, considering where the story begins, but at the same time, it's nearly impossible to blame Anna-Leigh. Very conflicting, in a very interesting way.

Excellent piece.

[Raef C. Boylan]

Good luck in the 'taboo' contest.
AIDS is the word...spread the word...don't spread the word.

You launch us straight into the middle of the scenario, so we can't help but be interested...and we quickly bceome absorbed, because you pay attention to detail. The narrative flows well; you make sure we have all the salient information, but you don't force-feed us nor spoon-feed us - we learn through Hennie's thoughts, and it's done really well.
I like that the 'taboo' part didn't enter until towards the end - it was exciting enough without it, and then that added more tension and stark reality.
I also like that this is told from the bully's persepctive, and we don't know [unless we read your description] for a while, so we bith empathise and sympathise with hennie, until you reveal her past deeds; then it's up to us whether we still sympathise or merely empathise.

Good story.
Thanks for posting it.
You didn't shy away from the violence or the issue, and that seems to be what the contest was about...which is why I think you're a very worthy contender.

[Melissa]

wow. that was tense.

[Dave Lounsbury]

Great work. I enjoyed this piece throughout. Very easy to follow and the pacing was good.