Date: Sun, 17 Jan 2010 23:35:42 -0800 (PST)
From: Claudiu I. <ghostofoldtrafford@yahoo.com>
Subject: Divine Punishment Chapter 1

Be warned, this story portrays gay relationships. SHOCKING, I know!

But wait, there's more! No sex! Are you still conscious? Good. What I mean
by that is that this is intended to be more a PG-13 story. Well, in terms
of sex, anyway. You can't expect no swearing, now can you? So, if you're
looking for some masturbation material, there are plenty other fine sources
around, but this story, I am sorry to say, is not one of them.

Keeping that in mind, if you decide to go ahead and read, feel free to
always contact me at ghostofoldtrafford@yahoo.com


DIVINE PUNISHMENT


Chapter 1


Just imagine for a second you're a high-school student in your typical
mid-sized American high, in your typical mid-sized American city.

So, having walked through those typical double doors, you now find yourself
walking down the corridor before classes start in the afternoon, right
after lunch, making your way through the teaming masses of typical students
heading for their classes and otherwise preoccupied with the latest gossip.

Hey, what's that to your left? Why, that's the typical gang of potheads,
staring dumbly at the ceiling lights, akin to moths before their final
plunge into the flame. Word to the wise – don't always listen to the
"walk into the light" crap. Sometimes, the light source could be a
Peterbilt's headlights.

Okay, moving on. Look, there's the typical nerd brigade. Chess club, by the
looks of it. The President just bent down for a drink at the water fountain
and his glasses slipped off his nose. Aww, isn't his blush just adorable?
But hey, it's cool, the rest of the club, as nerdy as it is, is there for
him. Ah, companionship. A dream for the common man...

Aaaand, moving along...The boob squad. The typical
cheerleaders. Like...totally! You know, I hate stereotypes, but let's face
it, there's a reason they exist in the first place. And when it comes to
the world of high-school, well, teens just act their respective parts and,
more often than not, fall into certain stereotypes. Or get pushed into them
by their peers. Hey, if life's not fair, then high-school is just one sick
joke played by the man(or woman or multi-tentacled creature)
above. Stereotypes are a way of life. Hence...the typical ditzy
cheerleaders.

And, as is often the case in the wild, where a pack of gentle gazelles(our
dear cheerleaders in this analogy, stay with me!) is grazing, a pack of
lions lies in waiting, ready to pounce on their unsuspecting pray. Enter
the jock brigade. You know `em, you love `em, you can't live without
`em. Okay, those last two are optional. Swimmers, runners, wrestlers,
basketball players and, of course, on the top of the totem pole, football
players. Forget about the fact that most of them are just a product of
their fathers desperately trying to relive their glory days through them
and that, for the large majority, their dream of NFL glory will crash and
burn as soon as their sweetheart places their lovechild in their arms after
graduation. For those few years when they are adored by the lower life
forms, they are Gods.

And even the Gods need a king. In this typical high-school, his name is
Terrence Williamson III, Terry for his friends and worshippers. 6'3",
toned, tanned, blond, pale blue eyes that shine silver in the right light,
cute button nose, ears that are just a bit too small for his head, but oh
so adorable because EVERYTHING is adorable about him(by law or something),
full red lips and square jaw. Friggin Captain America. Yes...he's an
asshole.

 Despite all evidence to the contrary, Terrence isn't dumb, even with all
the brain cell-destroying alcohol he keeps guzzling down at parties. Come
to think of it, why the hell doesn't he have a beer belly? There's just no
justice in the world, I tell ya! Anyway, the guy has a pretty good GPA, but
I suppose one might call him lazy when it comes to school work. He prefers
to apply himself to other activities. Like his girlfriend, the boob squad
captain, Natalie Gianni. Rumor has it he applies himself to her at least
three times a night whenever they get together without parental
supervision. Color me impressed. The bastard...

Okay, so that's Terry for ya, rich, handsome, smart and a total jerk. Why
is he a jerk? Well, if you peer closely, you might see him pulling his fist
back in order to knock some poor, defenseless loser all the way into next
week. The poor guy in question is named Hudson Xander Pryce. Poor
thing...Aside from an unfortunate name, he's also short. 5'6", in fact. And
skinny like a twig. His hazel eyes are hidden behind a pair of thick
horn-rimmed glasses. He has a nice silver-colored wire-rimmed pair at
home. They're slick and fashionable and he can't wear them because they'd
get busted up whenever Hudson would walk straight into Terry's fists. He
also has shiny, shoulder-length dark hair, which only serves to further
highlight his pale complexion. A thin long nose and thin lips complete the
image. All in all, not entirely bad-looking, or so he's been told by those
close to him(his mom), but he's not someone you'd spare a second glance.

To top it all off, he also spent a few weeks in Hightower Institute a few
years back. That's the local loony bin. So, he's crazy as well. Not the
"you don't mess with him, cause he's crazy like a motherfucker" type, but
more like the "he's depressed and might cut himself" type of crazy. Though,
you never know with introverts. He may just shoot up the place one
day. It's always the quiet ones, you know? He he he...Nervous laughter
here!

Oh, right, did I forget to mention that the unfortunate soul is me? Yep,
I'm Hudson. God, I cringe every time I hear that name, even when it's
inside my own damn head. Not that Xander's much better. Short form of
Alexander, which apparently means "man's defender". Yes, that's me, a
friggin hero. Oh, Terry's fist is coming closer. How exciting! Still, when
I was in grade school, girls liked my name. They found it...exotic. I'm
rolling my eyes here. You have to picture it really well, cause they're
nearly popping out of my head. Still, it was a boost to my ego. Too bad I'm
not interested in girls. And I'm sure the feeling is now mutual
anyway. Yes, I'm gay. Wanna make something out of it? Because if you do,
you have to stand in line, behind Terry.

Not that he knows I'm gay, it's just that he always likes to be the first
to pummel me into non-existence. I really don't understand why, to be
honest. And before you start with the "Oh, he secretly likes you and he
doesn't know how to deal with his feelings and his self-hatred or his
potential homosexuality", that's bullshit. The guy' straight. End of
story. Whatever the reason, love isn't it. I don't know, maybe it's his
asshole gene and I'm an easy target.

Wham! Right in the gut. Well, better than the face, I always say. And the
floor is far softer than I remembered it to be. Then again, I only dropped
to my knees this time. Terry's in a good mood, most likely.

"You're lucky my party's tonight, bitch. I'm in a forgiving mood." He
said. Right, the big party. He's turning 16. Can you believe that I'm
actually older than him by a few weeks? So, a whole weekend of partying,
including drunken sex and potential unplanned pregnancies. Hey, for all I
know, it's gonna be a giant orgy. And on Monday he's going to be driving
his new car. New Camaro. Figures. See, that's why it's so easy to accept
stereotypes. Because some people just choose to reinforce them. Why can't
the big bad jock drive a Prius? Gas-consuming, Earth-polluting asshole.

"You got your fingerprints on my letterman jacket. Now I'm gonna have to
have it dry-cleaned. I should hand you the bill once I'm done." Through the
tears in my eyes, I can see that evil smirk on his face. "In fact, I think
I'll do just that." The fucker turns around and leaves, laughing, his loyal
dogs following at his heels. Did I mention how much I hate him? I mean, all
I did this time was turn a corner and there he was. I gently bumped into
him, my hands outstretched, trying to avoid slamming entirely into
him. THAT would have been a capital offense.

Okay, enough self-pity and hatred aimed at Terry. There's enough time for
that during my voodoo ritual later tonight. Just kidding...I don't yet have
his hair. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm such a coward, even if I did have dark
magical powers, I still wouldn't do anything with `em. Now, it's time to
pick myself up the floor and head for my last class of the day.

I enjoy English Lit. I mean, reading is an important activity for a loner
such as myself, so...you know, it's a perfect fit. It's also the one class
I have in common with my best friend. Well, pretty much only
friend. Sharon. If I were straight and she were cute, we'd definitely be
going steady. As it is, we're 0 for 2. I don't want to sound mean, but
Sharon...Well, Sharon is someone who seems destined to be named Olga, Helga
or Conan the Destroyer. She's massive. I know calling a girl "massive" is
insensitive and all, but...Goddamn! She's over 6 feet tall and must weigh
around 200 lbs. Not that I'd ever actually ask her about her weight. You
just don't do that with a girl, especially when the girl in question can
snap you in two. See, it's not all fat. She has serious muscle mass. Her
father was a pro athlete. Track and field. Actually, just field. Mostly the
shot put. So, they actually exercise together. Lifting Volkswagens or
something. And her mom must've been a Valkyrie or something. I don't really
know much about her except that she's from Denmark and is now a
stay-at-home mom. And possibly a superhero by night. She's almost as big as
Sharon's dad and definitely bigger than her baby girl.

The Fergusons, they are. And a great family at that. Sharon gets her fair
skin, blue eyes and blond hair from her mom. Unfortunately, everything else
is her dad. A broad forehead, a stubby nose and flat face, to go along with
a pair of big ears. Miss America, she ain't.

Now, I know I sound like a jerk talking about her like that, but she knows
what she looks like and she doesn't mind. In fact, that's the reason I love
her so much. She's the kindest person you're ever likely to
meet. Underneath her intimidating exterior, she has a heart of gold. The
only way I'd love her more would be if she kicked Terry's ass. Which I
suggested on numerous occasions. But, while I think she could do it, she's
totally against violence. She stopped Terry a few times when she was
around, but she always tries to avoid violence when possible. And violence
seems to follow me, thanks to that big lump, Terry, so, outside of lunch
and English, Sharon and I don't really spend time together in school. But
we're always at each other's houses after school.

She thought I might like her in a romantic way about a year ago. God, she
looked so hopeful when she asked me if I did. I was afraid of telling her
the truth. With an athlete for a dad, maybe she wouldn't be too
gay-friendly. And, aside from that, I was afraid I'd break her heart if I
said no. What was I to do? String her along? Even if she were the most
beautiful girl in the world, I couldn't do that. And telling her no,
without giving a reason would have made her think it's because of her
appearance. So, I told her the truth. Right then and there, I thought I
would be murdered. She narrowed her eyes and stared at me for a good two
minutes, not once blinking, her fists balled up tightly, her knuckles going
white. I was pretty close to fainting and losing control of my bowels and
bladder. Then, she broke into a huge grin and hugged me. "Just kidding!"
she said to me. Just kidding. I must have lost ten years of my life, I was
so scared. But she was more than supportive. Naturally, we spent the rest
of the day talking about hot guys from school.

Since I'm still in the closet except for her, I actually considered using
her as a beard. She even said she'd be okay with it, but I just couldn't go
along with it. I would be using her, and she's too nice a person for
that. So, we're official friends and nothing more. Though I'm sure both her
parents and my mom think there's more to it than that. Of course, my little
sister, Fern(yes, my mom with the name again) is the worst one of all. We
don't exactly have the greatest sibling relationship, so she's always more
than happy to point out the fact that I'm dating Xena's big sister, all the
while laughing at my diminutive stature(she's barely 5 feet tall herself,
at 15) and inability to attract a better example of feminine beauty as a
mate. Yes, she actually said that to me. Eh, let her think what she
wants. God knows what she'd say if she knew I'm gay.

Anyway, where was I? I always get side-tracked like this. Oh,
right...English Lit. I made my way to the class and sat next to Sharon just
as the bell rang. She looked worriedly at me. I was rubbing my stomach,
which was either a sign of hunger or a fist print. Truth be told, it was
both. I'd missed lunch because I was behind in a project, so I spent my
free hour in the library. And since the old witch in charge of the place
doesn't allow food and watches us like a hawk, well...let's just say I was
hungry.

"What happened?" she asked in a whisper.

"The usual. Doesn't matter."

She sighed and said nothing to me for the rest of the period. When class
was over, we both waited for the other students to exit, then we picked up
our stuff and walked out together.

"Terry, huh?"

"As always."

"You know, maybe he secretly likes you..."

"Oh, for the love of God!" I groaned. "The guy's just an asshole." Then I
found myself falling towards the floor. I'd been pushed from behind. I
didn't even need to look back to know who it was. "Hi, Terry."

"Just who were you talking about, dipshit?"

I picked myself up the floor, dusted off my clothes, dragging out the
moment as long as possible. What can I say, I like to be dramatic
sometimes. "Just an asshole, Terry. Were your ears ringing or something? Do
you feel you're the only asshole around?" Yes, I was in a suicidal mood.

This time, his fist connected with my left temple and I was down for the
count. Well, dazed, but not totally unconscious. I was able to make out
Sharon's form slamming Terry into the locker and then I heard a teacher
yelling at us. I recognized his voice and groaned. Coach Willis. Can anyone
guess what came next?

"Pryce, Ferguson, detention!"

"But, sir..." Sharon began.

"Save it. You both see me after your last class." Terry was grinning
evilly. "Williamson, get to class." Ain't life grand?

Dejected, Sharon and I went to our respective classes, then reported to the
gym, where we were promptly assigned the glamorous duty of scrubbing the
bleachers. Let me tell you, an hour of that really gives you a new
appreciation for janitors, the unsung heroes of the world.

Sharon and I live about a block from each other, about 15 minutes away from
school so, as is the case most days, we walked home together. Like I said,
I'm 16, but I have no car. My mom seems to think I'll get drunk, get a girl
pregnant in the backseat and then drive off the road. My mom is...err,
special. I guess one could say she's not really in touch with reality, but
then again, she's an art teacher at the local college. People expect her to
be a bit...out there, right? Well, she certainly doesn't
disappoint. Recently, she's been considering changing her name. Mary is all
fine and dandy for the normal people of the world, but for a free sprit
such as herself, it's like a dark cloud hanging over her head. I've been
afraid to ask her what name she thinks best suits her.

So, Sharon and I were walking in oppressive silence. Detention for being
attacked. It's enough to make a teenager lose faith in the justice system,
it is!

"I hate that bastard." I said.

"Coach or Terry?"

"Well, both now, I guess, but Terry's the one I want dead."

Sharon chuckled. "That's a bit harsh, isn't it? He's an asshole, sure, but
come on, this is high-school. You're a great student. You'll go on to have
a successful career as a lawyer or something and forget all about being
bullied by some stupid high-school jock, while Terry..."

"While he what? Inherits his dad's multi-million company? Becomes a rich
bastard that pushes people around without actually having to work for his
fortune? Yes, that sounds wonderful. I'll show him! HAHA!" I finished
bitterly.

"Well, when you put it that way..."

"I'd like to strangle him. Look into his eyes as they're drained of life!"

"Whoa! Easy there, Xander." She rarely calls me by my first name. Bless her
heart. "Don't go on any murdering rampages just yet."

"Oh, relax, I'm not crazy." I said, cackling like a mad man. "But a guy can
dream, right?"

"Mmm. Sounds more like a nightmare."

"How `bout stabbing? Bleeding to death?" I asked, smiling broadly. Sharon
stopped walking and looked into my eyes. She must've seen a sparkle there
that disturbed her.

"Dude, you're enjoying thinking about this a little too much."

"Drowning. Yes, that's what I'd like. I hear it's not pleasant."

"XANDER! That's enough. It's not funny, okay?" Sharon said, scowling. I
raised my hands, palms out, in a gesture of surrender.

"Okay. Sorry. Just got a little carried away." We started walking
again. "But, don't you ever think about something like that? You know,
seeing your enemies suffer?"

"I don't really have any enemies. I try to get along with everyone and I
don't like violence, you know that, so I'd never consider revenge, even if
someone picked on me, which they don't."

"Well, of course they don't. Look at you!" Insert foot in mouth. I cringed
as those words left my mouth. Sharon might be okay with the way she looks,
but the tone of my voice really made it clear I meant it as an
insult. Sharon stopped and looked sadly at me. "Sharon, I'm sorry, I didn't
mean it like that. You have to believe me."

Sharon sighed and shook her head. "Whatever, Xander. I guess I can
understand. I mean, I'm pissed about the detention myself, but there's no
need to be a jackass to your best friend, you know?"

Hanging my head in shame, I murmured a "Yes" and apologized again.

"Okay, we'll talk tonight. Unless my parents decide to ground me and take
away phone privileges for getting detention." She said, as we reached her
house.

"It was my fault, Sharon. If they say anything, have them call me and I'll
sort it all out. You shouldn't be punished because of me."

"No, it wasn't your fault, it was Terry's. One shouldn't be punished for
being bullied and certainly not for sticking up for one's friend. Don't
worry, Xander." She smiled and pulled me into a hug. I watched her walk
into her house, waving as she closed the door, then continued walking up to
my house.

Mom's car was parked in the driveway. Well, one of the tires was on the
lawn. And yet she's worried about MY driving skills.

I went straight for the kitchen, my rumbling stomach reminding me of the
missed lunch. It was almost 4 o'clock now, thanks to the detention, so I
was ready to devour anything in sight. I'm a growing teenage boy, after
all. At least, I hope I'm growing. I don't want to spend the rest of my
life at 5'6", for God's sake!

Just as I was reaching for some leftover lasagna, I heard a distinctive
cough from behind me. You know the one. The "pay attention to me, I'm
here!" cough. I turned around and looked at my mom. She's actually shorter
than me, if you can believe it. My dad wasn't much taller either. Yeah, I
guess I should just give up on my whole "grow taller" dream, but I guess
I'm still in the denial phase.

People say I'm a spitting image of my mother and I suppose they're
right. The same skin tone, the same hair, though she keeps it longer, just
below her shoulder blades, the same long lashes, thin nose and pale
lips. The eyes are the only difference. Hers are a fantastic green. I'm
quite jealous of her eyes, to be honest. Maybe someday I'll get contacts. I
hate my glasses anyway.

Her hands on her hips, she raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?" she
asked.

"Umm...getting something to eat?"

"I think not."

I stared at her, then down at the pot in my hands. "But...I'm hungry."

"Good, then it should be a suitable punishment."

"What?"

"Nothing to eat for you today, I think, including dinner."

"But why?" I cried in shock. Depriving a teenager of food if simply
horrific, doesn't she know that? Isn't there something about that written
down in the Geneva Convention?

"You got detention today. I told you many times to not pick on other kids."

I stared dumbly at her. Yep, I told you she's not all there. She actually
believes I'm capable of picking on others. Not from a psychological point
of view, but physically. I mean, has she ever looked at me? How in the hell
could I pick on someone? I'd get my ass handed to me by a 6th grader! But
what's the use in arguing? I just placed the lasagna on the table and
walked upstairs in silence, passing my sister on the way. Oh, the evil
smirk on her face made me want to vomit. I know siblings are supposed to
fight once in a while, it's only nature, but why on Earth would she enjoy
seeing my discomfort? Considering it was just the two of us and mom, since
dad died, 4 years ago, you'd expect we'd be close, support one another. God
knows I wish I could confide in her. Having Sharon is great and all, but I
wish I could just talk to my sister about some things. I have no idea how
either her or my mom would react if I came out. If my sister and I were
closer, I could trust her enough to tell her and together we might be able
to gauge my mother's reaction. I'm not really worried, since she is
generally free-spirited, but give me a break. Being insecure and scared is
a requirement for gay teens.

When I got to my room, I shed my clothes, changed into a pair of running
shorts and a tank top and crawled on top of my bed, settling in with a
book, since I was in no mood for TV. Watching TV or movies always makes me
hungry. I at least need some chips or something, so I definitely needed to
avoid any TV-watching activity, for fear that my hunger would only grow in
intensity.

I got so caught up in my book that, by the time I looked at my alarm clock,
when my cell rang, it was 7:30. It was Sharon, of course. Sometimes, I get
calls from people in my classes, asking for help with homework, but Sharon
is the only one who calls me on a regular basis, and just to chat. And so
we did. I told her about my punishment and, naturally, she laughed. "Oh,
give me a break, Xander. So no dinner tonight, big deal. You're not being
tortured or anything."

"Yeah, well, I didn't have lunch today either, so I haven't eaten in 12
hours. It'll be 24 hours by the time I next get something in my mouth..."

"That sounds kinky, you dirty boy."

I blushed and I'm sure she realized what my reaction must have been,
because she laughed even harder. I decided to be the mature one and told
her to stuff it, then I hang up, to the sound of her continuing laughter. I
knew I was being a petulant brat, but come on...NO DINNER!  I decided that
going to bed early would be a good decision. It's not like I had anywhere
to be, despite the fact that it was Friday evening. So, I got a shower,
stripped naked, got into bed and tried to go to sleep. My rumbling stomach
kept me awake though, so I tried to focus my mind on other things. Well,
what kind of things do teenage boys think about in bed? Or at the table? Or
in school? Or walking down the street? It's called S-E-X. As the myriad of
boys played through my mind, I felt myself go hard. Then Terry popped into
my head, with his blue eyes and kissable lips. I almost screamed in
frustration. What the fuck was Terry doing in my fantasies? Damn him! I was
starving because of him! Damn him straight to hell, along with the damn
dirty apes! I found myself planning his demise once again and thoughts of
revenge filled my mind as I drifted off. "Yes, drowning..." I mumbled.

I opened up my eyes the next morning, when my sister banged on my
door. She's a morning person, and, as the resident bitch, she thinks it's
her duty to stop me from sleeping in on the weekends. Even though I had
slept far longer than I normally do, I still would have liked to stay in
bed longer, especially since I knew mom wouldn't be cooking breakfast until
8 AM and it was still only a quarter past 7. And after a day of no food, no
way was I going to settle for cereal. Eggs and bacon, damn it! So, I
yawned, stretched and turned on the TV as I got out of bed.

I was only half paying attention to the news as I rummaged through the
closet for suitable clothes for the coming day.

"Trisha Johannsen is on the scene. Trisha?" the news anchor said.

"Thank you, Maria. I'm on the road next to Lake Yern and, as you can see,
the car is being winched out of the water as we speak. We have no official
confirmation, but apparently there was one victim. Sources say that the car
is registered to Terrence Williamson III, son of local tycoon..."

My head whipped around and I stared wide-eyed at the TV. It actually
happened. Just like I wanted it to. "I killed Terry." I croaked. Then
darkness. I'm pretty sure I passed out from manly hunger.