Date: Thu, 12 May 2005 14:12:58 +1000 From: Michael Elliot <michael.elliot@gmail.com> Subject: Running within (revised) This work is purely a work of fiction. There is no intentional resemblance between any rea-life characters, events and/or places. The characters are not intended to resemble the author in any way. Please do not read this story if you feel you may be offended, or if it is illegal to do so where you currently reside. This story was inspired by Lost rainy boy (malaka/mr_malaprop; 2004), along with all the other great stories within the Nifty archives. Special thanks to malaka/mr_malaprop for helping fix up this story. Running within Second edition -------------- Overcast skies shadowed my world; they shadowed my perception of the real world - the knowledge of what to do, and what not to do. Why did I do it? Why? I'm an idiot. --- PE class; some shithole coastal town, NSW, Australia. Cricket. Why cricket? I fucking hate cricket. Why do I play? I should have hid behind the staffroom by the basketball courts along with all the others who wanted to avoid the terrible game of cricket. I sit there in the itchy grass, along with the other boys on the batting team, waiting... waiting for my turn to bat. I hate batting, it requires effort. Fielding is much more enjoyable - I can just stand and stare. I dread the start of the line. It creeps closer every minute I sit and wait. I sometimes enjoy sitting in the line; I can watch Jake from there. He loves sport, I do not. I love to watch him, and seeing him run around on the field makes it all the more worthwhile for me to join in and play. I couldn't see him from behind the PE staffroom, though I can see him here. --- Changing rooms. Jake undresses. I can't help but watch. Look away, look away! You'll get caught. No! I want to see. You're a fucking idiot Paul, you really are. Jake eventually strips down to his boxers, and begins to lean down to take the PE shorts from around his ankles. I'm still watching him, he hasn't realised yet. When he gets to his shorts, guess who he sees looking at him? That's right - me. Fuck Paul, I told you not to watch him! Jake looks shocked. I couldn't help notice how fast he scrambled to cover up. Others watch him, wondering what is wrong with the twelve year old boy named Jake, standing there - half naked - scrambling for his clothes. Some realise why - there I am, staring right at the chest of this boy. Am I embarrassed. Within seconds, one third of the change room has caught on. I am staring at a half naked boy. Boy, not girl. We're both boys. I couldn't get out of that change room fast enough. --- Period four; the one before lunch and the one after PE. I've got geography. Two boring and exhausting subjects in a row - what a day. Jake's in the class, behind me and to the left a little. Thank God he's behind me. If I were behind him, everyone around me would be watching me. Waiting patiently for me to steal a look, to catch a glimpse. Instant branding - one look and the class would go wild. Again, thank God he's behind me. The judging eyes make it hard for me to concentrate. Not only can I see them, but I can feel them. I just know that every boy and girl in the class is watching me as if I'm some insane criminal. Their judgements; their jumps to conclusion. Their conclusion is right, however, and that's what makes it all the more depressing. I am positive the only one in the room that doesn't know yet is the teacher. The fifty-four year old male teacher. I feel like I don't belong here. Nobody sat next to me today, and it wouldn't surprise me if nobody ever does again. I'm a queer, a fag - and nobody likes a fag. The clock ticks, the seconds pass by. I can't wait for the last second to come. The last of either second will do me fine - the second that ends the class, or the second that ends my life. I'm feeling so low and unwanted at the moment that it doesn't bother me which one comes first. --- Lunch comes. I can't find my friends. They're always hard to find - we're nomads. We have no set seating location, though Jake does. I make sure to stay away from Jake. I'm sure he'll hate me, I'm sure he's disgusted by me. I'm not sure if I can ever look at him again. Jake's twelve, of a medium height and slender build, and he has a deep tanned skin. Mousey brown hair, deep brown eyes. Every time I talk to him I feel like I can't get enough of him. He's so beautiful. I don't think I'd be too beautiful to him after today though; I'd say he'd never want to look at me again. I'm not bad looking myself - jet black hair, pale skin, and the same build as Jake. I'm a little taller though, and only eleven. I'd say all those compliments from the girls about me being a cutey will stop now; they now know I'm gay. They know I don't want to fuck them, they know I'm not interested in them. Wandering, wandering... I wonder where to go. Everywhere I do go there will be judging eyes and whispers. It really depresses me, this isn't something I can smooth over too well. This will stay with me forever, and probably with everyone else. I end up at the canteen, hoping to buy some lunch. Pushing, shoving - not surprisingly, some of it intentional and directed at me. I hear whispers, I hear name calling. A lot of people watch me, a lot of them don't pay attention to me. It sucks to be one of the youngest kids in year seven - you're the smallest grade, the youngest grade, the stupidest, the most vulnerable - and being a gay year seven kid just helps outcast you more. A year nine boy intentionally runs into me before I get to the front of the line. I fall. Fuck. Everyone is laughing, and a lot of people are calling me names. I see Jake in the corner of my eyes, just standing... staring. He has no emotion on his face; he just stares directly into my eyes. I want to stare back a little longer, though I don't. I almost break down and cry as I run from the scene into a nearby building. I spend the rest of lunch in a corridor. By myself, with a bag of chips. --- Fifth period - the second last of the day. It's woodwork; I like woodwork. It's a double period, too. A change of faces is nice to see; the woodwork class is different from my PE and geography classes. There's a drawback to woodwork though - it has Dean in it. I like Dean. A lot. I try my best to keep my eyes off Dean during the class. I don't want the rumour to spread, and I don't want a second judging in the same day. We're making pen holders. Why? We won't ever use them. I don't care though, all that matters is I'm finally enjoying myself. I am by the window; I watch the overcast clouds getting thicker and thicker. I hope it doesn't rain; I have to stand outside and wait for the bus this afternoon. Dean comes and stands next to me. He kneels down for a chisel, which is against the wall and below the window. I can't help it, I look at him. Actually, I stare at him. He stands up, he smiles and walks away. I don't think he caught on. That was lucky, all is well. Dean is my second favourite - rather tall, slim build, moderately tanned skin and dark brown hair. He has green eyes, just like me. I sometimes talk to Dean and we sometimes get along well, which is something I don't have with Jake. I still talk to Jake, but we can't carry on the conversation beyond a few words like I can with Dean. We have too little in common. I continue my work, and sneak in a look at Dean every now and again. My fear had dropped; I no longer felt like I would get caught. The level of judgement had lowered, most probably because I was almost certain half the people in the room didn't know I was gay yet. For once, I was happy. That smile from Dean made me lose all my cares. For what seems like hours I work on my pen holder. I've focused all of my attention onto the project, and that's helped me to get my mind off Jake. I wander over to the drill to add a few more holes to my work, and Dean is there - he's using the drill. I'm still in my state of seclusion; I'm still in la-la land. Without thinking, I look at Dean's arse. It's so nice and round, I want to touch it. I stare for longer than I expected, and another boy named Peter catches on. Dean finishes on the drill, and I walk forward to use it. I hope Peter doesn't say anything. He does, but in a more overt way than expected. A small block of wood is hurled through the room and hits me in the side of the head. I am shocked; I am in pain! Feeling both emotional and physical pain, I am brought back to reality. I hear the word faggot screamed by Peter, and I hear a lot of laughs in the room around me. The teacher's not in the room; he did not know - he will not know. A small tear slips out of my eye. I want to cry, though I don't. I hold it in. I can cry later, after school. I silently walk to the cupboard and put my work away, avoiding eye contact with anyone. The bell is going to go in a few minutes anyway, so I may as well pack up now. I pretend nothing has happened. --- The actions of the day have depressed me. I don't feel like going to wait for the bus, I don't feel like going anywhere. The rush of other students pushing past me violently to get home faster dazzles me a bit, but I'm used to it. It happens almost all the time. The older students feel as if they have a right of way, and as a year seven student I'm inclined to make them feel they do. I don't go to the bus. I walk out toward the back of the school, which is now sparsely populated. I almost begin to cry. I see lightning in the sky, I hear thunder cracking. The clouds are a deep and heavy grey; it is a miserable day for me. Wandering along the dry, destroyed ground, I kick up some dirt. I think; I sadden. My eyes are kept to the ground, and I try to hide my face by lowering it deeper into my blue shirt collar. I go and sit down on some long steel chairs, bag still on back. The chairs have no backing, my bag hangs over and weakens my support. I bury my face in my hands, and sit there thinking about the day. I don't want to face the other students of the school, and I don't want to face the bus ride. Jake appears! I am surprised. He walks over to me, stands in front of me. I won't look at him, I can't look at him. I'm too depressed. I don't know what to say. He continues to stand there, looking me directly in the eye as he did earlier on in the day. That emotionless look - it's almost enough to kill me. I build up the strength to stand up and look him in the eyes. It was difficult, but I did it. He stands there in front of me, and I notice a flash of lightning behind him. I can't think of anything to say, I just look deep into his eyes, as he does to me. A few raindrops fall from the sky, and some land on his face and in his hair. He does not move, he does not even flinch. They do not seem to bother him - in fact they make him all the more beautiful to look at. At that moment, he raised his hands and moved them over my ears. He pulled my head ever so close to his, and then he kissed me softly on my lips... Copyright 28/12/2004 Michael Elliot. Second edition copyright 29/12/2004. Grammatical update: 12 May, 2005. Feedback, comments and criticism welcome: michael.elliot@gmail.com