Bullied

Bullied

Sweat beaded on Charlie Bowers' forehead, before gravity dragged it round the contours of his paunchy face. He swallowed hard, trying to flatten his ample frame against the wall. Charlie heard the door to the basement slam shut, echoing between the boilers and pipes. The sound of voices soon replaced the thundering echo.
Three of them.
They had found him.
Charlie had been at the school for three years and his short, plump stature had become an easy target for Andrew Todd and his two sidekicks. Sly insults had gradually progressed into violence. The last beating had left him with two broken ribs. He had hoped the time away from school had waned their enthusiasm, but his absence had merely made them hunger for his return.
The voices were getting closer. Laughing, unknowingly mocking him. Blood pumped hard in his ears making it difficult to pinpoint their exact position.
Charlie scanned through the gloom for something, anything, to use in defence. He could just make out the hexagonal handle of something protruding from between the pipes.
A screwdriver.
Keeping in the shadows, he shuffled himself towards it, cursing under his breath as his shoes grated against the rough floor. Stretching out his arm, he could just about reach the handle with his stubby fingers. The voices were almost upon him as he made a grab for the screwdriver. It slipped from his grasp and rattled across the floor.
"Shit!" He spat, scurrying back to his original hiding place.
The loud jeering voices had now become meaningful whispers, the words undecipherable, but Charlie realised his discovery was imminent.
Decision time.
He could see the screwdriver a few feet in front of him. Charlie's breath came in shallow gasps as he counted down to launch himself at the tool. With speed that belied his size, he was upon the screwdriver, this time taking a firm grip of the handle.
His joy was short lived.
He recognised their voices before the three forms appeared. As their faces became clear, eyes blazing with pure evil, Charlie felt a warm wetness seep through his pants.
"Aw look, Todd's taunting voice reverberated round the dank basement, " The baby's pissed his pants.
The round of derisive laughter was swiftly followed with a kick to Charlie's midriff, causing him to tumble backwards onto the damp floor. Within a second the three surrounded him, jeering and spitting. Their faces swirled around in Charlie's head as he fought against the encroaching darkness. Then he remembered the wooden handle still clasped firmly in his hand.
With a flick of his arm, he brought the screwdriver up into Todd's leg. A crimson fountain spewed out as the blade easily found its way behind the kneecap.
Todd screamed, instinctively trying to pull his leg away from the source of the agony. Remaining impaled, he started to fall, causing the screwdriver to rip through his flesh and cartilage as it tore itself free. Todd hit the floor, his head cracking hard on the concrete, silencing his screams.
Charlie could feel the warm blood over his hand as it started to congeal between his fingers. Sitting upright, he looked over at the ragged remains of Todd's knee, momentarily transfixed by the macabre scarlet waterfall flowing to the floor.
His attention soon turned to the pair of shocked faces opposite. He sucked in a lungful of fetid air, the coppery taste smarting the back of his throat, only serving to fuel his lust for revenge.
In one rapid movement he was upon the first boy, bundling him to the ground. Quickly raising his arm, Charlie brought the screwdriver down, piercing the boy's soft eye. Charlie felt the driver's blade grate against the skull, halting its progress. A sharp blow to the butt of the screwdriver splintered the obstructive bone. The boy convulse violently beneath Charlie before gradually coming to a rest.
Charlie slid his eyes across to the final boy, who remained frozen in fear. A small smirk spread across Charlie's face.
"Are you scared yet? Charlie hissed.
The boy snapped out of his morbid hypnosis and turned to run. His head slammed into an overhead pipe, sending him sprawling backwards against the wall. He slumped, lifeless, to the floor. Charlie stood up slowly. He leaned over and eased the screwdriver out of the socket, disdainfully using his foot on the dead boy's face for leverage. Wiping the jellied material from the shaft, he moved onto the third.
Charlie stood astride the unconscious boy's body. Bending over, he slapped him across the face.
"Wake up you bastard. Charlie spat, "I don't want you to miss this.
With another slap the boy started to stir. Pulling out a handkerchief, he jammed it into the boy's mouth. The boy started to squirm. Charlie used his significant weight to subdue him. Grabbing his hand, he pulled it round in front of its owners face. Splaying the fingers, he positioned the blade beneath the nail of the index finger. The boy's eyes widened with the realisation of what was about to happen. His muffled pleas were ignored as Charlie worked the screwdriver beneath the nail.
Taking each finger in turn, Charlie pried away the nails, exposing the porcelain white bones beneath. Blood poured out across the boy's face, channelling its way into his nostrils, pooling and clotting at the back of his throat. Every breath became a fight. As Charlie started on the remaining hand, the boy could fight no more.
Charlie stayed on top of the body momentarily before dropping the screwdriver to the ground. He got to his feet and made a move for the door. An agonised moan stopped him in his tracks. He span round to see Todd dragging himself towards the screwdriver.
Charlie made a dive for the weapon, wrestling it free from Todd's grasp.
"Please Charlie. Todd's voice cracked as tears made track marks down his blood-stained face.
"You fucking call me Sir! Screamed Charlie.
Pulling back on Todd's hair, he drove the screwdriver up through his chin. This time no second strike was needed to penetrate to the brain. Todd collapsed to the ground once more, his sightless gaze held aloft by the protruding handle.
Charlie opened the door to the basement and entered the relative glare of the hallway. Running a hand through his hair, he started off towards his next class. A hand grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him round.
"Mr. Bowers. The headmaster's voice boomed along the hallway, "Did you manage to sort out your problem with those boys?
Charlie nodded nervously.
"Yes.......sir
"Good. A smile broke across his aged face, "Now get yourself cleaned up. You've got a class to teach.