The Past

Landon is shy, lonely, mysterious. But he was popular, once.
The years since his father was murdered he's been an outsider. No one really matters to him, no one seems to care. But then, for the first time in years, someone attempts to become his friend - Attalia, a timid young girl, friendly as ever.
Suddenly, he feels like he has someone to talk to. Suddenly, none of this is a nightmare.
But when he finds out the truth of Attalia's past, he realises that maybe their friendship can't be what it seems.
After all, he's been open with her, whilst she's been hiding the darkest secrets...


1. Landon - 'There Are Two Thoughts That Push Me Through Life'

Click. Click. Click. The sound of my pen tapping against the side of my desk rings through my ears; it's the only sound I choose to acknowledge. The other noises seem distant, and blur together. All I want is silence. 

"Landon!" It's the girl next to me, staring with anger. The whole class is silent now, staring right at me. I want to squeeze down into a hole, disappear. "Why didn't you stop?" I don't reply, I just shake my head and sigh. "Landon?" 

Soon I'm staring into nothing, again. The words that he said to me just before he died come back to me. "Son, you really should join me next time I go golfing. It will be great fun with you, my son, there."  My disinterest made him laugh and he whispered in my left ear - I remember, "Just you see, I'm going to make you like golf."

I do like golf now.

Bbbrrriiinnnggg. The sound of the bell going brings me to my senses and I look up and see I'm the only one left in the class besides Miss Morris, and that everyone else has already left the classroom.

"Are you OK, Landon?" She eventually asks, as I slowly make my way to the door. I turn my head towards her and briefly nod. "You know, there are counselors."

I am tempted to swear at her, but keep my tongue knotted inside my mouth and simply walk on. I haven't talked for months; the last time I talked to anyone other than Mother was at my father's funeral. After that I just did everything that needed doing, without speaking.

There are two thoughts that push me through life: thought one is my mother, how I promised to myself that I would look after her and never abandon her and thought two is revenge. I want to slice my father's murderer in half, and then in half again until he can truly feel the pain that I feel every day, that my father felt when he was killed. Nothing can repair the damage that has been done.

I feel the daily stares stabbing me in the back as I push through the corridor. Time seems to be going on forever. I finally make it to the library, where I sit and stare. Plaster is falling off the ceiling, the librarian is crying because of a new break-up, students are using this to their advantage and are throwing paper planes around, the nerdy kids are busy scribbling down notes, and there I am; doing nothing, just the way I like it.

When the next bell goes, I know I'm going to be late for class, which means I might get a detention slip. I don't care though because I like isolation. If that makes me the only person to like it then great, because that means I get more isolation than everyone else. 

"Landon, you better be getting to class." Everyone knows my name, since the incident. I'm 'the poor boy whose dad got murdered'. I nod at the librarian who is wiping her eyes with a blue tissue, with snot running down her, once cherry-red, lips. I turn away from her and walk out of the door, my next subject being Chemistry. Not that I care, because all of them are the same to me. Just another hour of pen tapping, and ignoring the rest of the class.

I'm late, as I expected. Surprisingly the chemistry teacher isn't in the classroom, and so all the students are running around, tripping up over stools. I make my way to my chair, and sling my bag down before seating myself next to it. They had started making a substance I think, but no one was paying any attention. This is a call for disaster.

I hear the sound of glass breaking and realize someone dropped the bottle with it in, and whatever-the-substance-was is flying across the classroom, getting on every obstacle in its way; including students. It was done relatively near to where I'm sitting, but comes past me and finishes at a girl's ankle. She screams; that's when the teacher comes in.

"I was gone for five minutes and-" he examines the situation for a second, "what the heck happened?" Everyone looks down except for the girl. "Come here," he tells her. She stumbles over to him, crying. He wipes the mess off of her before picking up the phone. "The nurse will be here soon," he tells her. "So, would someone care to explain?"

I stare into space, saying nothing as usual. Then, the lesson finishes and I have to go home to my mother. I sigh slightly, and make my way out the door. I'm not looking forward to it; but then, I never look forward to anything.

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