Behind Polite Smiles.

White noise. A Faint chattering in the room that blended into the rest of the talking in the room. He sat, on the centre table, with a few others. They talked. He half listened. Something about a boy, something about a girl, it didn’t matter to him; he was too busy concentrating on the kiwi that had been thrown not thirty seconds ago. A lump of green fruit slouched on his shoulder still where it landed after being thrust from a hand behind him. He didn’t need to look around to know who it was. He knew. It had been the same person that threw apple last week, tomato the week before & juice yesterday. He felt such a hatred burning up inside him. The flames rose further up until they reached his tonsils. As his burned, hers moved as she shouted insults at him, standing up in the process. The room stopped still as he rose, spun round, quick as lightening & grabbed her by the hair, pulling & never releasing his grip.
“Leave me alone!” He lectured her on the prose of his suggestion. “If you leave me be, I can assure you that I will not snap. I’m really not the best person to have angry.” He tightened his hand further up her hair so that it was beginning to strain under his grip. She spat at him then. A memory, long recessed, then came flooding back.

He was stood in his front room, his step father there with him & a small dog bouncing up & down. He flinched to the shouts of his stepfather as they charged against his eardrums. The dog was yapping madly at the balding man. When the man had stopped his rant, he pulled back his fist & clenched it tight, ready to swing it forward again. The child closed his eyes & prepared for the worst, it had happened plenty of times before, the beatings, weather it was with a fist or a belt, or even the fire prodder that kept the flames burning high, it all hurt the same. That same clenched fist came swinging toward his once again, like an old enemy & he reunited it clashed against the bones in his face & smashed them out of place. The young boy toppled over sideways & crumpled to the floor, the blood gushing from his nose. The older man stooped over then, the menacing eyes penetrating the younger boys mind, stealing his youth & innocence. That’s where the memory had come from. His step-father spat on him after the beatings, as some kind of ritual to say that he was finished.

Stood now, with the girl in his hands, he felt the rage boil over, disturb his brain & his very person. He threw her down, head first into the table. He hearc the sound of the bone crunch against the metal & reveled in it. It cleasnsed him, made him fell better. It seemed that he could do it again. And again. And again. And he did. He smashed her forehead against the table, then the wall, then the floor. He stood up from the small pool of blood forming around her & stopped, in horror looked down at her, limp & bruised body. Then awoke from his daydream. The pelting peices of the fruit had never been welcomed so before, but at least he hadn't done anything stupid for real.

He was in fact, alone. His friends must have left without him, so now he was even more of a target. Getting up slowly, he sneaked out of the hall, only to run into another of his 'classmates'.
"Wot you doing on your own?" The large boy looked down upon him, with eyes the size of moons & a flat, blood-clotted nose. "Are you looking for a smack, you little--" But the boy was cut off by the nearby science teacher & had to give up on his efforts of intimidation for the time being. The teacher came towards the boy his face dropping with every step.
"Thing is, the stupid are cocksure," He came close & put a hand on the boy's shoulder, "but the smart are full of doubt." The bearded man, cloacked in a white lab coat, stared at him & then moved him on. It seemed to be like with with everyone, look at you as if your some kind of disfigured freak, then walk away & leave you alone to stew in your own mind for the rest of your existance. At least that is what it was like for him.
So he coninued to walk alone.

The blank expression ran down his face like it had done so many times before, the earphones of peace where pluged into his ears & drowned everything, anyone out. As he slithered through the sea of people in the cramped corridoors, he couldn't help but be noticed as he waded through being struck with limbs & clothing as people turned around & frolicked about, ignoring him as best as they could. This, along with the roar of noise that blasted through his music, infiltrating his ears & causing the words to be corrupt & broken down. Meanings & stories fluxating through his brain where defiled & ruined.
"Shut up!' He broke, snapped if you will. The corridoor fell silent & then the laughter started & they become even noisier. He presses his fellings down again, as if they where fizzing over the top of a fizzy drinks bottle, his calm & depressed nature being the cap, screwed on tightly to hold the contents in place. He could do little, if nothing in this situation anyway. So, gathering imaginary peices of hatred like a smashed mirror of his mind, he walked away, again. For the fourth time today he was made to do so. Every little noise out of place & every foot wrong by another would send him into an internal war.
He reached the place where his freinds usually stopped after they had left him in the dinner break & sat, waiting for them to notice he was sat there & open the door for him. It hardly ever happened. Maybe, just maybe if he could be more like the others, then, maybe he would be better off. They where never left alone, when surrounded by people, never kicked away when something a little better came along, never did they fight just to be remembered by those who would call themselves 'freinds & family'.
Just maybe?