Triple Silence

Player one? Check. Player two? Ahh, there she is.

Anya Lyke.

She was one of those girls who has everything. She’s popular, pretty, smart. And rich. Oh, and she’s way too kind for her own good. She can’t refuse anyone. She even went out with the most unpopular, nerdy guy in the whole school (apart from Hunter, of course) just because she felt bad saying no to him.

She’s the sort of person who gets on with everyone.

Her dark brown hair was pinned back into a bun, and she was wearing a black button-up shirt tucked into a waist-high, navy blue skirt. All vintage, of course. She was walking down the corridor, stopping to talk to people on the way. I leant against the locker next to hers, waiting.

When she appeared, she opened her locker and pulled out a book.

“Hey, Anya.” She turned to look at me.

“Isla.” Ew. I hate my name. “Come to check up on my brother?”

“You got me. No, actually, I was wondering if you were doing anything Friday evening.”

“Erm... no, I don’t think I am. Why?”

“Oh, my parents are having this barbeque thing; they said I could invite people.”

“Ohh... sure, I’ll come.”

I smiled. “Great.”

Of course, the barbeque was a lie. There was no way I would invite someone like Anya, if there was. Hell, I don’t even have parents anymore.

I felt a tap on my shoulder from behind me. I turned round.

“Your locker’s all sorted.” Hunter whispered.

“Yeah, whatever. Later, kid.” I walked away, tossing my apple into the nearby bin.

So that was player number two sorted. Time for my third and final player. This was the one I was really looking forward to. Something - sorry, someone- a little more difficult. But first, I had to find him. He was probably hiding somewhere, terrorising some poor little first former.

Damien Cook. Who likes Damien Cook? Raise your hands please. Oh, no-one. Of course. Actually wait, there’s one person. Ah, it’s Damien himself. See? No-one likes Damien, apart from Damien.

I entered the boy’s bathroom. (Don’t ask... please. It’ on emergency only that I even dare enter the boys bathroom) He was in there, just as I guessed, blackmailing some kid for money.

“Give me the hell your money kid!” the boy, was shivering, curled up on the floor, under the sinks, crying his eyes out. Damien was standing over him, blocking his way out. “Give it me, or I’ll-“

“You’ll what?” I said “You’ll kill him? Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”

“Get the hell outta here!” he shouted.

“Or what? You’ll kill me too? Right, I really believe that. Play times over Damien. Come on, let him go.”

Damien turned round to face me, and he growled. Yes, he actually growled! I laughed. I had to. I mean, who growls? Dogs? Yeah, that’s it. Dogs are the only people that growl, and they can’t even be classed as people. They are animals.

“What the hell’s so funny, huh? Why’re you laughing?”

“Are you a dog, Damien?”

“What in Hells name are you talking about? Why the hell would you say that?”

As you’ve probably gathered by now, Damien can’t say a single sentence without having to have the word ‘hell’ in it.

“Well, you just growled. Only dogs growl, so I thought, maybe you were a dog in disguise.”
He turned to face me, getting really annoyed now. What he didn’t realise, was that now he had made a gap for the boy to run.

“Run, kid, run! Get outta here!” I shouted to him.

Damien watched as the kid made his escape, running for his life. Now he looked angry.

“You’re going to hell, qwerty!”

I hated that. My surname was Weirtey, but Damien made a thing out of calling me qwerty instead, his shortened version of squirty. Which doesn’t even make sense. I was taller than most of the kids at school. Gosh, I was even taller than him! He was the squirt. I hated that. I hated it and he knew I hated it. He used it against me.

My surname was something that everyone at school knew not to say aloud, weather I was there or not. They knew if it got back to me, then I would make them pay. Damien was the only exception to this rule. Because if I made him pay, then he would make me pay for making him pay (If that even made sense) and he could do a lot worse than I could. And no, that’s not because he was a guy and I was a girl. That’s just sexist. If that was my only problem, then I would kick his ass every day. Probably even more than once a day. For all the things that he’d done to me, and all the innocent kids at school.

I know when you started reading this, you probably thought I was a total selfish cow, with my ‘victims’, and kicking everyone’s heads in just for saying my surname. But, well, the surname thing, let’s just say, it’s good to have people scared of you sometimes. I don’t really kick their heads in, that’s just a rumour. That I spread.

And my three ‘victims’? Well, I have my reasons for hating them that I don’t really want to go into right now, as I’ve already been sidetracked. Everybody has a reason for hating someone. My reasons are just a lot more severe. And there’re a lot more people that I hate than most people do. Anyway, as I was saying before I got myself sidetracked. The only thing stopping me from making Damien pay for everything he’s done (which, might I say, have been for no reason at all) is because of his brother.

Martin Cook is an evil, evil person. He’s killed three people throughout his lifetime. And he’s just been bailed out of jail, which means I have to be extra careful in what I say and do to Damien. He could just run off home, tell his ‘amazing’ brother what happened, and then I would be Martin’s next victim.

But I have my plan now. I won’t be the one that Martin will want to (and will) kill. That person will be someone else. And that someone else won’t be around to be killed. So that’s why, now, I can be as mean as hell to Damien (gosh, am I turning into Damien with all his ‘hells’, or is that just me?).

“Gosh, Damien. Am I really the squirt here? No, I’m not. That’s all you. And I’m going to hell? Really? Wow, that’ll be fun. I’ve always wondered what hell would be like. Now I won’t have to wonder anymore, because I’ll find out for myself. I can’t wait! Am I going now? Later? Tomorrow? Or did you just make that up?”

He narrowed his eyed.

“Now come on, Damien. Let’s be nice here.”

“Nice? Nice? How the hell do you expect me to be nice when-“

“I don’t see that as being nice Damien. I think you need some anger management classes.”

“What the-“

“I’ll stop you there before you can say another ‘hell’. What I was going to say is that you should come to my anger management classes.”

“You go to anger management?”

“Wow! Not one ‘hell’ was used. Amazing. You must be cured already.”

“Just give me the hell an answer to my question, qwerty.”

“Or maybe not. Yes I do go to anger management classes. I can get a real nasty temper when I’m angry. They’re real good, the class instructors. They help a lot. You should come, give it a try. You never know, they might help you, too.”

He stood there considering it for about... 5 minutes.

Eventually, he spoke. “You’re right, I guess. Maybe I do need some help sorting out my anger. When is this class?”

“Friday evenings. 5.30-7.00. you should come to mine Friday and we could go together.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, qwerty. Just because I’m gonna try this stupid class of yours, does not mean I like you.”

“Of course not, cookie, what made you think I would ever like you, either? I was simply suggesting, that maybe I could show you, for the first time only, how to get there, seeing as you don’t know.” Hah, now I got my own nickname for him too. And he hates it, I can tell.

“Errgh, fine. I’ll come to yours at 5. And don’t call me cookie ever again.”

“Of course not, cookie, I promise. See you Friday.”

And with that, I left the boys bathroom, before he could say another word.