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Little Boy
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Isabel Fucking Guerra.

Roland was tense, primed to explode. He felt like a contracted spring, a cobra waiting to strike. He was dangerous, he was ready. One jab to the gut would be all it would take to bring her down. Grab her mouth and stop her from screaming, jab her in the chest and hold her still while she would fade to oblivion. That would be all it'd take. Wipe your hands, move on.

Isabel was in my English Class this year. I sat two seats away from her. She was always reading, even when we were supposed to be taking up questions. She's intelligent, always had good enough grades. She's pretty, and doesn't hang out with jerk-asses who only care about themselves. She told me once that she likes to cook. She's a human being.

She has a family who loves her.

Sweat dripped from Roland's brow as he moved about in the dark hallway. It seemed to get smaller as he closed in on her. He was panicking. His heart beat was fast.

She has a family who loves her, who're watching right now. They are watching in horror, thinking I'm going to gut their daughter on prime time TV. She told me once she likes to cook, she's good at it. She likes to do it in her spare time, and she can make a ton of dishes.

"Hi Roland." The Girl said, waving dumbly.

If she runs at me, I'm going to gut her. Oh Christ, I'm going to gut her..

Isabel looked down at the object in her hands, confused. She glanced back up at Roland.

This is surreal. This is... This is too surreal... I can't... Am I supposed to hurt her?

"“Knife? This is a….like, a horn or a trumpet or something." She said. Her shoes clicked noisily in the dark. Roland's glasses fell down his nose, but he didn't have time to push them back up.

No, no wrong way. Step back you stupid girl, step back and put it down!

"I don’t really know the difference between the two,”

Christ, stop! I'm going to kill her... I'm going to kill her! I'm gonna' reach out quick, and stab her in the chest! Focus Roland focus! This could be a trap! She could be messing with you- on three, lean and jab on three!

Roland readjusted his grip on the knife, it was too hot in the room, far too hot.

One.... Stab her, just a clean jab, below the ribs!

Two... A clean jab so her parents don't see it get messy.. You've seen videos, just like a bayonet jab, just like a bayonet!

Three- Oh Christ, you gave her fair warning! It's a trap, she's closing in, what are you DOING!? No remorse Roland! She sat two seats away from you, fucking kill her! She has a family, who love her very much...

And just like that, the trumpet was whipping through the air, smashing into his forehead. Roland careened back in the hallway, dropping his knife and pack and tumbling backwards, crumpling against the wall. He saw stars and he cursed.

But Roland was a warrior, he was an army boy. A smack across the head wasn't going to keep him down, even if it was with a brass trumpet.

She wasn't lying. She pulled a trumpet. I've been threatening a girl with a trumpet!

Roland staggered to his feet, his vision muddled. He took a few steps and then fell again. His head hurt, his head hurt like an absolute bitch.

"Isabel! Wait!" He cried out. He managed to get up once more, using the wall for balance. He grabbed his knife and hastily threw his pack around his back. He took off after her down the twisting hallway.

"Isabel! Wait, no, you've got it all wrong! Come back!" He yelled.

Tactics be damned. She was scared, she didn't know what to do! If she ran into a real psychopath, they'll tear her limbs off! I can't let this happen, I can't ever let this happen!

Roland rushed down the hall, taking a right, then a left then another right.

Christ, how big is this hall!? Mirrors everywhere, I'm doublechecking every corner I take!

"Isabel! Please, just let me explain!"

Roland rounded a corner and much to his dismay, saw it had two potential exits.

"Fucking Christ..." He cursed and took the left and sprinted down the hallway, leaping over stray doll parts and broken mirrors laying on the floor. His feet crunched on glass and he spun around the next corner to come face to face with-

Not Isabel.

A boy and a girl were staring at him. Roland's heart sank. He knew them as well. David and Meredith. The goth (emo?) girl and Dave Morrison. He'd had classes with them. Hell, Meredith had once slipped on a dodge ball in his gym class, and damn nearly broken her back in half.

I laughed at that once. I didn't see it, but I sat on the bench and laughed at that weirdo Cisco bounded over to her aid. Romance of the social rejects. Holy Christ, Danya you are one sick mother fucker...

Roland stumbled but managed to skid to a halt before knocking into the pair. His head was still ringing from the trumpet smack and his forehead felt wet, blood? He hoped he was wrong, a bruise while ugly was preferable to bleeding all over the place. He blinked rapidly, for a second he thought he saw four of them, not two.

Christ, she really messed me up....They're staring at me. But why wouldn't they be? Not every day you see a knife wielding teen rush around the corner at you. But then again, this is Survival of the Fittest...

Roland's eyes went wide.

Wait. Then they must think I've come to- Oh Fuckshit.
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Oswaldo Marx --> "Chicks dig scars? Yeah, I'm calling bullshit." --> Cicada Nights
Mikko "Mike" Korhonen --> "Interesting, very interesting!" --> A Casual Question
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