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When Boy Meets Boy (Chapter Three)

"There always has to be a first..."
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...Reader discretion advised...

The story you are about to read contains content that some readers may find disturbing. By choosing to read this piece, you agree that you are over 18 and that you do not object to reading material that may offend sensitive readers.

Please note that the views and opinions expressed in this story are those of the fictional characters portrayed in the story and do not reflect the views and opinions of either the writer or the staff at Stories Space.

Damian: 5 Years Old.

As I continued to grow I was still this small, thin, scrawny child. Father put me into school, mainly so people would not question why I wasn't and possible take me away. I never wanted to go. I hated being around people and people hated being around me. I did something to people and I wasn't too sure what it was. They were terrified around me, I could feel their anxiety as I stared at certain ones. It was easy to see their fear.

The teachers seemed afraid of me, they'd get all nervous when I looked at them, most of them refusing to be near me. Now, I really didn't mind that everyone was afraid of me. In fact, I liked it better that way. They never questioned me, never made me do things I didn't want to and I never got into trouble. I guess there is a bright side to having people frightened of you.

There was one time that I was most proud of. I was walking down the hallway completely alone. I was tired of listening to my teacher and I just walked out of them classroom. I think she saw this as a relief and continued teaching not even acknowledging I left. As I walked down the hallway I noticed one of the older kids' teacher. He was a little man, not too tall, not to thin, and not too bright. He was standing by the water fountain, leaned over, getting a drink. I stopped in the middle of the hallway and looked at him.

I could tell he could sense someone watching him. His body arched and he slowly turned head to connect his eyes with mine. I saw the fear in his eyes instantly. His bottom lip slowly trembled and I just tilted my head and smiled at him. I saw his hands shake as he wiped the fog from his glasses. As he hurried back into his class from that was the first moment I realized I loved the power. 

I was staring at the chalkboard, not paying attention as Mrs. Maxon went on and on about the letters and shapes. When she pointed to one, all the other kids would call out what it was while I sat there. I never participated in the activities, instead I would look at the other kids. I would imagine what they would look like dead; their chests sliced open and guts hanging out of their bodies as the blood seeped out onto the floor.

I had many thoughts like this during the study times of class. I would imagine their bodies being completely covered in bruises, cuts, and burn marks. Once in awhile I could stare too long and the child I was staring at would turn around to look at me. I would just smile sweetly and they'd be almost shaking with fear. Usually they would run up to Mrs. Maxon who would shoot me a glare and then have the kid sit even farther away from me. 

I never felt like these children, or even the teachers were a match to me. I always felt smarter, stronger, and more clever than any of them. They had no idea what I was capable of and that made me smile. Teachers would try to talk to me, get to know me, but that only lasted a little while. They would all get too scared by something I did and they'd never talk to me again.

Play time had to be my favorite time of the day. They'd let us loose outside for an hour or so and we got to do whatever we liked. During that time is when my mind really began to wonder. The visions seemed all too real sometimes. Wondering how they'd look without limbs, heads, eyes and covered in cuts that were oozing with blood as it traveled down their bodies. Wondering how their blood would ooze out excited me the most. Just wondering which way it would go, how it would come out, how fast, gave me a thrill. I wanted to see that deep scarlet liquid very much, it was a personal goal of mine.

"Damian?" I blinked and looked toward the person calling my name. His name was Charlie, he was a little skinny thing such as myself and never really seemed to be afraid of me like the others. I walked over to him. He was in the sandbox with three other kids. They stopped playing and glared up at me with worry and fear. I just smiled at them. Seeing the fear in their eyes gave me stratification. 

"Wanna play, Damian?" Charlie asked as he handed me a pail and a shovel. When the cold plastic touched my fingers I gripped it tightly. Imagining all the things I could do to any of these children excited me even more, how fun it would be and how thrilling. 

"Okay," I said replied. Charlie smiled and went back to making his sand castle. I eyed the other children as they tried to concentrate on playing while keeping an eye on me at the same time. The main reason they were nervous when I looked at them was that my eyes terrified them. I had two different colored eyes, Father told me it was because I was a bastard child and all bastard children have them. My left eye was a deep green with a mix of light blue around the pupil while my right eye was a deep brown, almost black in certain lights. 

The other kids went on playing as Charlie tried to talk to me. I looked over at him and he just smiled at me. I knew he just wanted to be friends but I had a different idea in mind. I grinned back and tightened my grip on the shovel. I stood up and Charlie looked up at me. His smile vanished in a heart beat when the blunt end of the shovel slammed against the side of his head.

The other children stared in horror as I stood over Charlie, got a shovel full of sand, opened his mouth and began to pour the sand in. He began to struggle underneath me and I just smiled as he began to cry. The wet tears made small amounts of sand stick to his face. I heard the other children's screams and that just made me want to do more. Hearing the terrified cries gave me an alluring feeling.

"Damian!" Mrs. Maxon's voice ring in my ears. I felt her hands grab my shoulders and pull me off Charlie as he struggled to breathe. "Call 9-1-1!" Mrs. Maxon shouted to a teacher's aid that only came a few days out of the week, what a good day to pick. She took off as I watched Mrs. Maxon try to clear the sand from Charlie's mouth. It was useless, couldn't she see that? I couldn't help but smile as Charlie's eyes began to close as his chest stopped going up and down.

Just when I thought I had killed him the sirens sounded in my ears and rage filled my stomach. The red, white and blue ambulance sped into the parking lot of the school. One man jumped out of the ambulance and ran over to us as the other opened the back and grabbed a stretcher and pulled it out onto the pavement. The other man had pushed the stretcher over to us, they both lifted up Charlie and laid him down on it. 

I watched with interest. Charlie's eyes were closed, half of the sand was still lodged into his throat and his chest had stopped moving. The men shouted at each other as they pushed him toward the ambulance. They lifted up the stretcher and shoved him into the back. I just stood there watching with a soft smile on my lips as they hauled him off toward the hospital. When the men had gone and all the other children had gone inside with sniffles and wet eyes Mrs. Maxon looked at me and I looked back up at her. The revulsion in her eyes sent a happy tingle up my spine.

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