chapter 1

A dimly lit corridor. Mannequins. Blood. A door. Footsteps. Walking to the door. Light blinding. And…

“Get up, Bitch!” A lumbering hulk of a man kicked Damian in the side. Awaking the skinny 14-year-old from his makeshift bed – a thin white sheet, separating the boy from the cold, stone floor.
Damian blinked twice before turning up before his father. His left eye was bruised badly from where his father had hit him with a candlestick. His long, jet black hair semi-disguised the bruise. His blue eyes were still bloodshot and weepy.
“You’re mum’s gone to work. Get up and make me breakfast. Do it right this time or you know what’s gonna happen, don’t you, Bitch?” A smirk spread across his face.
Damian knew that even if he did get it right, he would have been punished, inevitably for reasons that were untrue – excuses for his father to torture another human being.
“You’re going to give me a beating?” Damian sighed; his father had been giving him “Discipline” for too long to remain intimidating. He knew what was coming and took it whenever he did something “wrong”. He hated his father with a cold-blooded vengeance, and always has done.
“Damn right I will. You got twenty minutes. Go,” He snarled, then turned towards the lounge door and slammed it behind him.
Damian quickly rose to his feet. The room he slept in was barely big enough to contain him. It was roughly 2m x 1m, and had been deprived of all luxury and décor except for a bulky alarm clock, and a thin sheet on the concrete floor, and a second sheet over that. Those two sheets were Damian’s “Bed”. The walls were a dirty grey colour, and had weeds and algae growing on them. The floor had been deprived of any sort of decoration whatsoever. It was a simple concrete grey, and also had weed and algae growing on it. There were no pictures, no windows, and all that actually belonged to Damian was in that room – his schoolbag, a few clothes hanging from the walls on ugly big hooks, a shitty tape player/recorder that he had secretly bought from his friend for a fiver, and a razorblade stained with old blood.
Damian swung open the door and closed it behind him. He checked his watch.
20 minutes to breakfast. Then 5 minutes to get ready for school. Then 10 minutes to walk to school after that… shit. School takes a good 45 minutes to walk to.
Shaking the thought from his mind Damian took 21 minutes to make a lousy fry-up. Gary, his father, was watching closely, for any signs of fault. If there was none he’ll make one up anyway. Unfortunately, Damian had spent 60 seconds too long.
Gary approached Damian, grinning psychotically. Damian turned round and backed away, leaving the frying pan sizzling.
“Oh no you don’t, Bitch!”
He grabbed Damian’s hand and dragged him towards the frying pan.
“You’re late,” Gary said, still grinning. He slammed Damian’s hand down on the pan, and held it there. Damian winced, biting his lip. If he shouted it would earn him another punishment. He felt his hand bubbling on top of the excess oil in the pan. The pain was unbearable; he could actually feel his hand frying! He couldn’t hold it in much longer. His breathing got heavier and heavier as his hand got redder and redder.
“PISS OFF!” He screamed.
Gary let go. Damian’s hand was swollen and a vicious crimson.
“You have a hell of a lot of nerve to talk to me like that, you little shit!” His dad spat, leaning close to him.
Damian knew what was coming next. Trying not to get himself in any more trouble, Gary swung his fist round with so much force, that Damian’s cheek cracked.
Instantly, blood poured out of his nostrils and mouth in a cascade of red, and his cheek grew larger, leaving an ugly purple mark in the shape of a clenched fist.
“You were in a fight with some guys down the park,” His father stated. His voice cold and monotonous. He left the room and plodded upstairs to sit and drink beer all day while watching TV, in his Television Room.
Damian snatched a kitchen towel and some surgical gauze from the breadbin. He wrapped the gauze round and round his hand tightly, and stuck it in place with a plaster. Then he waited for his nose and mouth to stop bleeding, and wiped the blood away.
He made his way upstairs into the bathroom and cleaned his teeth with his finger – he wasn’t allowed the privilege of a toothbrush. And washed his face with cold water, stripped down and washed his body. Then went back to his “Bedroom” and threw on his school clothes and school bag, ran to school. He had 4 minutes to get to school.
Chapter 2

Damian burst into his tutor base, panting like a dog. He had five minutes until his first lesson, and was half an hour late.
“You’re late,” was the first thing Mr Smith had to say to him as he slumped into the chair and muttered an embarrassed apology. “Why is this?”
His father hadn’t given him a reason and he was too worn out to think on the spot. “Just was, sir.”
“Overslept? Couldn’t be bothered perhaps?” then he smiled playfully. “Or did your parents torture you for too long?”
Damian forced a smile, then replied: “Overslept - my alarm didn’t go off.”
“You’ve been late a number of times, Damian, and you always come out with the same answer. I suggest you use your pocket money to invest in some batteries,” Then changing his tone to a more forceful one. “I shall like to see you after school Mr Anderson. May I have your diary?”
Still staring at the floor, he reached into his bag and slid the green book towards him. Mr Smith grabbed a red pen and wrote D/T: Tuesday: half an hour late. He passed the book back to Damian.
Matt Parson, who was sitting next to him, saw the look of concern in Damian’s eyes. Invisible tears were streaming down his face.
Matt leaned close: “Dude, your dad’s an arsehole,” he whispered. “Don’t worry, he can bash you around but you’re still stronger than him.”
“Cheers,” Damian replied.

Break-time.
Damian gazed into space, watching all the kids get on with their lives.
Almost 7 billion people on Earth, what would it matter if one person died? He thought glumly.
Often Damian had considered suicide, but he was not as selfish to do that. His mother had been deprived of communications to the outside world, except for work and the weekly visit to the gym. His father made sure of that. To avoid taking his life he used the bloodstained razorblade in his “bedroom” to cut into the flesh of his arms, chest and legs. He would only cut the upper arm three times a day on each arm, and the same for his thigh, and his chest. The sting of the wound always brought him to his senses.
Matt and Jane sat next either side of Damian on the bench, stopping Damian’s pessimistic train of thought.
“Shit, Damian, what the hell happened to your hand?” Jane Harris asked, gazing at the crimson bulge attached to his arm.
“My dad…” He answered, not making eye contact.
“What did he do this time?” She asked.
“H-he asked me to cook him breakfast…” He stammered. “…An-and I spent too long, so he put my arm in the frying pan while it was still hot.”
“Bloody hell…” Matt sighed.
“He’s done worse,” Damian stated, firmly closing the lid of the conversation shut. He clearly didn’t want to further the conversation.
“So, how that painting coming along, Jane?” Dave asked, trying to spark up a nicer conversation.
“Crap.”
“Oh…”
There was a long, awkward silence that followed. It always happened when they talked about Gary.
“Look it’s the Gay Gang!” Sniggered an over-confident voice. The three looked up and saw Luke York.
“I’m not in the mood Lu-” started Damian.
“Shut up, Freak!” He snapped.
“Luke… You’re a dick.” Damian declared, confident in what he was saying.
“Yeah, but at least I’m not gay!”
“Luke, that’s old.” Dave sighed.
“You’re old!” He snapped back.
“No, he’s mature. There’s a difference.” Jane argued.
“Shut up, bitch!” He hissed.
Damian cringed. He hated it when people insulted Jane, because she’s so goddamn sensitive.
“Luke, piss off before I leave you a woman,” Said Damian, with sincerity.
“What do you mean?” Luke asked, forcefully.
“I mean that if you don’t piss off I’m going to rip if your balls and dick and superglue them onto your forehead.” He explained.
Luke spat at them and walked off.

RE - fourth period.
His RE teacher Mrs Holiday was discussing Heaven and Hell.
“Many people picture Hell as a fiery underground torture chamber filled with Demons and Devils, and that is how it is perceived in the bible. And many people believe that. Some people choose to believe there is no Hell, or Heaven.” She closed on the subject of Hell, she thought it was more interesting.
There were a few coughs from the class, while Mrs Holiday smiled as if waiting for applause. Luke broke the silence: “Ma’am, Damian keeps putting his middle finger up at me.”
“Shut up, you pathetic suck-up,” Damian hissed.
“Kids, kids, play nicely,” Sighed Holiday.
Luke shot Damian a look of disgust, and then Damian really did shove his middle finger up at him.
“Anyway… does anybody have another theory of heaven and hell?”
A few hands raised.
“Luke?”
“I think that Heavens like, your ghost in the sky sort of thing, and that hell is just a load of lava and fire.” He said, sounding like a dumb arse.
“Very… interesting, Luke,” she said with a hint of sarcasm. “Yes, Damian?”
“Heaven or Hell is determined from whatever decisions you make in life. If you a shi- awful life and choose not to change it, then you’re going to hell. It’s not a matter of whether you’re good or evil, its just right decisions. And you’re hell will be your biggest fear. That’s how I see it, I’m not sure about anyone else.”
“That’s deep, maybe a little depressing, but it makes sense. Well done,” She praised.
The bell tolled for lunch.

The rest of school was a little dull. Most of the lessons involved Damian walking along the road of suicide once again during lessons, while Luke acted like a four-year-old; constantly telling tales, and trying to intimidate Damian in feeble attempts. Then he helped clear out Mr Smith’s classroom for half an hour after school, dreading the fact that he would be half an hour late for his father. He knew what the punishment would be. The consequence for being late was usually having to eat cat food.
What fun that would be…


















Chapter 3

Damian rushed out to meet the rest of his friends. He knew they would hang around Compton lane for an hour or so before they went home.
Jane, Dave, and Alex Ford greeted him.
“Hey guys, I better go now, before my Dad gets too angry.” Damian said, as if he was ashamed.
“OK, dude.” Said Alex. “Don’t let him get you down, ok?”
“OK…” He said untruthfully. That bastard always gets me down.
“Ok, you better be off then.” Said Dave.
Jane and Damian looked at each other. There were tears in Jane’s eyes. Although they weren’t released from her eyes, they were there. Jane was like Damian. She had been abused by her mother, not physically, but she told her that she was worthless. She told her that she should have been a boy.
Damian took a quick glance at her wrist. Something red glistened below her jumper sleeve. She looked down ashamed. Damian’s eyes whirled up with tears too.
Taking a breath: “See you later.” He gave Jane a warm hug and brushed her hair back from her beautiful long, blonde hair from her ear and whispered, “I don’t care what that bitch says, you’re amazing.” And then he waved a goodbye and walked home.

He opened the door to his home and stepped into the lobby. At the foot of the stairs was the bathroom. He rushed up to the bathroom, and locked the door behind him, reached into his pocket and pulled out a sharpener blade, and held his arm outstretched over the sink, and performed his “cutting ritual”.
After he had finished making the wounds, he felt better knowing that he was prepared for the pain to come. He pulled some surgical tape from under the sink and soaked the bleeding with the tape.
A fist pounded on the door.
“You in there, Bitch?” boomed his father.
Damian reluctantly swung open the door, and faced his father’s shoes as he taunted him.
“Been slitting your wrists again, Bitch?” He mocked. “Someday I hope it kills you!”
That’s the idea, retard!
“You know what you’re in for now. You’re late!” He announced. He snatched Damian’s arm and dragged him downstairs to the kitchen. And threw him on the floor next to an un-cleaned bowl marked “Kitty”. He stayed there on all fours, staring at the bowl, as his father reached into a cupboard and pulled out a tin of opened cat food and poured the sludge into the bowl. It stunk of rotting fish.
“I want that spotless by the time I get back, gottit, Bitch?” He asked.
Damian nodded.
“Good.”
Gary strode over to the fridge and pulled out a can of beer. Probably spending another few hours in that bloody TV room. That’s all he ever does… And treat me like shit.
He bent down and swallowed it whole. Trying not to leave it in his mouth long enough to taste it. He did again and again, spluttering and retching. The taste was awful. It wasn’t tuna and salmon like it said on the tin, it was death and decay. He swallowed it all down, and then rushed upstairs to the bathroom and vomited.
He than stood outside his father’s TV room door, waiting for him. Damian heard his father yelling at the TV, and the frequent hiss of another beer can being opened. A few minutes after the last hiss of beer, the door opened and Gary faced Damian.
“Is it all gone, Bitch? Because if you lie to me I’m gonna make your unrecognisable.” He threatened. |Stay up here, I’m going to check…”
He thudded down the stairs, while Damian prayed to the non-existing God that he succeeded. Footsteps up the stairs again and Gary emerged from the ground floor.
“You told me it was all gone, you lying little sod!” He yelled, grabbing Damian bye the hair and attempting to left him up.
Damian winced as he felt the roots of his hair being pulled out. The front door at the bottom of the stairs unlocked and opened. Terry Anderson, Damian’s mother walked in and heard the thud of her son being swung against the wall violently.
She ran upstairs and yelled at her husband: “GET OFF HIM, GARY!” and then tried grabbing his arm. He dropped Damian and smacked his wife around the mouth with so much force she fell to the floor.
“No stupid COW will tell ME what to do in MY house!” He yelled. Gary spat at Terry, and kicked her in the side before returning to his TV room, and slamming the door behind him.
Terry was sobbing on the floor, while blood trickled out of her nostril and mouth. Damian crawled over to her and hugged her, and kissed her lightly on the forehead.
“I love you, Mum,” He whispered, also crying.
“I love you too, Damian,” She whispered back.























Chapter 4

Damian was walking through a corridor.
The lights were dim and flickering, and everything seemed to have a brown tint. A door was outlined at the end with a white light.
At the sides of the corridor were male and female mannequins, lying sprawled across the floor, or hanging from the ceiling on nooses. Some had syringes stuck in their plastic veins, or they were holding bloodstained razorblades while their veins were bleeding. Others had scissors stuck in their plastic, faceless heads and others were in awkward positions on the floor. Damian knew what it all meant.
It scared him shitless.
He slowly walked through the plastic corpses towards the door. Next to each mannequin was a note. The light was too dim to make out what they said, but Damian suspected what they said.
He was becoming closer to the door, more and more anxious to get away from the life-sized dolls. He wanted to run, but somehow his subconscious said no.
He turned the handle on the door. A heat rushing to the tips of his fingers. He pulled it ajar, and looked in horror.
Jane was hanging from a noose in front of a blinding white light. The light filled the room, and then mannequins exploded into white dust.
Now it was only Jane and Damian.
…Footsteps.
Damian twisted round to see who – or what – it was and…

…Woke up.
He was panting like a dog, sitting stiffly upright, sweat pouring down his face. A cascade of tears flowing from his eyes. His pillow was soaked in sweat and tears.
Bloody hell, that was scary!



























Chapter 5

Morning registration.
Damian sat on his own, with an empty seat next to him. Mr Smith walked into the classroom with a tall boy.
“Class, may I have your attention?” He asked over the noise. “Class! Look this way!”
After thirty seconds everyone was paying attention once they noticed the new kid.
“Thank you, class. This is Dave Trotter, he’s just moved to Horsham, and has joined our class. Everyone say hi. ” He demanded.
There were a few scattered “Hi”s from around the class.
Dave gave a small wave.
“There’s a space over there next to Damian, Dave. Take a seat.” Said Smith, softly.
Dave sat next to Damian. Damian noticed he had written “My heart is broke, and I have some glue” on his bag.
That was Damian’s favourite lyric. It was from a Nirvana song: Dumb.
“I take it you like Nirvana, then?” Whispered Damian.
“They bloody rule!” He said quickly.
“Have you got In Utero?” Asked Damian.
“Hell yeah, it’s their best album!”
“Cool, I like your style,” Damian told him.
“Cheers.”
“Dave! I don’t care if it’s your first day I will not tolerate talking as I do the register, thank you!” Mr Smith growled.
“We weren’t talking, sir, we were whispering,” Dave was grinning cheekily.
“Very funny, Mr Trotter,” He snarled. Where was I? Miss Abbington… absent. Mr Anderson?”
“Yes, sir.” He replied quietly.
“Here,” he corrected him.
“What a knob!” Laughed Dave. “He’s about three foot tall, and he sounds like one of those British piss-takes on American TV! I’m surprised he isn’t wearing a bloody monocle!” He sniggered.
Damian laughed too.
“DAVE!” Exclaimed Mr Smith. “For goodness’ sake, it’s your first day and you have already interrupted me twice. Is this what it was like at your old school?”
“Yes,” Replied Dave. The class started to laugh. This kid had balls. “I was expelled too.” He added with a grin.
“Well let’s not have a repeat of that then, eh?” He hissed.
“I can’t promise, sir.” He answered.
Jesus, he was confident.

PSHCE.
Dave and Damian were at the back of the class with Matt. Matt hadn’t met Dave properly yet, but I think most people heard him that morning.
“Ok, class, today we’re going to focus on two of the most deadly drugs to this day,” He announced. “Cocaine and Heroin.”
Dave tried not to laugh, but then burst out laughing.
“Is something funny Mr… Trotter?” She scowled at him.
“With all respect ma’am, but they’re only deadly if you don’t know how to use them. Otherwise, they’re harmless.” He declared.
“However, you get addicted to them, and you could get gangrene from too much heroin, as it has t be injected into a vein, most likely on the arm. And with coke, it destroys tissue permanently inside your nose, as it has to be snorted.” She told him.
“True,” He said, defeated.
“Also, Mr Dave, how would you know this anyway?” She asked.
He tapped his nose twice.
* * *
Walking home.
Damian was with Jane, Alex, Dave and Matt.
“So how did you know all that stuff in class today?” Asked Matt.
“How do you think?” The question was rhetorical.
“You’ve taken coke, and heroin?” He asked, amazed.
“Who hasn’t?” Another rhetorical question, however, everyone answered: “Me”.
“Jesus, you haven’t lived!” He exclaimed.
“Heroin screws you up, Dickhead!” Jane exclaimed, and stormed off. Her mother took heroin.
“Dave,” Alex said. “You’re an arsehole.” Subtlety was never Alex’s strong point.
“And you’re fat,” He pointed out.
Alex hugged him. “Cheers, mate!” He had enough confidence to joke about his appearance, although he wasn’t really that fat.
I wish I had confidence, Damian thought.
“I’d better go after Jane,” Damian revealed. “See you, guys.”
He ran after Jane her elegant figure stamping down on the street, eyes streaming with tears.
“Sorry about Dave!” He called after her. “I know he’s an arsehole, but he can be funny!”
Jan turned round, her eyeliner running down her face. “He’s a dick,” She said. “How can you like him?”
“He never knew your mum took drugs, so you can’t blame him,” Damian said, calmly.
“He said they were bloody good, Damian! Good!” She shouted.
“Maybe he likes them?” Damian suggested.
“They are the reason my mum acts like she does. She shoots up on the shit every night and gives me hell!” She screamed, sobbing even more.
“She’s a bitch, don’t listen to her because she’s lying. I’ve got to go now, but just remember that, ok?”
She nodded.
“Bye.”
“Bye.”









Chapter 6

Damian was on the road towards his house. There were about five more minutes to get home – he would be on time. He passed Luke’s house.
BURN IT DOWN!
“Who said that?” Damian asked, looking around. There was no one in sight except for an elderly woman entering her house. “Did you just say something?” He asked her.
“No, dear.” She crackled.
BURN IT DOWN!
“Who are you?” He asked.
I CAN HELP YOU.
The voice was deep, and sounded like a man in his late twenties. It had an echo to it.
“Who are you?” Damian demanded.
YOU CAN CALL ME SANDMAN.
“Sandman?” Damian repeated.
YES. I CAN HELP YOU.
“Help me?”
BURN YOUR ENEMY’S HOUSE TO THE GROUND. THERE WILL BE LESS WORRIES IN YOUR LIFE.
Except for being wanted for murder, Damian thought.
YOU WILL NOT BE WANTED FOR MURDER. THEY WILL NOT FIND OUT WHO YOU ARE.
“What are you?” Damian asked, terrified.
I AM EVERYTHING. I AM NOTHING. I AM EVERY BAD THOUGHT THAT LIVES IN YOUR MIND. AND EVERY GOOD MEMORY THAT LIVED IN YOUR MIND. I KNOW ALL YOUR THOUGHTS. ALL YOUR WORRIES. AND I CAN CURE YOU.
“What are you talking about?” Damian shivered.
No answer.
He ran home.

“Well done, Bitch, you’re early. So you can start your chores early!” His Dad cheered. “Feed the fish, clean my car, clean the dishwasher, clean the whole Goddamned house, ok?”
“Yes, Gary,” Damian answered. He didn’t need to be told what to do. He already knew it.
“It’s Dad, you little Bitch!” He sneered. He brought his fist back, so it was level with his face, and then drove it into Damian’s stomach with so much force, Damian actually jumped into the wall behind him.
Damian groaned in pain.
“Shut up!” Gary kicked him in the side.
“Sorry, dad,” Damian sobbed.
“Now do your chores, or I’m gonna smash your face in!” He threatened.
“Yes, dad,” Damian said, standing up.
“You have an hour,” Gary said, calming down. “Do the whole house except my bedroom and the TV room. Go!”
WHEN HE’S NOT LOOKING, GET A MEAT KNIFE FROM THE KITCHEN AND SLICE HIS SPINE IN HALF.
“No.”
YOU MUST DO WHAT I SAY, OR YOU SHALL PAY.
“No.”
SLICE HIM.
“No.”
STAB HIM.
“No!”
JAB HIM.
“Shut up!”
PIERCE HIS FLESH.
“SHUT UP!” Damian yelled.
YOU’LL REGRET IT.



































Chapter 7

Damian walked the corridor once again. There was something different. The blood was still red. The mannequins were still plastic. The light was still dim. There was still something about the mannequins. Something.
He wanted to stop, but his dream wouldn’t allow him. He slowed up, and took a look. There seemed to be more blood on the mannequins. He tried to figure out where and why.
The light got dimmer, as he looked closer. They had no eyes. Just empty black holes that led into their plastic heads. Blood leaked from the sockets, and down their faces, the crimson shimmering in the darkness.
Tonight freaked him out more. What did it mean?
He passed a new mannequin. He had two large tufts of hair – it might be hair – sprouting from either side of his head. and he was paler than all the other mannequins. It’s shadow had wings.
Their eyeless faces followed Damian to the door, expression cold.
He could feel their gazes burned into his back.
He reached out for the doorknob. The bleeding sockets on the plastic faces burned to the back of his mind. He laughed psychotically, in his dream and in flesh and blood, he laughed. This was too strange a feeling.
OPEN THE DOOR. DO NOT WAKE UP.
The door creaked open.
Everything disappeared in an explosion of flames, except for what hung before him.
And another figure behind him.
The flames burned him as he…

…Woke up.
I TOLD YOU TO STAY SLEEPING.
Damian couldn’t care less.
In fact, he was grinning. A giant, wide grin across his face. What saw him gave his ever-worrying mind a peaceful and happy minute. He just went back to that wonderful… wonderful dream.
The tables had been turned. Gary was hanging behind the door.
Damian laughed again…
…An ear-splitting cackle…
…And again…
…And again…














Chapter 8

Another day at school.
Damian had been re-living that beautiful dream over and over again. He only regretted waking up before he could see who the person behind him was.
He was still grinning.
“What are you so happy about, Batty Boy?” Luke sneered.
Still smiling. “You’re such a prick, Luke.”
Luke pushed him. Damian went back three steps.
MAKE HIM BLEED FOR YOU.
Damian hated getting into fights. Hated them almost as much as his father. But somehow, today, he needed to hurt someone. He needed someone else’s pain.
DO IT.
Damian leapt into Luke’s stomach headfirst, driving him backwards over a school desk.
“What the hell are you DOING!?” Luke screamed, as Damian, still grinning, grabbed Luke’s collar and pulled his head back. He slammed it on the table again and again.
Luke pulled up a fist and drove it into Damian’s. Damian cringed as he bit his tongue.
“GET OFF ME, DAMIAN!”
A small crowd had gathered round.
Damian elbowed Luke in the stomach and his nose. Blood poured out of one of his nostrils. Blood poured from Damian’s mouth.
RIP OUT HIS EYES!
Damian let go of Luke’s collar and clawed at Luke’s face, while Luke struggled to hold Damian’s hands above his face.
“FUCK OFF!” Luke screamed, as he kneed Damian in the groin and threw him off the desk.
The pain of Damian’s head smacking on the floor brought him to his senses.
“I’m telling bloody Mr Surrey because of that!” He yelled, backing away from Damian, who was lying, laughing on the floor.
“Luke,” Damian giggled. “You started it.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Luke bargained.
“Whatever.”
Dave walked up to Damian and helped him up.
“Holy shit, dude! You’re a bloody psycho!” He exclaimed, patting Damian on the back. “You sure showed him!”
“Suppose.” Damian murmured.
HE CALLED YOU A PSYCHO. YOU KNOW YOU HATE PEOPLE CALLING THAT!
He punched Dave in the arm. Hard. Maybe a little too hard.
Dave screamed loudly and stumbled back into a chair.
“What the hell was that for?” He yelled.
“I- Sorry, dude.”
“Don’t worry.” He said, rubbing his arm.
“Do you wanna see something really cool?”
“Sure,” Damian said. “What?”
“I’ll show you at lunch.”

Lunchtime.
“What’s the really cool thing then, Dave?” Damian asked loudly.
“Shut up! If anyone else knows they’ll all want to see!” Hissed Dave. “Now come with me.”
Damian followed Dave out of the lunch hall, past the boy’s toilets and outside the school. Dave walked to the end of the playground and checked if any teachers were looking. Then he told Damian to run to the huge tree at the end of the sports field. Once they were there, Dave swung off his backpack and reached into a pocket and pulled out a black pouch. He pulled from the pouch some Rizla paper for cigarettes and a small, clear, plastic bag with tiny green plant-like things inside it.
“Is that weed?” Asked Damian.
“Yeah,” Dave replied, making a roll of the marijuana. “Want some?”
Damian hesitated. His father, or the school, or someone would find out. It won’t have a happy ending. He was about to say no when.
SMOKE A FEW. THEN GET SOME YOURSELF. YOU’LL LIKE IT.
“Ah, what the hell. It’s only weed.” Damian accepted.
“Hang on a sec, then.”
Dave expertly tore a bit of paper from the dispenser and folded it in half lightly, and poured some of the greenish coloured stuff onto the crease, and rolled it around. He licked the edge of the paper like an envelope and then passed it to Damian.
“Hold that for a minute, Dame,” Dave asked, fixed on the second Rizla paper and batch of weed.
“So what happens, then?” Asked Damian. He heard all these horror stories about people getting paranoid, and being sick by using the drug. But he’d always been curious. He never thought he would actually try some. Besides, if it did have side effects, he was used to pain.
“It’s really cool,” Answered Dave. “It makes you, like really relaxed and calm and stuff. And after that fight you just had it looks like you need some, too. You also think things are funny, that aren’t really that funny. But it’s a cool feeling. It makes you really happy as well. And, it may sound dumb, but it makes you think more, too.”
“About what?”
“Y’know, if you did something wrong, and you don’t know why. You smoke some puff and you start thinking. And, you never know, you might come out with an answer.”
“What about bad stuff?”
Dave laughed lightly. “You only get bad stuff if you have too much. But even if you do, it’s not that bad. You could get lung cancer if you’re a really heavy smoker. But then again, that’s what its like with fags. And you might get a bit paranoid. But aren’t we all? And you’re obviously gonna get the ‘munchies’.”
“Munchies?”
“Yeah,” Dave seemed surprised at Damian’s lack of knowledge about drugs. “You just get a bit hungry… Kinda the opposite from fags. That’s why when you stop smoking ciggies you put on weight. It’s the opposite with marijuana.”
“It doesn’t seem too bad, except for the cancer. But I’m only having one. So, that’s ok, right?”
“Right,” Dave answered, smiling. He placed his spliff in between his lips and pulled out a lighter and lit the end. “Here.”
Damian copied, and lit his own. After a few puffs he didn’t feel any different.
Dave seemed to have read his mind. “You’ll only start feeling good after you’ve had about nine or ten puffs. Not too long.”
Damian nodded.
He started to feel a bit more relaxed and chilled out. It was a good feeling. A great feeling. He could be like it all day long.
“Shit, this is good,” Damian told Dave.
“Uh-huh,” Replied Dave.
He kept on puffing. He forgot all his worries. He shut his eyes and saw his evil father hanging in a fiery background, and burst out laughing.
Dave saw Damian laughing and laughed along, too. He didn’t know why it was funny it just… was.
“You look like a silly sod!” Dave giggled.
This made Damian laugh more. It was as if he was totally weightless. It was fantastic. He wanted more. After he finished his third spliff the bell rang.
Somehow, the sound made them both laugh again.
“Where do you get this stuff?” asked Damian.
“I grow it,” Answered Dave. “My brother sends me seeds from Holland. He lives there.”
“German people speak funny,” Remarked Damian, again bursting out in laughter.
Dave imitated Hitler, and also burst out laughing.
“Anyway,” Said Damian, still laughing quietly. “Could you give me some. I’ll pay you. I have forty quid.”
“Because you’re my mate, I’ll give you a kilo for twenty.”
“A kilo! That’s way too much!” Damian protested.
“Nine-hundred grams, then.”
“Deal.”
They shook hands, and then ran back to class, trying to avoid being caught by the teachers.
They washed their hands, and Dave had some deodorant and breath freshener, which they used to cover up the smell of smoke.
They both arrived in registration, late.
“Ah,” Sighed Mr Smith. “There you are. Explain?”
“We didn’t hear the bell, sir.” Lied Damian.
“May I suggest a cotton swab?”
“They damage your ears,” Dave remarked.
“Sit down, and shut up.” Mr Smith lost patience.
Damian and Dave slowly made their way to their seats.
“That ruled!” Damian whispered.
They started giggling again.









Chapter 9

Friday, the following week.
Damian and Dave were getting stoned behind the big tree again, and one of the caretakers spotted smoke.
At first, she thought it was a fire, and made a run to the nearest fire alarm, but soon stopped herself. She cautiously made her way towards the smoke, and heard giggling behind the tree.
She jumped out at the two fourteen year old boys who jumped back in shock, and fell over each other.
They dropped their joints and hit the grass, laughing hysterically. They were both talking loudly before they actually noticed there was someone there for real.
“Oh,” Damian said, stoned and surprised. “Ello, Miss!”
Dave was biting his lip, laughing through his nose.
“You two are in so much trouble!” The cleaner warned.
“Why?”
“First of all your smoking bloody weed! And second of all, you aren’t meant to be in the sports field!” She barked.
“You’re hot,” Dave blurted out..
“Flattery won’t get you far. You’re going straight to Mr Surrey!”

Mr Surrey was a tall, broad-shouldered man who looked in his early forties. He had big bags under his eyes, and his expression was always a frown. He spoke with a deep, thick voice. He rarely smiled. He was the only teacher in the school who was intimidating. He was the only teacher that was scary. And the worst thing was, he was the deputy head.
The cleaner had dumped them outside of his office and knocked on the door. Even she was intimidated by him.
He came out, staring at the two boys, frowning in his black suit.
“What have they done, Miss Greenstead?” He asked.
“I caught them smoking cannabis in the sport field, Mr Surrey!” She was disgusted.
He didn’t change the tone of his voice except for the word “outrage”. “This is an outrage!”
Dave and Damian stared at the ground.
“Sorry, dude,” Dave mumbled.
“Dude?” Mr Surrey repeated.
“This is not an American teen movie Mr Trotter! This is school. And in school, we will not tolerate such offences as drugs, or violence, or acting like your superiors are your peers.”
“Violence?” Damian asked.
“Yes,” Surrey agreed. “Mr York has informed me that you attacked him this morning. And as you know,” Surrey raised his voice. “WE DO NOT TOLERATE BULLYING!”
“Sorry, sir,” He muttered.
“Get in my office!” He ordered.
Surrey stormed into his office, while Damian and Dave trudged behind him.
Surrey sat at his desk and shot Dave a nasty look. “Close the door!”
Dave closed it quietly.
“Mr Anderson, let’s start with the quiet boy,” He said, voice calm, but angry. “You have good grades, and you seem to be popular with the teachers. The only thing you’ve been in trouble for is your considerable amount of late arrivals and unexplained absences. So tell me,” He yelled again: “WHY WOULD YOU GO AND SHAME THE SCHOOL AND YOURSELF BY ABUSING YOUR BODY IN SUCH A MANNER!”
“I don’t know, sir,” He kept his eyes firmly on the ground.
“You don’t know? YOU DON’T KNOW?” He barked across the room.
“I was just curious, sir,” He murmured.
“Curiosity killed the cat,” He told him. “Drugs ruined Kurt Cobain. I am told that he is your hero?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you want to be like him?”
“Only his talent, sir.”
“I never did like Kurt Cobain much.”
“Oh.”
“I thought he was too self-destructive. And I never thought of you as the self-destructive type. Maybe I was wrong. How would your parents feel if I called them up now?”
Dad wouldn’t care. He’d just use it as an excuse to abuse me. And mum would worry so much she’d probably start cutting her thighs again.
“They’d be angry, and disappointed.”
“Let’s see what they say then…” He smiled. He reached for the phone.
YOU KNOW HE DOESN’T UNDERSTAND. NO ONE DOES. RIP THE PHONE FROM HIS HANDS. DESTROY IT.
“No,” He whispered.
“What was that, Mr Anderson?”
“I just sighed, sir.” He lied.
His eyes darted to the phone line. He fingered the razor blade in his pocket. If he threw it at the right speed and angle, he might be able to slice through the wire. It was sharp, and the wire was weak.
DO IT.
He could. All it need was a bit of calculating but…
“Mr Anderson, your father wants a word,” He thrust the receiver into Damian’s hands.
TOO SLOW.
“H-hello, Dad.”
“You’re going to say yes, ok, sorry, and I won’t do it again when I say so. Now listen. When you get home I have a pint of fluid I want you to drink. You’re going to drink it until you’re unconscious. And then I’m going to smack you up so bad.”
“Yes… Ok… I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.” Damian pretended.
“Give me the phone,” Demanded Mr Surrey.
Damian carefully handed him the receiver.
“Yes, Mr Anderson… Yes… Ok…. Uh-huh… I’m afraid he will have to be suspended from… what’s the date today? Ah, it’s the Friday, the sixteenth today. So he will be suspended from the nineteenth to the thirtieth. And for the remaining time he will be placed in solitary confinement, undergo a drug education scheme. Is that ok, Mr Anderson?” He asked down the phone, not taking his eyes off Damian. “Fantastic. Ok, thank you for your co-operation. I look forward to talking to you on parents’ evening. Goodbye, Mr Anderson.” He slammed the phone down on the receiver.
“Now, I trust you heard what I said to your father over he phone?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, Mr Dave, if you would wait here, I’m going to show Mr Anderson where he’s working for the remainder of the week. Come!” He barked at Damian.
Damian followed him down the corridor, while keeping his blue eyes fixed on the cold floor. Surrey led him up the stairs, and through the French classroom, into a second room. They turned left and walked into another room, where there were four desks and a thin woman with dyed red hair.
“This man has been found smoking drugs on the sports field. I trust you know where he’ll be for the day?”
“Yes, Mr Surrey. I’ll take care of him.”
“There’s still one more.”
The woman shook her head. “Poor souls.”
“When he comes up I would like you to show him the drug video.”
“Yes, sir.” She smiled politely.
“Thank you, Miss Mayhew.”
He walked out of the room.
“What were you smoking?” She asked kindly.
“Marijuana. Pot. Weed. Puff. Blow. Grass. Hash. Call it what you want.”
“Ah,” She said, smiling. “I think we’ve all been there and done that. Mr Surrey has probably tried it. HA! Doesn’t that make you laugh.”
Damian forced a small quiver of a laugh. “Yeah, I suppose”
“So, how long have you been puffing away, then?”
“A week. I like it. I don’t see anything wrong with it.” He told her.
“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. You haven’t been smoking enough for it to cause any big damage, but if you don’t stop, it will consume you. That’s why you’re here. So you don’t get sucked in.”
Damian looked at her, unconvinced.
“So what do you want to do?” She asked, lightening the atmosphere.
“Aren’t we, like, meant to sit around and watch anti-drug videos?” Damian asked.
“Nah, not until you’re pot pal gets up here. Do you want to draw? It helps express yourself.” She said, still smiling.
“Ok,” Damian nodded. “Sure.”
She handed him a sheet of paper, and just as he was about to put his pencil to the page Mr Surrey walked into the room with Dave beside him “Well, Miss Mayhew, I trust you know what to do with these two—what on earth is he doing with a pencil and some paper? He’s not meant to be draw—“
“He’s writing lines. One hundred lines of ‘I will not smoke illegal substances in or outside of school’.”
“Ok, Miss Mayhew.” He said. “Thank you, bye.”
“You said I could draw!” Damian shouted, betrayed.
“Shhh, that’s only because I didn’t want him to know you were drawing.” She said quietly. “This school is too bloody strict!”
“True,” Damian agreed.
“So, Mr Trotter, what can I do for you?”
“Eh?” He asked.
“Draw? Paint? Watch TV – although you’ll need to watch the anti-drug video. Or there’s a Nintendo DS over on the shelf. So? What will it be?”
“Um… Can we get the video over and done with?”
“Sure.”

The video was about half an hour long and was about smoking rather than pot. It was an NSH video and it was clips of different people who had ruined their lives due to smoking. It had nothing to do with proper drugs.
“Did that teach you anything, boys?” Asked Miss Mayhew.
“Nope.” Replied Dave.
“Damian? What about you?”
“Not really.”
“Oh.”
Damian kept on drawing.
SMASH THE TELEVISION. USE THE SHATTERED GLASS TO SHATTER YOUR ENEMIES HEARTS.
Damian grinned as he picked up the hard chalk rubber and aimed it at the TV.
“Damian, what are you doing?” Asked Miss Mayhew, as he lifted the rubber up. “Damian?”
“With the glass I will make my enemies pay. I will kill my demons.” He repeated as Sandman whispered into his mind.
“Damian, what the hell are you doing?” she repeated, worried. “DAMIAN!”
Damian pulled back his arm and threw the heavy chalk-rubber into the glass. It made a loud clinking sound as it bounced off the glass.
“Crap!” He hissed. “It didn’t break—”
“Mr Anderson, what the hell was that!” She exclaimed.
“I’m sorry ma’am, I… sorry.”
“That’s ok. You must be frustrated.”
“Yeah…”

“A whole week with me, Bitch. What fun we’ll have.” Gary laughed. “Of course, I’m gonna have to punish you for being such a goddamned junkie.” He smiled.
He slid an opaque beaker of liquid to Damian. It smelt of chlorine.
“Drink up. Not all of it. Only until you puke.” Gary ordered. “Have you got a question?”
“What is it, Dad?”
“You’ll find out when you drink it, son,” He growled.
Damian nodded, and pulled the beaker towards him. It smelt of chemicals. Bleach.
He tilted his head back and let the bleach slide down his throat. He felt his mouth, and the lining of his throat burn. It was a blinding sting. It was like poring fire. His stomach was burning. The acid in his stomach was bubbling manically. He couldn’t hold it in. The acid in his stomach was getting too strong; it was burning the lining.
Gary was watching, laughing… Grinning.
“Fuck you, Gary!” Burbled Damian, before vomiting blood, bleach and stomach acid violently over the floor…
…Over and over again. Damian fell out of his chair and knelt down on the floor, face pointed towards the linoleum carpet as if he was a cat coughing up a hairball. and heaved long gasps of air, before giving up and falling unconscious.
Through all this, Terry was watching through the semi-opened door. Tears running down her face.
“My son,” She whimpered quietly to herself. “What has he done to you?”







Chapter 10

Damian blinked. His throat and stomach was in agony. Everything was a blur. He threw up again. He hadn’t drunk enough bleach to cause permanent damage to his organs, but if he had continued drinking, his stomach acid would have eroded at his stomach lining and the acid would leak out and destroy his internal organs, causing him to bleed from the inside. He could make out the blurred face of Gary, laughing.
Gary bellowed nonsense and punched Damian in the head.
Damian lost consciousness.

He blinked again, lost in the dark.
He felt no pain. Damian rose to his feet, and everything came into focus.
It was the corridor again. The long narrow corridor, filled with dead mannequins. The mannequins had eyes again. But there was a blinding pain in Damian’s.
He groped around his face, searching for his eyes, the pushed his fingers into his eyes, and the tips of his fingers felt airy black holes. Oh God, No!
Something wet was slowly trickling down his face. He ran his finger across the sticky patch and brought it in front of his eye-sockets. It was blood.
How could he see without eyes?
He walked along, observing the mannequins. Each of them had suffered before they died. They all had tears running down their eyes.
A girl with flowing blonde hair had blood running up both her arms.
A boy had syringes stuck in all his veins.
A woman had a snapped neck, and a bruised face.
A man had turned aqua blue, and water was flowing out of his nose and mouth.
Another boy had an empty pot marked:

Prescription sleeping Tablets

Then, there was the pale one, standing erect next to the door, no eyes, and blood flowing down his face.
Damian opened the door; Gary hung from the noose again.
Damian laughed, a sincere and sinister smile. A cackle that could have been that of a witch escaped from Damian’s grinning mouth.
A fire consumed everything but Damian, Gary, the eyeless mannequin and the man behind Damian.
Damian froze, expecting to wake up at any moment. Eyes fixed on the pained expression on Gary’s face.
Damian punched the hanging body.
“Wake up, Bitch!” Damian mocked.
The body swung limply, side to side.
“Do this, Bitch!” Damian laughed. “Do every shitting thing I tell you, BITCH!” Damian smiled. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”
Distant footsteps were heard behind Damian. Damian pulled the body off the noose and started kicking it, and punching Gary’s body.
“YOU THINK YOU OWN THE WHOLE BLOODY PLACE! YOU CAN’T OWN ME, GARY! NOT NOW! BECAUSE THIS IS MY DREAM! AND YOU CAN’T STOP ME!”
He violently hit Gary, until blood poured down his face, and his cheeks were pulp. Damian cackled, over and over. Punching his dead father.
A hand was placed upon Damian’s shoulder. The fiery ground slowly dissolved into sand. Damian stopped hitting the body and looked towards the figure, breathless.
HELLO, MY SON.
“Sandman?” Damian brushed the figure’s hand off his shoulder and stood up, taking in the… Thing’s abnormal appearance.
The head of It was the weirdest thing Damian had ever seen. Instead of a face, the Thing was wearing a green gas mask, with giant black eye protectors. On top of It’s head was a bowler hat. Damian’s eyes followed down the rest of the creature. It was wearing a dark purple pinstripe blazer, over a white shirt with a black tie. It’s trousers were blue jeans, and white trainers.
YES, DAMIAN. IT IS I, SANDMAN. YOU MUST LISTEN. AND YOU MUST MAKE THE DECISION. ARE YOU LISTENING?
“Yes.” Damian’s voice was a whisper. His bare feet sunk into the sand.
DO YOU ENJOY THE LIFE YOU LIVE?
“I hate my life. Hate it!”
THEN, IF YOU FOLLOW MY EVERY INSTRUCTION, I CAN HELP YOU ESCAPE.
“Escape? From where?”
REALITY.
“What?” Damian was trembling. His palms were sweating, and his heart was beating faster than ever. His eyes were burning, and the pain of his stomach and throat began to kick in. “Do you mean suicide?” Damian smiled hopefully.
NO, THAT WOULD DESTROY ME, AND EVERY HAPPY MEMORY THAT HAS A PLACE IN YOUR MIND. BUT IF YOU FOLLOW MY INSTRUCTIONS, YOU WILL SOON SEE. YOUR DREAM. YOUR ESCAPE. YOU CAN ESCAPE FROM REALITY. YOU CAN KILL YOUR DEMONS, AND DESTROY YOUR HELL. YOU CAN GO TO YOUR HEAVEN.
“When did you become Jesus? I don’t believe in religion!”
HEAVEN AND HELL ARE NOT MATTERS OF RELIGION. THEY ARE MATTERS OF THE HUMAN IMAGINATION. IF YOU WANT TO GO TO YOUR HEAVEN, YOU MUST DO AS I SAY. WILL YOU?
Damian was silent.
Louder. WILL YOU? ANSWER ME! Sand erupted from behind him.
It came out as a powerful whisper. The one word was backed up by true loyalty. Damian’s answer was a promise. And it was a real one. It would not be broken.
“Yes.”













Chapter 10

Dave and Damian met at 12:15 the following afternoon at the huge oak tree up the road. Damian’s stomach was burning still. He wanted to vomit but wouldn’t. Luckily he drunk too little to suffer too long.
“Hey, have you tried coke?” Asked Dave.
“Yeah, who hasn’t?” Damian replied.
“Oh right so you have, then.”
“Yeah. I love that drink.”
“Drink!” Dave repeated, laughing. I was talking about the other coke. Y’know - cocaine.”
“Oh, no. I haven’t.”
“Wanna try some?”
“Um… Well uh… Maybe I shouldn’t, my Dad will get really pissed if I come home stoned and…” He stopped himself.
DO IT.
“Actually… It’s worth a try.”
“Follow me…”

They stood at a plastic table under a huge tree, hidden by streams of green vines. They were right next to one of Damian’s favourite places – Black Lake.
“Ok… What I do is make a trail of the stuff along the table…” He swept away the muck on the table with a wet-wipe. “…Like so…” And then pulled a tube out his pocket full of white powder and poured it along the table in a straight line. “…And then you get a fiver, or anything that could be rolled up. I use this tube, its easier…” He pulled out a tiny red tube from his pocket. “…and you just snort while running your nose along the table. Ok?”
“Sure,” Damian nodded.
“Cool,” Dave cupped the red tube round his nostril and poised it over the powder. He made a huge breathing sound as the white stuff disappeared up the tube. He then took the tube away from his nose, and wiped under his nostril.
“Then what?”
“Then you gotta wait a couple of minutes.”
“How long does it last?”
“About half an hour.”
“Cool.”
“Want some?”
“Um… yeah.”
He repeated the process again, laying the powder on the table. He handed Damian a blue tube.
“Do what I did…”
Damian bent close to the powder, his nose on the blue tube. I shut his eyes and closed his nostril, and breathed in deeply, while dragging his head along the table. His nose tickled as the tiny grains soared up his nostrils. He lifted his head, wiped his nose.
“What does it do?”
“You’ll see…”

No longer than three minutes later Damian felt energetic. He felt he had a purpose in life. He could whatever he wanted in life and nobody could stop him. He was running around, with Dave.
“This is great!” He yelled. “Better than weed!”
“Shush!” Dave growled, still running with Damian. “We could go to jail if someone finds out we’ve been snorting!”
“Who cares? I can do what I like!” Damian roared, leaping over a bench. His stomach pain was there. Damian knew that. But he couldn’t feel it hurting.
“I suppose! Yeah, we’re like Gods!”
“Like Gods! If they existed. There’s Luke, and his mob!” Exclaimed Damian as he approached the corner shop.
Luke was leading a small crew of chavs, all geared up in their Burberry caps and tracksuits. There was Luke, his big brother, Luke’s girlfriend, and mates, and some girls Damian’s age.
The girls would have been attractive if they weren’t wearing so much make-up.
“Well if it isn’t the gay couple!” Exclaimed Luke, turning back at his crew and smiling. The crew started laughing.
It was like in films where they gang leader would laugh, and the gang would copy. Pathetic.
“Hi Luke! How are you?” Replied Dave.
“I’m fine, Gaylord!”
“Stop calling us that. It’s ok you insulting us, but that’s just boring. And no offence, Luke. But you could do better than that!” Dave pointed to Luke’s girlfriend. Her oily blonde hair was covered in ugly beads, and she was wearing so much make-up and so little clothing that – with a little bit of age – you could have easily mistaken her for a prostitute.
“You wanna say that to ma face?” Yelled the girl. She had a typical ghetto wannabe voice.
“Ok,” Dave said, turning to her. “You are, how should I put this as nice as I can… I’m sorry, but you need more… clothes? Less make-up? Nicer hair?”
“What’s ya point? I ain’t got all day!” Her voice was like nails on a blackboard.
“Do you want me to be brutally honest? You look like you sell sex. In the nicest way ?I can put it.”
“You call me a slut?”
“Um… yeah, sorta.”
She marched over to Dave and kneed him in the groin. He kneeled over, wincing. Then Luke smacked him over the head, knocking him over, and kicked him.
“Get off him, Luke!” Yelled Damian.
“What are you gonna do about it?” Asked one of his mates.
“Whatever I like!” He whacked Luke in the face. Luke fell off Dave and onto the floor. Damian punched Luke over and over again in the face, until he was grabbed by the arms by his Luke’s older brother and dragged off him.
“What the hell’s that on your arm gayboy?” Asked Luke, spitting out a ball of saliva and blood. “You clit your wrists and cut yourself don’t ya?”
“No!” Damian yelled.
“DAMIAN CUTS HIMSELF! DAMIAN’S A PSYCHO! DAMIAN SLITS HIS WRIST! DAMIAN’S A PSYCHO!” He yelled out.
“Shut up!” Yelled Damian.
Luke kicked Dave in the side, a few of his mates joined in. Luke kept moaning the same continuous chant. They were like a scream in Damian’s head waiting to come out. He would beat them all black and blue. He wouldn’t touch the girls, but he’d scare them enough. He was a ticking time bomb. He could feel Luke’s older brother pounding away at his face. He could feel blood pour from his nose and mouth. The pain was there, but he couldn’t feel it. He would make Luke bleed for him.
YOU’RE UNTOUCHABLE. YOU CANNOT BE STOPPED. YOU CAN DO ANYTHING YOU LIKE. MAKE THE IGNORANCE LOST IN A SEA OF BLOOD. MAKE LUKE BLEED OUT HIS IGNORANCE. MAKE THAT SEA.
Damian felt the coke really kick in as he heard these words. He noticed a silhouette in the distance. He made out a pinstripe suit. Jeans. Gas mask. The mere presence of Sandman made it matter more.
Damian grinned. Damian laughed.
It was another psycho laugh. The laugh he did when he was beating his father’s body senseless in the dream.
All the strength that the drug gave him, and all the strength he had, leaked into his muscles and organs as he burst out of Luke’s brother’s grip, and kicked him in the ribs.
“DAMIAN CUTS HIMSELF! DAMIAN’S A PSYCHO! DAMIAN SLITS HIS WRIST! DAMIAN’S A—”
He dived into Luke and sent him rolling into the road. A car swerved past as Damian’s hands clasped around Luke’s throat. He forced his head into the tar and then brought it up. He then slammed Luke’s head onto the tarmac over and over until Luke was drifting in and out of consciousness. Then Damian brought his fist up and drove it into Luke’s eyes and nose over and over, until bulges of skin replaced Luke’s eyelids and hid his eye. Blood poured from Luke’s face, as he failed to fight back. Too much pain in his face. He felt an arm drag him off Luke’s body.
He turned up to see Dave.
ENOUGH, MY SON.
“Too far, Damian. Way to bloody far!”
“Where are his friends?”
“They ran off. Are you really ok?”
“No,” Damian breathed. “I think I need… to sit down.”
Dave dragged Luke out the road and propped him up on a bench.
“He’ll be fine. But I reckon you should write a note for him. Got paper?”
“In my pocket,” Damian produced paper and a pencil and jotted down a note.

I’m sorry I got carried away. I know You Don’t Like me but can we call it quits. If you don’t give my name then I won’t call get the police involved, because I know you’ve been doing crazy crap too. I could turn you to the police, so don’t give my name.

“What’s he done, then?” Asked Dave.
“Underage drinking. Buying and selling drugs. Smoking. Stealing. Getting in fights. Carrying weapons. Loads.” Replied Damian. “I don’t think I’m having any more of that stuff. I just feel like shit now.”
“Up to you, dude. Just promise me this.
“What?”
“Don’t do that again.”
“I promise.”