In elementary school, I once knew a strange little boy.
He used to live at lived at home with his two abusive parents that never payed any attention to him. In fact, they hated having him around. One day, no one is sure what happened exactly, but he found his parents dead with shotguns in both of their heads. They must have either shot each other, themselves, or have been killed trying to defend themselves from an intruder. Like I said, nobody knows what happened to them exactly. In fact, for a while, he was the only person that knew they were dead. He lived by himself in complete solitude and despair, trying to forget what happened.
At home, he would vent out his emotions by drawing. One picture he drew showed him wearing a crown and red clock, holding a staff, sitting on top of a throne on a mountain with other dirty and bruised people lifting their hands to the sky and worshiping him with the bright sun shining right above him. I guess he was supposed to be a king or a god. His face that seemed as though was staring right at me, looked pleased in this picture, which is more than what I could say for the real him. I suppose he used these drawings to escape from his horrid, empty life and live in his own world where everything goes like he wants it to. You can tell he has had much psychological damage, which is normal for a child who saw their parents dead (who didn't even care for him in the first place) at such a young age and never had a soul to look after him.
But the rather disturbing thing about the drawing was that there were dead people on the ground at the bottom everywhere. They lay there, absolutely lifeless, in a giant pool of blood. What's worse is that I was able to tell that it wasn't drawn with crayon, but it was actual blood. It must be his, since he's the only living creature he's ever communicated with. Now that I think about it, his smile in the drawing was rather twisted, and there was blood on his staff, too. On the very top, it read 'I RULE THIS WORLD' in a mixture of black and blue.
I clearly remember the day he attended my school. He looked tired, pale, and most of all... weird. He never talked to anyone ever. He went straight to classes or home and wanted nothing to do with the other people there. He probably had a mental disability. Me and my friends decided to go pick on the weirdo (gimme a break, I was, like, 7 years old). We picked on him during recess and called him a bunch of mean names and for a while, he wouldn't respond. He would just stand there and gloom. I said "Hey, you little fuck, don't be such a momma and daddie's boy." It was then that he lifted his head, opened his eyes wide and looked at me. He finally snapped.
The recess teacher told us it was time to head back to class. Everyone but me, my friends, the kid and that teacher were already gone by now. He then opened his mouth and showed his fang-like teeth. He lunged at the lady and viciously bit her chest like a Lion. Her chest was spewing blood from the wound. All she could do is scream and bleed. She eventually passed out and all my friends ran away like hell.
He then walked towards me, stood there and suddenly delivered a strong punch to my face with his left arm. My jaw hurt like hell. How could I possibly forget the day my jaw broke? I looked at him and told me that his father never loved him and his mother couldn't stand to have him around. He dashed back to class without another word and I followed him. The teacher asked why we were late. Jeremy said he had something to say to the class. He went up to the chalkboard and said "I am the king. I ruled this world." He then wrote on the board with chalk, "Try to forget this..." and he then proceeded to pull out a shotgun which was already bloody and immediately shot himself in the head, leaving blood and gore all over the floor.
As you could imagine, we were all immensely shocked and horrified. Someone called the Police and me and my friends told them everything. They discovered his house and found his dead parents and the drawing mentioned earlier. I erased what he wrote from the board. It was written rather roughly; he pressed the chalk onto the board as he wrote it, so it was rather hard, but I managed. I was never able to forget that day. The day I heard what he said. My life was never the same. I pitied the boy who had to go through that suffering.
Oh, I almost forgot to tell you the boy's name.
His name was Jeremy.
And he spoke in class today.
Jeremy spoke in class today.
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