However, Mr Brennon was holding a very large piece of what looked like blank card but could have been paper i'm still not sure. My imagination wasn’t trained at that age so it wasn’t the best as I could only think that he could possibly want someone to cut it out into smaller pieces. Then possibly hand the pieces out, and then maybe we would be able to draw something perhaps. I got lost in my own excitement; I don’t know what took over me, my hand shot up into the air patriotically, thinking to myself “ one for the team”
“ Take this to the other art room in room A43” The smelly old man explained like it was as easy as cutting butter,” You do know where that is don’t you?”
Before I got time to answer he spat in a few more words “ Of course you do chap, right you better be off it’ll only take you five minutes at the most.”
The journey took a lot longer than five minutes, for a start I didn’t have a single clue where room A43 was.
So there I was stood outside room A13 baffled about how such an easy job for a senior pupil could be so difficult for a 4 foot year seven. The piece of card I were holding, which just so happened to be bigger than me, turned out to be an extraordinary piece of artwork, a masterpiece for my standards. Whoever painted that beautiful picture must have been very proud of himself. It was a picture of a snowy little village; it was so realistic you could have just stepped straight through it. It was literally amazing how a human just like me could create something with his own pair of hands and has it look like a photograph you would see in a holiday brochure.
I started to walk down the corridor trying my best to hold the painting upright to stop any folds or creases forming. The corridor seemed so different when it was empty it had an eerie feeling about it. I was noticing things in the corridor that I had never noticed before, back when it was loud and crammed full of people. I had never even realised that the narrow hallway had radiators nor had I realised that they were falling off. Loads of little things were becoming apparent in what used to be such an insignificant place; the roof had holes in it, some of the floor tiles were missing, the walls were peeling, door knobs were rusting, the list was endless. It had never even occurred to me as to what utter shambles our school actually was.
The numbers on the doors seemed to be ascending so I followed them along the never-ending hallway. Then the numbers stopped they went up to number A33 then just stopped. There was nowhere possibly left to go unless the classrooms were outside. Possibly the other classrooms were in an underground base under the playing fields and whoever goes in never comes back out! But that was just my imagination running astray, I had to stay focused on the task.
I looked at my watch, four long minutes had passed. I didn’t have a clue where to go. There was three options for me to choose from; I could either ask for help and get the job done quicker, but if they weren’t the friendliest of people who knows what could happen. Wandering around helpless wouldn’t be the best of choices but it was still an option. The final option was to return to the classroom and risk “Bad Breath Brennon,” embarrassing me in front of the whole class for not completing such a simple task.
To walk round helplessly wasn’t the best option but I still chose it. So a set off outside and to my horror I realised half the school was on their dinner break so immediately I changed my plan and decided I was going to ask the nearest person for directions. The nearest person happened to have a shaven head with his shirt untucked and a pearl white pair of trainers on, even though he probably knew full well that shoes had to be worn and they had to be black.
To an innocent mind he looked nice enough, so I approached him and asked “ Do you know where about room A43 is, I have been sent on a job by Mr Brennon.”
The year 11 just smirked and said, “Other side of the school now get lost” he then rapidly walked away.
I shouted back to him “ where a bouts at the other end of the school”.
He just shrugged his shoulders and carried on walking.”
I kept on walking through herds of what looked like flocking sheep trying to get away from the strange boy with a giant painting. While walking round looking confused a small group of three teachers approached me abruptly.
The ugly fat one questioned me, “ where are you going?” She was literally choking on her words.
I answered, “I'm looking for room A43 Bad Bre….” I nearly called him by his nickname “what I meant to say was, Mr Brennon has sent me to take this picture there”.
The ginger women spat some words out “ you’re telling me that’s a work of art, and you my son are carrying it as if it were waste paper”. Embarrassed I shuffled the artwork round so it was perfectly poised between the palms of my hands.
Finally the tall powerful figure overrode everyone’s speech and told me “ room A43 is at the other end of mid block tunnel”. The 3 teachers then plodded off leaving me alone with all the viscous older boys roaming the playground.
I knew where mid block tunnel was and it was the worst possible place the room could have possibly been; the tunnel was also known as “well hard way”. This was where the cocky boys would group together and smoke possibly even more stupid stuff than that as well. The kind of boys that would pick a fight with someone twice the size of them or people who are to weak and defenceless to fight for themselves a bit like me really. The people there weren’t people I would like to be associated with they were just stereotypical bullies, cowards in my eyes. Also if you were to pluck up the courage to hit one they would always know someone twice your age that would defend them.
Only a minute later I were stood facing the wretched rectangular shaped tunnel; cigarette smoke pouring out making it look as if it were in some sort of sci-fi film and little green men with ray guns were going to come plodding there way out demanding for world domination. To my disappointment that wasn’t going to happen I was going to have to travel through the tunnel even if it killed me.
I looked at my watch once again then thought to myself that the watch must have been some kind of joke it read ten o’clock, I had set off at twenty-five to. It had felt like I had been walking round forever and a day even so that I had nearly forgotten why I was walking round in the first place.
I thought to myself about what Mr Brennon had said “it’ll only take you five minutes at the most.” Thinking of this made me chuckle to myself.
I had never been through the “well hard way” supposedly on the other side was the oldest part of the school the bit that the teachers rarely used so it was basically abandoned and took over by the scum of the school. It was only three classrooms that were falling apart by the day so the teachers just turned a blind eye to it all. Anyway this brought me to the question ‘why would any teacher be in that room to take this painting from me when the classrooms had been deserted for so long?
I decided to leave this question at the back of my mind and so I began to walk.
A couple of steps later the smoke was starting to rise up my nose and stick at the back of my throat. If I stopped now I would never be able to bottle myself up again to attempt this tremendous feat it had to be done now. High on adrenaline I entered the tunnel cautiously.
The tunnel seemed to go on forever and at the moment it appeared that I had got incredibly lucky and the “well hard way” was conspicuously empty. Questions were streaming in my head one after another. Why was the tunnel empty? How long had I been in the tunnel? Who would possibly be inside the abandoned room to take this smoke ridden painting away?
The tension was starting to ease off my back as I saw a square patch of light signalling the end of the tunnel, I was there, happiness bubbled inside me. Then the tension started to mount up again as I heard voices discreetly talking to one another coming from dead ahead.
Another five seconds I would be there breathing oxygen once again.
Five, darkness turning to light
Four, voices getting louder
Three, nearly there
Two, one more step
One, three stocky lads dived round the corner throwing their fists at me as if I were their greatest enemy. Rapid punches crushing into my skull. A piercing sound was making my ears hurt. I tried to fight. I couldn’t. I fell to the floor, smashing my head on the cold concrete in the process. Everything went silent as the world crept slowly away from me
Tears filled up in my eyes, as the pain got worse. I lay on the floor helplessly howling with pain; I just had time to see his grubby hands pick up the masterpiece artwork before I nodded off into a deep sleep.
An excruciating pain woke me up, my nose felt as if it had been pounded with a twenty-pound sledgehammer. I looked around to see a familiar welcoming face; it was my mum.
“Don’t worry” my mum said lovingly “that boy has been expelled from school so you wont be seeing him again soon, as for the others they got off lightly, anyway how are you”?
I answered back as best as I could struggling to breathe clearly “ what happened to the painting”.
The painting was all I was worried about at that moment.
“Mr Brennon has already spoken to me and he says that he will just print another one off “
Relief shot through my system as a smile crept upon my face.
“Mr Gelb the head teacher of your school has also reason to believe that the phone call Mr Brennon received was actually a prank so basically you were ambushed, anyway you should get some more sleep you need the rest. “
“Ok mum thanks for everything,” and as quick as a cheetah on steroids I nodded off back to a short but gratified sleep.
So that is the story of how my successful career started by converting them old classrooms to “Well Hard Way Beat Bullying Society” This is one of three in the country and we are expanding by the all the time to prevent more traumas happening in the future.
