A few minutes later, I stepped through the double oak doors where I spent most of my day. The decrepit structure looked at me menacingly. Feeling as if I was passing through hell, I saw the devil himself.
Well known around this part of town, he offered everyone he came across part of his stash. Trying to avoid his sly grin, I rushed into the nearest classroom, He stopped me. It was always like this. He would give me a good licking if I didn’t buy. I felt helpless. Mrs. Richards greeted me with a sympathetic smile. She was an unusual tutor, but pleasant and gracious nevertheless. Everyone enjoyed the last day of term, but I remained cautious.
My heart raced a beat faster every time I turned the corner, dreading to see him. I endured his wicked ways for one lesson only that day. One hours felt like a whole lifetime. The constant flow of flying paper balls hurled aggressively at my head made me as furious as a hungry lion. Thoughts of being an accountant were slipping out of my grasp each time Peter hit his target. I felt completely useless; I could do nothing but take the harsh mental and physical beating. The teacher fully aware of what was going on acted like she saw nothing. What could? I drifted away into my own world, hoping that all this would end eventually. Lucky for me it did but sooner than I expected.
All my feelings were spinning around like a twisting tornado. The day ended on a low.
I left the gates of hell, hoping to get home safely. The smell of urine and dead animals lingered, as I strolled down the narrow streets. The old cinema loomed over me, its sinister eyes stared. I thought of Peter, and how I was destined to meet him once more. To imagine his hideous face made me feel nauseous. Peter’s ghastly glare stalked me as I crossed the road. He ran at me like a barbarian. Full of rage. Full of hatred. My eyes weakened, I fell to the ground heavily as something hard struck the back of my head. That was all I remember.
My arms and legs were tied tight as I woke. A cold breeze floated past my face. I opened my eyes slowly to see a vast blanket of darkness. It appeared to mock me encouraging fear. Something horrible was about to happen. Turning my head cautiously, I caught a glimpse of the only source of light, glowing eerily on Peter’s features. He was sitting there. Grinning at me. Why? Where was I? Unaware of what was happening I spoke out feebly like a mouse but was swiftly interrupted by Peter’s insane mumbling. He stumbled towards me an object in the air. What was he doing? Had he gone mad? I could feel my heart pumping rapidly. Perspiration was dripping down my face. Petrified, I attempted to free myself, only to feel a sudden rush of pain in my right arm. It felt like a thousand needles being jabbed into me. The torture went on. Sharp pains surged through me over and over again. I felt powerless, vulnerable and weak. I wanted to cry out. I had to stay strong! What do I do from here? What’s going to happen? I could do nothing to stop the agony. Hearing distant car engines and pedestrians outside, I struggled to cry out for help, my dry lips preventing me from doing so. Sinking into my seat, I descended I into the depths of despair, where I thought I would never return. Had we won?
Voice in the distance brought me back. It was mum. The scent of the honeysuckle floated dreamily through the air. Downstairs, she was preparing breakfast as usual. I felt alive. I felt happy. I felt safe.
There was going to be a memorial service for Peter today.
But I wont be there.