the start of something from class
Eric looked up for a second time and saw nothing but the usual. The empty shell of “Ski-Mart” was to his front while the cries of car horns blared behind him at the corner of French and Union. To the right was the overgrown entrance to the bridge that only he knew about. To his left was the exit to Old Union road. The bridge connected to Old Union, but it didn’t look like it could support the weight of a human being let alone a four ton car.
He put his head back down and turned his attention toward the sketch. He was in the middle now; a place he never thought he’d be. The outside designs depicted many things from Eric’s life; a Nine Inch Nails logo, a king made of crimson chalk, a human arm with guitar strings running down the length of it, and the numbers thirteen, fourteen, fifteen and sixteen set in different corners. If you looked at this legacy of chalk and time during the summer months, and the moon was playing along, it would illuminate these four numbers in jagged shapes through the cracked glass of the roof. He worked from the outside in on paved canvas while making sure to leave the center open for something of importance. Eric didn’t know what would be there until the day he drew it; and that day was here. He decided the perfect thing would be a self portrait; kind of like a signature. Someone might come to tear this old thing down a couple decades from now and see Eric’s mug starring back maybe think twice. Who knows? Eric couldn’t. He did this because he liked to do it and because he felt safe here underneath the cover of the afternoon shining through broken windows and desolate roof. This was the safest place in the world and he decided it should look like the safest place in the world. That’s when the drawing started 4 years ago, and now it’s nearly complete. While making the last touches on his left eye, he heard that noise again by the entrance. His head flew back to see 4 boys standing there; 2 with their arms crossed, one with his hands behind his back, and one waving to him.
“What’s up you little faggot?” said one of them. It was Adam from math class; the same Adam who choke-slammed Eric into a locker just earlier today.
“What the hell? How do you know about…?” Eric was cut off by the sound of Adam’s feet speeding toward him. Eric dropped the chalk and went to block the foot coming straight for his jaw, but he missed and went down hard. As his head bounced off the paved and broken road, blood began to trickle down his forehead. He dabbed it, looked at it on his fingers, and became aware of the red can of gasoline one of the boys had behind his back.
He put his head back down and turned his attention toward the sketch. He was in the middle now; a place he never thought he’d be. The outside designs depicted many things from Eric’s life; a Nine Inch Nails logo, a king made of crimson chalk, a human arm with guitar strings running down the length of it, and the numbers thirteen, fourteen, fifteen and sixteen set in different corners. If you looked at this legacy of chalk and time during the summer months, and the moon was playing along, it would illuminate these four numbers in jagged shapes through the cracked glass of the roof. He worked from the outside in on paved canvas while making sure to leave the center open for something of importance. Eric didn’t know what would be there until the day he drew it; and that day was here. He decided the perfect thing would be a self portrait; kind of like a signature. Someone might come to tear this old thing down a couple decades from now and see Eric’s mug starring back maybe think twice. Who knows? Eric couldn’t. He did this because he liked to do it and because he felt safe here underneath the cover of the afternoon shining through broken windows and desolate roof. This was the safest place in the world and he decided it should look like the safest place in the world. That’s when the drawing started 4 years ago, and now it’s nearly complete. While making the last touches on his left eye, he heard that noise again by the entrance. His head flew back to see 4 boys standing there; 2 with their arms crossed, one with his hands behind his back, and one waving to him.
“What’s up you little faggot?” said one of them. It was Adam from math class; the same Adam who choke-slammed Eric into a locker just earlier today.
“What the hell? How do you know about…?” Eric was cut off by the sound of Adam’s feet speeding toward him. Eric dropped the chalk and went to block the foot coming straight for his jaw, but he missed and went down hard. As his head bounced off the paved and broken road, blood began to trickle down his forehead. He dabbed it, looked at it on his fingers, and became aware of the red can of gasoline one of the boys had behind his back.