#au dbd

AU MAFIA

SMACK!

A small, wet wad of paper struck Mr Fairfield firmly in the back of neck.

In Ms Romero’s class, someone would be going to see Mr Carter.In Mr Francis’s class, no one would snitch, no one would get caught.In Mr Hawk’s class, the students would take this act of aggression as a way to begin a civil war amongst themselves.In Ms Young’s class, they’d be turned into a live demonstration.In Overbeck’s class, he’d chase them 2 miles with a loaded gun.In Miss Anna’s class, she’d say and do things that would get her fired, and no one would snitch.In Mr Yamaoka’s class, someone would have died.

But this was Dwight’s class. And they all laughed at him. They laughed harder when he dropped the marker and it rolled away from his attempts to catch it. They stifled their snickering as he tried to find his other markers- only to find they were all missing.

“Control your class.” “Grow a spine.” “Why can’t you just be like all the other teachers?” His peers would brush it off.“If you can’t handle it, there’s other jobs.” “I don’t like you working there.” His boyfriend would constantly remind him.

That was until the transfer student.

Frank Morrison, the 19 year old super senior, stood up and handed the marker back.“Thank you…” Dwight took the marker tentatively, examining it for evidence of tampering.The boy grinned toothily, “Any time, Mr F. And the rest of you should be ashamed! Let the poor guy get on with it!”

“Evan...we really need to talk about…” Ms Romero looked at the artwork on her desk. It was beautifully drawn. The anatomy was perfect, the shading gave it a life-like feel, and the structure of the scene was so advanced...but so disturbing.

The image drawn was a man dismembering a woman. As if that alone wasn’t worrying enough, the likeness of the two subjects appeared to resemble the artist and another student- Jake Park.

“Is there…something going on? At home? At school?” she asked, looking back up to the MacMillan boy. She laced her fingers together and rested her chin, trying to observe what reaction he would give.

But Evan shook his head, “No. Not really.”

“So then...why did you draw this particular...scene?”

“The theme was happiness, wasn’t it?” Evan raised an eyebrow, “It would make me happy to draw something like this. And it did.”

Jane took a deep breath in and picked up the paper carefully, “Maybe refrain from...using other students as points of reference? And I’m going to highly encourage you to talk to Dr Carter.”

Evan rolled his eyes and took his paper away, “Sure. Not that he’d understand either. He’ll ‘get it’ just as much as you. Stay out of my business.”

Romero watched him storm out of her classroom, crumpling the art in his fist and slamming it into the tall bin by the door.

The stares of his peers burrowed deep into his pores. He could feel their burning hot judgement tear into his soul and tear him apart, the same way as the picture. Piece by piece. Little by little. In the same way the flesh fell from the bone, his peace of mind slipped from his control.

They feared him. As people do with everything they do not understand. 

War.

Famine.

Disease.

Abuse.