#kgsecretsanta

When you throw a yo-yo, it hits the ground and bounces back up at you. You wrap it around your finger, before letting it go and drop. Sure, it only takes a second for it to bounce back up, but those few seconds can feel like hours to some. The feeling of watching it drop down, the unknown feeling of it unwinding and having a chance of not coming back up. It does most the time, unless its been damaged. Then it'll either take longer to come back up, or might not at all. Yo yo's are weird, huh? You never know what it is about those things, yet someone always loves them.

.

.

.

A day after his dad died, Jerome was still forced to go to another kindergarten. It was stupid, why was he forced to come back to another kindergarten after his dad had died!? It was bullshit! As much as Jerome wanted to yell that at a teacher and run out to his mom, crying, he just sucked it up as to not look like a wuss..

But it was hard not to look like a wuss when tears just leaked out his eyes. Grief? Sadness? Anger? Hatred? Jerome could hardly decipher what emotion forced the salty tears to pour out his eyes. All he could do was keep rubbing them, over and over, until his eyes got into a painful red. The ache of his fingers pushing into his eyes only causing more agony to drip from his face.

God, he knew how stupid he looked. Buggs snickered everytime he looked back at him, Cindy stared at him with distaste, the new kids talked about him behind his back... Ugh! Jerome was such a loser in this new school. Crying was not cool, as it turned out. Nothing was cool anymore! It was all so uncoo-

"Ay, Jerome." Another boy... "stood" above Jerome, his voice being a mixture of concerned and bothered. The person "stood" before him was merely a blur, a fuzz of green and orange. The only discernable thing being that there was a figure, an, albeit, wide one, from what Jerome could make out through his fountain of tears.

"What do you want!?" Jerome bit out, twisting his head to the other side, unwanting to look at who ever was in front of him. His voice wouldn't sounded angrier, if it wasn't for the feeling of his throat being closed up from all the warmth draining from his eyes. Instead, his voice was merely an sob-like growl. More or less, lashing out at the person ahead.

Monty kept his eyes locked onto Jerome, fighting back the urge to scoff at his reaction. It was just the grief talking, not Jerome. His voice was hesitant as he reached into his pocket, pulling out something he threw down to Jerome. "Heard what happened to your dad."

With a quiet silence, Jerome lifted his head from between his knees and wiped the tears from the face. Below the feet pedals of the wheel chair in front of him, there was a yellow, light up yo-yo. He reached out his hand and snatched the toy into his hand, sniffling. "Whatever.. Hold on." Jerome looked up from his yo-yo, finally able to make out the figure in front of him. "Why are you in a wheelchair!?"

Monty recoiled at the question before darting around at the other people stood around them and taking a deep breath, his chest raising and lowering before he began to speak. "Its that janitor. Couldn't spell a sign right so he figured it was best for me to become paralyzed."

Jerome glanced over at the old man, stood grumbling with his mop and then back to the ginger boy in front of him. "Seems like something he'd do. That old sack of shit still has my lazer pen!" His saddened expression shifted into an anger, balling up both his fists whilst his glare stayed applied to the janitor.

Monty clicked his fingers and reached into his pocket, handing Jerome a thin stick of metal with a red dot at the end. "I was planning to sell it. Didn't know it was yours." He smirked, holding it closer to him. "Again, on the house."

Jerome took the lazer from the kid's freckled hand, pocketing it. A light pink hue brushed across his cheeks, darkening his face before he glanced to the side and got rid of the burning feeling on his face. "Thanks."

"Don't keep expecting everythin' for free. I need to pay for my medical bills one way or 'nother. Got it?"

Monty remembers it. The feeling of a mop piercing into his chest, the crazed look on that old man’s face, the betrayal that shone off his classmate, after that, he felt empty. His flesh was almost ripped out his body. He stayed as a mere zombie, a shell of the human child he once was. Now, forced to endure the looks from each of his classmates, and seeing the very person who continued his violent fate.

His skin now mere rot, a sickening, disgusting green coated his skin. His entire body felt withered and gross. A line ran through his vision, a crack through his glasses, a reminder of what was made of him. Even his sight weakened, causing him to sit around the class idly, earning odd glances from his peers.

His hands tightened around his arms, staring blankly down at the desk before him. Everything surrounded him yet, it felt so empty. Monty couldn't decipher whether the sickening feeling in his stomach was the eerie sense of his new being, or the feel of rot growing on his skin.

Why, why, why, wh--

...A hand brushed onto his shoulder. His eyes snapped over to the boy. His green hand reaching over to him, his other waving as if they were friends.

That monster wasn't his friend. No. No. No.

No.

He was a monster who turned him into one himself. A disgusting, vile "human". His glare stabbed through him, pressing up his palm off the desk and swatting him away, a hand brushing harshly over the other kids rotten skin.

Monster. Monster. Monster. Danger. Danger. Danger.

"Monty--"

Monty's glare only tightened further onto the other boy, a sign to back off and walk away. He watched as Kid walked over to somewhere else, his solemn mood rather noticable. Monty didn't care. He turned him into this. He should feel that. He should feel worse. He knew that. He was sure he did too.

Yet, at the end of the day.

They were both still hardly human.

Monty stared forward at the blank wall, his eyes hardly able to make out the blurry pictures on the wall that were framed there to try and teach him things he already knew. This place was practically useless to him now. It only brought him into a deeper despair by staying.

Instead, he heard someone else approach. A quick voice, followed by quicker steps.

"Okay! Okay!! I'll go check on him. I was gonna wait till recess, but if you guys are so sure.. Don't blame me when he gets all defensive."

A comforting hand fell onto his shoulder, Jerome's voice clearly being linked to the palm connected to Monty's jacket. His eyes stayed down, however. This didn't mean anything.. He was still.. This.

"Hey." Jerome's smile was audible at this point. "Don't let that new kid get on your nerves." He already had. "You feeling alright?" No.

Silence fell upon the two, Monty not daring to utter a single word, and Jerome's palm growing sweaty with his awkward demeanour practically shining onto Monty like they were soul tied.

Then, a snicker came from Jerome, followed by a scoff. "Oh yeah! You guys are right--" What had someone told him..? "Monty has totally lost his.."

Jerome's eyes settled onto the back of his skull, a bloodied gap staring back into his eyes. Vomit crawled up his throat, eyes widening from the sight of the gaping hole in his head. His hand stayed onto Monty's hair, frozen for a second like his whole world had just shattered in mere seconds.

"HRKK--" Jerome's feet slammed across the room, landing him in a crouched manner on the floor, he covered his mouth whilst trying not to vomit. His friend was a zombie! A dead one! An actual zombie! A hole in his skull and- and--

...

Monty looked back at him, his eyebrow raised. Before it settled on him what Jerome had seen. It made enough sense. He was an undead creature after all.

Why would anyone want to be around something as undead as him?

Other than another undead thing. One that he couldn't bring himself to forgive. Because, well, why would he?