#patrickhocksetter

  I walked into the detention room late, not caring if I got griped at.

“Who are you young lady and why are you late?” the teacher asked flatly. 

“Not here.” I said in an equally bitchy manner. she glared at me, “Name?”

“Susan Ripsom.” I bit out. “Sit on the back.” the teacher said sourly. “Yes Sir.” I said jokingly. I took the only open seat in the back next to a blonde with his head slumped down on a desk. I knew this blonde well, we lived near each other, we used to play together as kids. It was Henry Bowers, he acted like every little sound and the light bothered him. I figured he had a migraine so I slipped him some Ibuprofen on a note that said: you okay?

he sat up sometime later, he had a dazed look in his eyes, his pupils dilated slower than they should have, “What what are you looking at Ripsom?” he snapped and then it clicked.

“Henry, how many fingers am I holding up?” I asked trying to sound casual.

he looked as if he was having a hard time focusing on them. He turned his head and I saw the huge knot, it looked painful.

“How did you get a concussion?” I asked. he tried putting his head down again but I stopped him, “Uh uh, sleeping isn’t good with your condition.” I stated as we were dismissed and I led him to the cafeteria, Martha was in the back as I expected.

“Mrs. Huggins, its me Susie, can you get me a bag of ice?” I asked as Henry tried to leave, I jerked his wrist hard.

“Sure thing baby, Henry what happened?” she asked.

SEND ME §, FOR MY MUSE’S REACTION TO YOURS SLOWLY SLIPPING A KNIFE INTO THEIR CHEST.

  His digit’s clench around the length of the blade, heaving in absent oxygen, the lingering aroma of smoke filling his shattered lungs, as a cancer stick falls from his clutch. He let’s out a moan of pain, bloodshot eyes straining to meet the other’s, blood seeping through his shirt, as the wound spreads, leaving a gaping hole in his chest. The muggy atmosphere from the sewers suffocates him with memories better left forgotten. He flinches as the knife yields further into his chest, the pain consuming him whole. It struck him numb, as his nerves are cut loose, and the feeling of floating lasts only seconds before the gut-wrenching pain kicks in. He yelps out in pain, similar to a child’s cry.  He try’s to pull the blade from his chest, but the other’s grip was too heavy, and he clenched his eye’s shut, awaiting death to smother him.

  He manages to utter a few last words before losing consciousness.