Divine Punishment - 1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Just imagine for a second you’re a high-school student in your typical mid-sized American high, in your typical mid-sized American city.

So, having walked through those typical double doors, you now find yourself walking down the corridor before classes start in the afternoon, just after lunch, making your way through the teaming masses of typical students heading for their classes and otherwise preoccupied with the latest gossip.

Hey, what’s that to your left? Why, that’s the typical gang of potheads, staring dumbly at the ceiling lights, akin to moths before their final plunge into the flame. Word to the wise – don’t always listen to the “walk into the light” crap. Sometimes, the light source could be a Peterbilt’s headlights.

Okay, moving on. Look, there’s the typical nerd brigade. Chess club, by the looks of it. The President just bent down for a drink at the water fountain and his glasses slipped off his nose. Aww, isn’t his blush just adorable? But hey, it’s cool, the rest of the club, as nerdy as it is, is there for him. Ah, companionship. A dream for the common man…

Aaaand, moving along…The boob squad. The typical cheerleaders. Like…totally! You know, I hate stereotypes, but let’s face it, there’s a reason they exist in the first place. And when it comes to the world of high-school, well, teens just act their respective parts and, more often than not, fall into certain stereotypes. Or get pushed into them by their peers. Hey, if life’s not fair, then high-school is just one sick joke played by the man(or woman or multi-tentacled creature) above. Stereotypes are a way of life. Hence…the typical ditzy cheerleaders.

And, as is often the case in the wild, where a pack of gentle gazelles(our dear cheerleaders in this analogy, stay with me!) is grazing, a pack of lions lies in waiting, ready to pounce on their unsuspecting pray. Enter the jock brigade. You know ‘em, you love ‘em, you can’t live without ‘em. Okay, those last two are optional. Swimmers, runners, wrestlers, basketball players and, of course, on the top of the totem pole, football players. Forget about the fact that most of them are just a product of their fathers desperately trying to relive their glory days through them and that, for the large majority, their dream of NFL glory will crash and burn as soon as their sweetheart places their lovechild in their arms after graduation. For those few years when they are adored by the lower life forms, they are Gods.

And even the Gods need a king. In this typical high-school, his name is Terrence Williamson III, Terry for his friends and worshippers. 6’3”, toned, tanned, blond, pale blue eyes that shine silver in the right light, cute button nose, ears that are just a bit too small for his head, but oh so adorable because EVERYTHING is adorable about him(by law or something), full red lips and square jaw. Friggin Captain America. Yes…he’s an asshole.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, Terrence isn’t dumb, even with all the brain cell-destroying alcohol he keeps guzzling down at parties. Come to think of it, why the hell doesn’t he have a beer belly? There’s just no justice in the world, I tell ya! Anyway, the guy has a pretty good GPA, but I suppose one might call him lazy when it comes to school work. He prefers to apply himself to other activities. Like his girlfriend, the boob squad captain, Natalie Gianni. Rumor has it he applies himself to her at least three times a night whenever they get together without parental supervision. Color me impressed. The bastard…

Okay, so that’s Terry for ya, rich, handsome, smart and a total jerk. Why is he a jerk? Well, if you peer closely, you might see him pulling his fist back in order to knock some poor, defenseless loser all the way into next week. The poor guy in question is named Hudson Xander Pryce. Poor thing…Aside from an unfortunate name, he’s also short. 5’6”, in fact. And skinny like a twig. His hazel eyes are hidden behind a pair of thick horn-rimmed glasses. He has a nice silver-colored wire-rimmed pair at home. They’re slick and fashionable and he can’t wear them because they’d get busted up whenever Hudson would walk straight into Terry’s fists. He also has shiny, shoulder-length dark hair, which only serves to further highlight his pale complexion. A thin long nose and thin lips complete the image. All in all, not entirely bad-looking, or so he’s been told by those close to him(his mom), but he’s not someone you’d spare a second glance.

To top it all off, he also spent a few weeks in Hightower Institute a few years back. That’s the local loony bin. So, he’s crazy as well. Not the “you don’t mess with him, cause he’s crazy like a motherfucker” type, but more like the “he’s depressed and might cut himself” type of crazy. Though, you never know with introverts. He may just shoot up the place one day. It’s always the quiet ones, you know? He he he…Nervous laughter here!

Oh, right, did I forget to mention that the unfortunate soul is me? Yep, I’m Hudson. God, I cringe every time I hear that name, even when it’s inside my own damn head. Not that Xander’s much better. Short form of Alexander, which apparently means “man’s defender”. Yes, that’s me, a friggin hero. Oh, Terry’s fist is coming closer. How exciting! Still, when I was in grade school, girls liked my name. They found it…exotic. I’m rolling my eyes here. You have to picture it really well, cause they’re nearly popping out of my head. Still, it was a boost to my ego. Too bad I’m not interested in girls. And I’m sure the feeling is now mutual anyway. Yes, I’m gay. Wanna make something out of it? Because if you do, you have to stand in line, behind Terry.

Not that he knows I’m gay, it’s just that he always likes to be the first to pummel me into non-existence. I really don’t understand why, to be honest. And before you start with the “Oh, he secretly likes you and he doesn’t know how to deal with his feelings and his self-hatred or his potential homosexuality”, that’s bullshit. The guy’ straight. End of story. Whatever the reason, love isn’t it. I don’t know, maybe it’s his asshole gene and I’m an easy target.

Wham! Right in the gut. Well, better than the face, I always say. And the floor is far softer than I remembered it to be. Then again, I only dropped to my knees this time. Terry’s in a good mood, most likely.

“You’re lucky my party’s tonight, bitch. I’m in a forgiving mood.” He said. Right, the big party. He’s turning 16. Can you believe that I’m actually older than him by a few weeks? So, a whole weekend of partying, including drunken sex and potential unplanned pregnancies. Hey, for all I know, it’s gonna be a giant orgy. And on Monday he’s going to be driving his new car. New Camaro. Figures. See, that’s why it’s so easy to accept stereotypes. Because some people just choose to reinforce them. Why can’t the big bad jock drive a Prius? Gas-consuming, Earth-polluting asshole.

“You got your fingerprints on my letterman jacket. Now I’m gonna have to have it dry-cleaned. I should hand you the bill once I’m done.” Through the tears in my eyes, I can see that evil smirk on his face. “In fact, I think I’ll do just that.” The fucker turns around and leaves, laughing, his loyal dogs following at his heels. Did I mention how much I hate him? I mean, all I did this time was turn a corner and there he was. I gently bumped into him, my hands outstretched, trying to avoid slamming entirely into him. THAT would have been a capital offense.

Okay, enough self-pity and hatred aimed at Terry. There’s enough time for that during my voodoo ritual later tonight. Just kidding…I don’t yet have his hair. Oh, who am I kidding? I’m such a coward, even if I did have dark magical powers, I still wouldn’t do anything with ‘em. Now, it’s time to pick myself up the floor and head for my last class of the day.

I enjoy English Lit. I mean, reading is an important activity for a loner such as myself, so…you know, it’s a perfect fit. It’s also the one class I have in common with my best friend. Well, pretty much only friend. Sharon. If I were straight and she were cute, we’d definitely be going steady. As it is, we’re 0 for 2. I don’t want to sound mean, but Sharon…Well, Sharon is someone who seems destined to be named Olga, Helga or Conan the Destroyer. She’s massive. I know calling a girl “massive” is insensitive and all, but…Goddamn! She’s over 6 feet tall and must weigh around 200 lbs. Not that I’d ever actually ask her about her weight. You just don’t do that with a girl, especially when the girl in question can snap you in two. See, it’s not all fat. She has serious muscle mass. Her father was a pro athlete. Track and field. Actually, just field. Mostly the shot put. So, they actually exercise together. Lifting Volkswagens or something. And her mom must’ve been a Valkyrie or something. I don’t really know much about her except that she’s from Denmark and is now a stay-at-home mom. And possibly a superhero by night. She’s almost as big as Sharon’s dad and definitely bigger than her baby girl.

The Fergusons, they are. And a great family at that. Sharon gets her fair skin, blue eyes and blond hair from her mom. Unfortunately, everything else is her dad. A broad forehead, a stubby nose and flat face, to go along with a pair of big ears. Miss America, she ain’t.

Now, I know I sound like a jerk talking about her like that, but she knows what she looks like and she doesn’t mind. In fact, that’s the reason I love her so much. She’s the kindest person you’re ever likely to meet. Underneath her intimidating exterior, she has a heart of gold. The only way I’d love her more would be if she kicked Terry’s ass. Which I suggested on numerous occasions. But, while I think she could do it, she’s totally against violence. She stopped Terry a few times when she was around, but she always tries to avoid violence when possible. And violence seems to follow me, thanks to that big lump, Terry, so, outside of lunch and English, Sharon and I don’t really spend time together in school. But we’re always at each other’s houses after school.

She thought I might like her in a romantic way about a year ago. God, she looked so hopeful when she asked me if I did. I was afraid of telling her the truth. With an athlete for a dad, maybe she wouldn’t be too gay-friendly. And, aside from that, I was afraid I’d break her heart if I said no. What was I to do? String her along? Even if she were the most beautiful girl in the world, I couldn’t do that. And telling her no, without giving a reason would have made her think it’s because of her appearance. So, I told her the truth. Right then and there, I thought I would be murdered. She narrowed her eyes and stared at me for a good two minutes, not once blinking, her fists balled up tightly, her knuckles going white. I was pretty close to fainting and losing control of my bowels and bladder. Then, she broke into a huge grin and hugged me. “Just kidding!” she said to me. Just kidding. I must have lost ten years of my life, I was so scared. But she was more than supportive. Naturally, we spent the rest of the day talking about hot guys from school.

Since I’m still in the closet except for her, I actually considered using her as a beard. She even said she’d be okay with it, but I just couldn’t go along with it. I would be using her, and she’s too nice a person for that. So, we’re official friends and nothing more. Though I’m sure both her parents and my mom think there’s more to it than that. Of course, my little sister, Fern(yes, my mom with the name again) is the worst one of all. We don’t exactly have the greatest sibling relationship, so she’s always more than happy to point out the fact that I’m dating Xena’s big sister, all the while laughing at my diminutive stature(she’s barely 5 feet tall herself, at 15) and inability to attract a better example of feminine beauty as a mate. Yes, she actually said that to me. Eh, let her think what she wants. God knows what she’d say if she knew I’m gay.

Anyway, where was I? I always get side-tracked like this. Oh, right…English Lit. I made my way to the class and sat next to Sharon just as the bell rang. She looked worriedly at me. I was rubbing my stomach, which was either a sign of hunger or a fist print. Truth be told, it was both. I’d missed lunch because I was behind in a project, so I spent my free hour in the library. And since the old witch in charge of the place doesn’t allow food and watches us like a hawk, well…let’s just say I was hungry.

“What happened?” she asked in a whisper.

“The usual. Doesn’t matter.”

She sighed and said nothing to me for the rest of the period. When class was over, we both waited for the other students to exit, then we picked up our stuff and walked out together.

“Terry, huh?”

“As always.”

“You know, maybe he secretly likes you…”

“Oh, for the love of God!” I groaned. “The guy’s just an asshole.” Then I found myself falling towards the floor. I’d been pushed from behind. I didn’t even need to look back to know who it was. “Hi, Terry.”

“Just who were you talking about, dipshit?”

I picked myself up the floor, dusted off my clothes, dragging out the moment as long as possible. What can I say, I like to be dramatic sometimes. “Just an asshole, Terry. Were your ears ringing or something? Do you feel you’re the only asshole around?” Yes, I was in a suicidal mood.

This time, his fist connected with my left temple and I was down for the count. Well, dazed, but not totally unconscious. I was able to make out Sharon’s form slamming Terry into the locker and then I heard a teacher yelling at us. I recognized his voice and groaned. Coach Willis. Can anyone guess what came next?

“Pryce, Ferguson, detention!”

“But, sir…” Sharon began.

“Save it. You both see me after your last class.” Terry was grinning evilly. “Williamson, get to class.” Ain’t life grand?

Dejected, Sharon and I went to our respective classes, then reported to the gym, where we were promptly assigned the glamorous duty of scrubbing the bleachers. Let me tell you, an hour of that really gives you a new appreciation for janitors, the unsung heroes of the world.

Sharon and I live about a block from each other, about 15 minutes away from school so, as is the case most days, we walked home together. Like I said, I’m 16, but I have no car. My mom seems to think I’ll get drunk, get a girl pregnant in the backseat and then drive off the road. My mom is…err, special. I guess one could say she’s not really in touch with reality, but then again, she’s an art teacher at the local college. People expect her to be a bit…out there, right? Well, she certainly doesn’t disappoint. Recently, she’s been considering changing her name. Mary is all fine and dandy for the normal people of the world, but for a free sprit such as herself, it’s like a dark cloud hanging over her head. I’ve been afraid to ask her what name she thinks best suits her.

So, Sharon and I were walking in oppressive silence. Detention for being attacked. It’s enough to make a teenager lose faith in the justice system, it is!

“I hate that bastard.” I said.

“Coach or Terry?”

“Well, both now, I guess, but Terry’s the one I want dead.”

Sharon chuckled. “That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it? He’s an asshole, sure, but come on, this is high-school. You’re a great student. You’ll go on to have a successful career as a lawyer or something and forget all about being bullied by some stupid high-school jock, while Terry…”

“While he what? Inherits his dad’s multi-million company? Becomes a rich bastard that pushes people around without actually having to work for his fortune? Yes, that sounds wonderful. I’ll show him! HAHA!” I finished bitterly.

“Well, when you put it that way…”

“I’d like to strangle him. Look into his eyes as they’re drained of life!”

“Whoa! Easy there, Xander.” She rarely calls me by my first name. Bless her heart. “Don’t go on any murdering rampages just yet.”

“Oh, relax, I’m not crazy.” I said, cackling like a mad man. “But a guy can dream, right?”

“Mmm. Sounds more like a nightmare.”

“How ‘bout stabbing? Bleeding to death?” I asked, smiling broadly. Sharon stopped walking and looked into my eyes. She must’ve seen a sparkle there that disturbed her.

“Dude, you’re enjoying thinking about this a little too much.”

“Drowning. Yes, that’s what I’d like. I hear it’s not pleasant.”

“XANDER! That’s enough. It’s not funny, okay?” Sharon said, scowling. I raised my hands, palms out, in a gesture of surrender.

“Okay. Sorry. Just got a little carried away.” We started walking again. “But, don’t you ever think about something like that? You know, seeing your enemies suffer?”

“I don’t really have any enemies. I try to get along with everyone and I don’t like violence, you know that, so I’d never consider revenge, even if someone picked on me, which they don’t.”

“Well, of course they don’t. Look at you!” Insert foot in mouth. I cringed as those words left my mouth. Sharon might be okay with the way she looks, but the tone of my voice really made it clear I meant it as an insult. Sharon stopped and looked sadly at me. “Sharon, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. You have to believe me.”

Sharon sighed and shook her head. “Whatever, Xander. I guess I can understand. I mean, I’m pissed about the detention myself, but there’s no need to be a jackass to your best friend, you know?”

Hanging my head in shame, I murmured a “Yes” and apologized again.

“Okay, we’ll talk tonight. Unless my parents decide to ground me and take away phone privileges for getting detention.” She said, as we reached her house.

“It was my fault, Sharon. If they say anything, have them call me and I’ll sort it all out. You shouldn’t be punished because of me.”

“No, it wasn’t your fault, it was Terry’s. One shouldn’t be punished for being bullied and certainly not for sticking up for one’s friend. Don’t worry, Xander.” She smiled and pulled me into a hug. I watched her walk into her house, waving as she closed the door, then continued walking up to my house.

Mom’s car was parked in the driveway. Well, one of the tires was on the lawn. And yet she’s worried about MY driving skills.

I went straight for the kitchen, my rumbling stomach reminding me of the missed lunch. It was almost 4 o’clock now, thanks to the detention, so I was ready to devour anything in sight. I’m a growing teenage boy, after all. At least, I hope I’m growing. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life at 5’6”, for God’s sake!

Just as I was reaching for some leftover lasagna, I heard a distinctive cough from behind me. You know the one. The “pay attention to me, I’m here!” cough. I turned around and looked at my mom. She’s actually shorter than me, if you can believe it. My dad wasn’t much taller either. Yeah, I guess I should just give up on my whole “grow taller” dream, but I guess I’m still in the denial phase.

People say I’m a spitting image of my mother and I suppose they’re right. The same skin tone, the same hair, though she keeps it longer, just below her shoulder blades, the same long lashes, thin nose and pale lips. The eyes are the only difference. Hers are a fantastic green. I’m quite jealous of her eyes, to be honest. Maybe someday I’ll get contacts. I hate my glasses anyway.

Her hands on her hips, she raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Umm…getting something to eat?”

“I think not.”

I stared at her, then down at the pot in my hands. “But…I’m hungry.”

“Good, then it should be a suitable punishment.”

“What?”

“Nothing to eat for you today, I think, including dinner.”

“But why?” I cried in shock. Depriving a teenager of food if simply horrific, doesn’t she know that? Isn’t there something about that written down in the Geneva Convention?

“You got detention today. I told you many times to not pick on other kids.”

I stared dumbly at her. Yep, I told you she’s not all there. She actually believes I’m capable of picking on others. Not from a psychological point of view, but physically. I mean, has she ever looked at me? How in the hell could I pick on someone? I’d get my ass handed to me by a 6th grader! But what’s the use in arguing? I just placed the lasagna on the table and walked upstairs in silence, passing my sister on the way. Oh, the evil smirk on her face made me want to vomit. I know siblings are supposed to fight once in a while, it’s only nature, but why on Earth would she enjoy seeing my discomfort? Considering it was just the two of us and mom, since dad died, 4 years ago, you’d expect we’d be close, support one another. God knows I wish I could confide in her. Having Sharon is great and all, but I wish I could just talk to my sister about some things. I have no idea how either her or my mom would react if I came out. If my sister and I were closer, I could trust her enough to tell her and together we might be able to gauge my mother’s reaction. I’m not really worried, since she is generally free-spirited, but give me a break. Being insecure and scared is a requirement for gay teens.

When I got to my room, I shed my clothes, changed into a pair of running shorts and a tank top and crawled on top of my bed, settling in with a book, since I was in no mood for TV. Watching TV or movies always makes me hungry. I at least need some chips or something, so I definitely needed to avoid any TV-watching activity, for fear that my hunger would only grow in intensity.

I got so caught up in my book that, by the time I looked at my alarm clock, when my cell rang, it was 7:30. It was Sharon, of course. Sometimes, I get calls from people in my classes, asking for help with homework, but Sharon is the only one who calls me on a regular basis, and just to chat. And so we did. I told her about my punishment and, naturally, she laughed. “Oh, give me a break, Xander. So no dinner tonight, big deal. You’re not being tortured or anything.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t have lunch today either, so I haven’t eaten in 12 hours. It’ll be 24 hours by the time I next get something in my mouth…”

“That sounds kinky, you dirty boy.”

I blushed and I’m sure she realized what my reaction must have been, because she laughed even harder. I decided to be the mature one and told her to stuff it, then I hang up, to the sound of her continuing laughter. I knew I was being a petulant brat, but come on…NO DINNER!

I decided that going to bed early would be a good decision. It’s not like I had anywhere to be, despite the fact that it was Friday evening. So, I got a shower, stripped naked, got into bed and tried to go to sleep. My rumbling stomach kept me awake though, so I tried to focus my mind on other things. Well, what kind of things do teenage boys think about in bed? Or at the table? Or in school? Or walking down the street? It's called S-E-X. As the myriad of boys played through my mind, I felt myself go hard. Then Terry popped into my head, with his blue eyes and kissable lips. I almost screamed in frustration. What the fuck was Terry doing in my fantasies? Damn him! I was starving because of him! Damn him straight to hell, along with the damn dirty apes! I found myself planning his demise once again and thoughts of revenge filled my mind as I drifted off. “Yes, drowning…” I mumbled.

I opened up my eyes the next morning, when my sister banged on my door. She’s a morning person, and, as the resident bitch, she thinks it’s her duty to stop me from sleeping in on the weekends. Even though I had slept far longer than I normally do, I still would have liked to stay in bed longer, especially since I knew mom wouldn’t be cooking breakfast until 8 AM and it was still only a quarter past 7. And after a day of no food, no way was I going to settle for cereal. Eggs and bacon, damn it! So, I yawned, stretched and turned on the TV as I got out of bed.

I was only half paying attention to the news as I rummaged through the closet for suitable clothes for the coming day.

“Trisha Johannsen is on the scene. Trisha?” the news anchor said.

“Thank you, Maria. I’m on the road next to Lake Yern and, as you can see, the car is being winched out of the water as we speak. We have no official confirmation, but apparently there was one victim. Sources say that the car is registered to Terrence Williamson III, son of local tycoon…”

My head whipped around and I stared wide-eyed at the TV. It actually happened. Just like I wanted it to. “I killed Terry.” I croaked. Then darkness. I’m pretty sure I passed out from manly hunger.