Week #23 - School
Title: Running Around the Rat Cage
Rating: PG
Pairings/Characters: B, Quarter Queen
Warnings: A wee bit of AUness regarding the death of B's father. Sorry about that.
Word Count: 1213
Beyond Birthday crouched on his tree branch, looking over the high fence into the yard where all the children were.
He had always rather liked climbing trees. One of his few memories of childhood Before L had been sitting up a tree, swinging his legs, the wind in his hair. He always did it barefoot, digging his toes into the bark, scrabbling up even the most impossible trees. All trees could be climbed if you knew enough. If you knew the right ways to do it. And B had always been able to do it.
He shook away the faint little memories of Before L. They were pointless. They didn’t mean anything any more. Now, his life was different. Things were important. He refocused his eyes on his target.
Quarter Queen
001
She had very blonde hair which made her fairly easy to spot. Silvery-rimmed glasses. Her skin was pasty. Most people thought that was just her hair. Of course, since destiny had picked for he to die at thirteen years old, perhaps that was why. No one who died at thirteen could be healthy, could they? If it weren’t for him, how else would she die? (car crash, any other sort of car accident. Accidents in the home, falling onto knives in the dishwasher, slipping on the wet floor, falling down the stairs or off a ladder, being pushed by a friend and falling badly, commiting suicide in a fit of adolescent pique. Humans were so fragile)
She wasn’t exactly unpopular. He could see her bounding around with three other girls, laughing and giggling. They seemed to be having fun. It was nice to see people having fun. Beyond Birthday often had fun. Except that for some reason, when he was having fun, other people often weren’t. Oh well. He could just watch them.
There was a boy talking to Quarter Queen now. He appeared to be asking her for something because she reached into her backpack and produced a book and held it out to him. He took it from her and nodded. Beyond Birthday wondered what sort of book it would be. A fiction? A textbook? Quarter Queen was a reader. He’d seen her room. He’d been in her room, padding secretively around it while she and her mother slept uneasily in their separate beds, covers pulled up, hiding themselves fruitlessly. She had a well-stacked bookshelf. Lots of brightly coloured well-worn paperbacks; Babysitters Club and Sweet Valley. He’d stolen one of the Sweet Valleys when he’d seen that he hadn’t read it. He liked the Sweet Valley books. They were fun. It was covered in jam now. Quarter Queen probably wouldn’t want it back.
He heard a distant bell ring and the children began to trudge inside with audible groans. Quarter Queen hastily grabbed her backpack and sprinted after her friends. Beyond Birthday watched her go, then began to gently scramble down the tree. There was no point staying any longer, she wouldn’t be out again for hours. And he didn’t want to stay around a school. He’d never enjoyed school. Before L, it had been awkward. People hadn’t liked him. He hadn’t liked them. Stupid little people with flickering numbers above their heads. He was different and they didn’t like that. Clever people had some form of cooties that they might catch and they didn’t want to so they kept away (as though learning could do them any harm, pathetic really, the way people feared something a little different because it was different, the way they stared and retreated and cowered from people who didn’t behave how they wanted them too. So irritating.)
It hadn’t helped matters with them when he’d informed his P.E teacher that the woman was going to die in a few days so there was no point her giving him a detention. Of course, she had died a few days later and everyone had shunned him even more. He’d been expelled from the school and that had been when his father had cut his wrists.
Lots of blood. It had made the carpet all sticky. Beyond Birthday had made footprints in it for a while but that was about all that he could remember of the experience. That and his father’s chalky face but that had come before the footprints. It was his last memory Before L.
Then, it was After L and his memory was much better of all over those experiences. But he hadn’t liked schooling in the orphanage either. A sitting there, biting his nails and pulling his nail - he was just full of nervous tics, which B found quite interesting really. More interesting than a lot of the work. All the words and formulas that required memorising. Very boring. Very pedestrian. B always wanted more. A always wanted less which was probably why he’d killed himself in the end. He’d hung himself, another way to die. B had watched him swing quite smugly when he’d found the body. Without A, B would become number 1 for sure. He liked that.
No, school wasn’t for him. He preferred the school of life, the “school of hard-knocks” as it was known. He’d learned a lot from L of course, but that was L. And he’d learned a lot out here. A lot from watching people. A lot from the way people behaved. School never bothered to teach you anything like that. It was silly really. Why teach people silly things like maths or geography that they could learn on their own with a little effort and not teach them what people meant when they said things in a certain tone of voice, or about their body language or about their eyes? No, school didn’t do things properly, it never had. It was just filled with lots of people running around like rats in a cage, squeaking and seeking out the cheese and getting lost. He didn’t need school. Life was a better teacher.
No doubt death was a good teacher too. People learned things about themselves when they were about to die. Or when other people watched them die. It was interesting. He wondered how many people L had seen die. How many people L had killed? (because he’d killed. Of course he had. Perhaps not as directly as B had, with the blood on his fingernails and under his nails - and how annoying it was when the blood was under his fingernails, washing was just so difficult there and he hated the feel of a scrubbing brush, it made a nasty noise and set his teeth on edge) He wished he knew. Did he and L know the same things because they’d seen death? He liked to think that. It was always good to think that he and L were alike.
Although, B was better.
And B would be better. Everyone would know it.
And no one would need years of boring school to see that.
He dropped out of the bottom of the tree and stretched on all fours, arching his back like a cat. Time to head back to his flat and get things sorted. He had an appointment with Quarter Queen tonight. She’d probably never been met by another boy. He wanted to look nice for her first time.
Rating: PG
Pairings/Characters: B, Quarter Queen
Warnings: A wee bit of AUness regarding the death of B's father. Sorry about that.
Word Count: 1213
Beyond Birthday crouched on his tree branch, looking over the high fence into the yard where all the children were.
He had always rather liked climbing trees. One of his few memories of childhood Before L had been sitting up a tree, swinging his legs, the wind in his hair. He always did it barefoot, digging his toes into the bark, scrabbling up even the most impossible trees. All trees could be climbed if you knew enough. If you knew the right ways to do it. And B had always been able to do it.
He shook away the faint little memories of Before L. They were pointless. They didn’t mean anything any more. Now, his life was different. Things were important. He refocused his eyes on his target.
Quarter Queen
001
She had very blonde hair which made her fairly easy to spot. Silvery-rimmed glasses. Her skin was pasty. Most people thought that was just her hair. Of course, since destiny had picked for he to die at thirteen years old, perhaps that was why. No one who died at thirteen could be healthy, could they? If it weren’t for him, how else would she die? (car crash, any other sort of car accident. Accidents in the home, falling onto knives in the dishwasher, slipping on the wet floor, falling down the stairs or off a ladder, being pushed by a friend and falling badly, commiting suicide in a fit of adolescent pique. Humans were so fragile)
She wasn’t exactly unpopular. He could see her bounding around with three other girls, laughing and giggling. They seemed to be having fun. It was nice to see people having fun. Beyond Birthday often had fun. Except that for some reason, when he was having fun, other people often weren’t. Oh well. He could just watch them.
There was a boy talking to Quarter Queen now. He appeared to be asking her for something because she reached into her backpack and produced a book and held it out to him. He took it from her and nodded. Beyond Birthday wondered what sort of book it would be. A fiction? A textbook? Quarter Queen was a reader. He’d seen her room. He’d been in her room, padding secretively around it while she and her mother slept uneasily in their separate beds, covers pulled up, hiding themselves fruitlessly. She had a well-stacked bookshelf. Lots of brightly coloured well-worn paperbacks; Babysitters Club and Sweet Valley. He’d stolen one of the Sweet Valleys when he’d seen that he hadn’t read it. He liked the Sweet Valley books. They were fun. It was covered in jam now. Quarter Queen probably wouldn’t want it back.
He heard a distant bell ring and the children began to trudge inside with audible groans. Quarter Queen hastily grabbed her backpack and sprinted after her friends. Beyond Birthday watched her go, then began to gently scramble down the tree. There was no point staying any longer, she wouldn’t be out again for hours. And he didn’t want to stay around a school. He’d never enjoyed school. Before L, it had been awkward. People hadn’t liked him. He hadn’t liked them. Stupid little people with flickering numbers above their heads. He was different and they didn’t like that. Clever people had some form of cooties that they might catch and they didn’t want to so they kept away (as though learning could do them any harm, pathetic really, the way people feared something a little different because it was different, the way they stared and retreated and cowered from people who didn’t behave how they wanted them too. So irritating.)
It hadn’t helped matters with them when he’d informed his P.E teacher that the woman was going to die in a few days so there was no point her giving him a detention. Of course, she had died a few days later and everyone had shunned him even more. He’d been expelled from the school and that had been when his father had cut his wrists.
Lots of blood. It had made the carpet all sticky. Beyond Birthday had made footprints in it for a while but that was about all that he could remember of the experience. That and his father’s chalky face but that had come before the footprints. It was his last memory Before L.
Then, it was After L and his memory was much better of all over those experiences. But he hadn’t liked schooling in the orphanage either. A sitting there, biting his nails and pulling his nail - he was just full of nervous tics, which B found quite interesting really. More interesting than a lot of the work. All the words and formulas that required memorising. Very boring. Very pedestrian. B always wanted more. A always wanted less which was probably why he’d killed himself in the end. He’d hung himself, another way to die. B had watched him swing quite smugly when he’d found the body. Without A, B would become number 1 for sure. He liked that.
No, school wasn’t for him. He preferred the school of life, the “school of hard-knocks” as it was known. He’d learned a lot from L of course, but that was L. And he’d learned a lot out here. A lot from watching people. A lot from the way people behaved. School never bothered to teach you anything like that. It was silly really. Why teach people silly things like maths or geography that they could learn on their own with a little effort and not teach them what people meant when they said things in a certain tone of voice, or about their body language or about their eyes? No, school didn’t do things properly, it never had. It was just filled with lots of people running around like rats in a cage, squeaking and seeking out the cheese and getting lost. He didn’t need school. Life was a better teacher.
No doubt death was a good teacher too. People learned things about themselves when they were about to die. Or when other people watched them die. It was interesting. He wondered how many people L had seen die. How many people L had killed? (because he’d killed. Of course he had. Perhaps not as directly as B had, with the blood on his fingernails and under his nails - and how annoying it was when the blood was under his fingernails, washing was just so difficult there and he hated the feel of a scrubbing brush, it made a nasty noise and set his teeth on edge) He wished he knew. Did he and L know the same things because they’d seen death? He liked to think that. It was always good to think that he and L were alike.
Although, B was better.
And B would be better. Everyone would know it.
And no one would need years of boring school to see that.
He dropped out of the bottom of the tree and stretched on all fours, arching his back like a cat. Time to head back to his flat and get things sorted. He had an appointment with Quarter Queen tonight. She’d probably never been met by another boy. He wanted to look nice for her first time.