(Note: An expansion on a story posted in response to this prompt)
"Jimmy is an alien!" Tom shouted so that the entire class could hear.
He always did this when the teacher stepped out. He would claim that Jimmy was a werewolf or a pod person, or that he was infected with the zombie virus. The other kids would laugh at him, and Tom would laugh with them.
Jimmy never knew how to respond to Tom's taunting. And, try as he might to avoid it, he found himself bursting into tears and burying his head in his arms on his desk.
Jimmy's parents had shown some concern when, one day the previous year, another bully had pushed Jimmy down into the mud. Brian Wilkies, Jimmy remembered. Jimmy had come home dripping wet and crying, and it had taken them an hour to get the entire story out of him. His parents had responded quickly, calling the school principal, and the principal had called Brian's parents, who ultimately decided to move Brian to a private school. Jimmy never even saw Brian again after that.
But while it was a relief to not have Brian shoving him all the time, Tom had in some ways come to be even worse. Where Brian was a sadistic brute, Tom was a schemer and manipulator. He had taken every opportunity to belittle Jimmy, and in doing so had become the most popular kid in class. But he was always sure to do so out of sight of an adult, and even made sure to be extra-nice to Jimmy on a few occasions... but only when the grown-ups were watching. When Jimmy complained, the adults acted like Jimmy was throwing a tantrum, lying so that they would remove from class another student he didn't like.
And so it was that Tom had the entire class laughing at Jimmy, and Jimmy couldn't do anything about it. Jimmy just wanted to go away, go somewhere and hide, where no one could see him or bother him or treat him mean. But Jimmy's parents had been adamant that Jimmy needed to stay in school, and home-schooling wasn't an option - school, they told him, was about more than just learning, it was about learning to get along with other people, even people you don't like. They didn't seem to understand that he didn't like Tom because Tom was constantly picking on him.
Tom, thriving on the laughter of the other students, climbed up on a table and started doing an impression of Jimmy.
"Duhhh, I'm Jimmy and I'm stupid!" Tom declared in a low voice, "I like to eat boogers, and I live in a swamp!"
Weeks earlier, when Tom had first started his campaign of bullying, Jimmy had tried shouting him down, tried refuting these absurd accusations, and had even tried making similar accusations at Tom. None of it worked. Tom would just laugh and say, "bleep bloop bleep! I'm Jimmy and I'm a dumb vampire robot, and I Tom is smart and tells everyone what I don't want them to know!", and the class would laugh even louder than before. All Jimmy could do is bury his head deeper into his arms and hope that he had managed to muffle the sounds of his crying.
Suddenly, the teacher burst into the room, and Tom froze with his arms above his head, in the middle of his Jimmy the Zombie impression. She took one look at Tom, turned to see Jimmy trying to hide his crying, and then back to Tom, and her eyes widened.
"Thomas Hewitt! Get down from there right now!" she snapped.
Wordless, and startled at having been finally caught, Tom did as he was told.
"Get out here in the hallway right this instant!" the teacher shouted shrilly, and Tom walked slowly out, like a death row inmate on his way to the chair. When he got there, the teacher grabbed him by the shoulder and guided him outside the room, while staying in the door. After instructing him to stay put, she turned back to the class.
"I am going to step out for another minute," she told them, "but I will be right outside the class. You are all to remain in your seats, and you will look straight forward, and not say a single word. If I hear a peep out of this class, everyone will be staying after class today. And if anyone wants to try and be funny, they will be sent immediately to the principal's office, and their parents will be notified. Am I understood?"
The entire class, afraid to make a sound, responded with scared looks and small nods in agreement. Satisfied that her point had been made and that the class would be obedient, the teacher stepped outside and closed the classroom door.
The students couldn't make out any of what was being said, but they could make out the teacher's shrill voice, as well as Tom crying. No one wanted to make a sound or even breathe, because it was perfectly clear how serious she was, and no one wanted to be responsible for getting the entire class in trouble.
After a minute, the door opened again, and the teacher ushered Tom back into the room. However, rather than returning to his seat, Tom went to the front of the classroom with the teacher, and stood there embarrassed and frightened.
"Thomas has something he would like to say," the teacher told the class, "What is it, Thomas?"
"Um..." Tom shuffled his feet and looked down at the ground, "I... I wanna' say... I'm sorry. I was being mean to Jimmy, and I shouldn't have. What I did was wrong, and I'll never do it again."
Jimmy watched this with a healthy dose of skepticism. He was afraid to let himself believe it. Tom would apologize, look appropriately contrite in front of the teacher, and then just go back to terrorizing him again when the teacher wasn't looking. Surely, after being caught like this, Tom would blame him for this moment of temporary embarrassment, and take it out on him when he was more vulnerable and without anyone to protect him.
Jimmy even knew when it would be - on the walk home after school. Jimmy and Tom both lived on the same street, so the walk home from school made it difficult for Jimmy to avoid Tom. Jimmy began to fill with dread, thinking about what Tom would do.
The rest of the day went by without incident, though Jimmy couldn't focus on the class. Jimmy considered stalling, waiting until Tom left for home ahead of him, but Jimmy's parents had made it clear after the incident with Brian Wilkies that Jimmy was to go directly home after class and not dawdle, so instead he resolved to get out of the classroom and back home as quickly as possible.
However, Jimmy only made it a few blocks when he heard the sound of hurried footsteps behind him. Jimmy tried to ignore them, and quicken his pace, but he heard Tom shouting, "Hey, Jimmy! Wait up!"
Jimmy sighed and stood in place, trying to steel himself for what was about to happen as Tom caught up to him.
"Hey, Jimmy," Tom said, "again, sorry about earlier. Uh... you're okay, right?"
Jimmy almost felt like letting out a bitter laugh. Tom had done this act before, feigning friendliness only to make fun of him again once his guard was down. Jimmy wanted to call Tom out on this, point out how he wouldn't fall for the same trick again. However, he decided the best thing to do right now would be respond with silence, not give Tom anything to work with.
"Hey, seriously, I'm sorry," Tom said, as if repeating it would make Jimmy believe it, "look, do you want my cookie?"
Jimmy looked up to see Tom offering a cookie. No doubt it would have something disgusting done to it. Jimmy shook his head, he wouldn't trust this.
Tom, seeming to realize Jimmy's line of thought, broke the cookie in two. "Here," he said, "I'll eat whichever half you point to, and you can have the other half, okay? I just want to talk."
Jimmy stared at the two cookie halves in Tom's hands, trying to see what Tom could be up to, but curiosity and his sweet tooth won out, and Jimmy pointed to one half, and Tom handed it to him. Then, before Jimmy said anything, Tom took a big bite out of his own half.
"There, see? It's good!" Tom said, his mouth still full.
Jimmy looked over the cookie from every angle. It didn't look like anything had been done to it. Carefully, he took the smallest of bites. Seeing this, Tom smiled. But it wasn't the sadistic smile of a bully whose trick had succeeded. It was the smile of relief.
"See?" Tom said, "I told you."
Jimmy was still afraid of what was going on here. He remembered Brian. He watched Tom like a hawk.
"We're friends now, okay?" Tom smiled, "I'm not gonna' make fun of you any more."
Jimmy could offer no reply other than a blank stare.
"So... look," Jimmy shuffled his feet again, like he did earlier, "Earlier today, teacher said I should be nice to you. She told me I didn't want to end up like Brian. I know he was mean to you before, and I want you to know, I'm not like that. Not really."
Jimmy wrinkled his nose, "What do you mean? End up like Brian how? Your parents going to move you to a new school too?"
Tom tilted his head slightly to the side, confused, "New school? What new school?"
Jimmy rolled his eyes, "You said you don't want to end up like Brian. What do you care if your parents put you in a new school?"
Tom thought about this for a moment, still confused. Finally, slowly, he said, "Brian never went to a new school."
"Huh?" Jimmy said.
"Brian never came home," Tom said carefully, "You were the last one to see him. I was wondering... what did you do to him?"
"Please sit down, Miss Stein," the man said.
The woman silently nodded and took her seat. She noted the chair was heavily cushioned, comfortable... but sterile. How fitting.
"Thank you. So why you here, Miss Stein?" the man wore a tasteless sweater vest, and his smile seemed intended to be friendly and reassuring, but Francine couldn't help but feel like it was forced, that she was being "handled". She wouldn't put it past the Organization. After all, that was essentially her job, wasn't it?
"I'm sure you know why I'm here," she said, "but for the sake of answering your question, the... operation... has placed considerable stress and social pressures on me, and I imagine the Organization wants to make sure I won't crack under pressure."
"How would you define 'cracking', Miss Stein?"
"Well," Francine thought for a moment, "I suppose if I were to let the truth out to an unaware party or break with protocol, that would be an example of cracking.
"I see," the man nodded, "and do you think that's possible?"
"That I'll crack?" Francine asked, "No, I don't think that's likely. I'm not crazy, I'm not looking to throw away my job, and I'm certainly not suicidal."
"That's good," the man smiled, "so you aren't having any sort of problems, then? You're handling the stresses of your position well?"
"I wouldn't say I'm not having any problems," Francine said, her tone getting a little tense, "The position the Operation is placing me in is... well, it's beyond stressful. No one should ever have to put up with the bullshit I've been putting up with. It's fucked up, and I want to know when it will be over."
"The directors don't give me access to-"
"Yes, I know!" Francine snapped, "No one ever tells me anything, why the hell would they tell you?"
"I'm sensing some anger..." the man looked at her over those horn-rimmed glasses he wore.
"Damn right you're sensing anger!" Francine shouted, "you have no idea what it's like for me to have to do the kind of shit I'm expected to do every day. Every day!"
"Well, why don't you tell me?"
"You know damn well the shit I have to do!" she pointed an accusatory finger at the man, "I have to spend every goddamn day with a monster. A fucking homocidal maniac disguised as a child. I have to sit across the table from it and talk to it and lie to it, knowing that if I slip up, it could go on a goddamn rampage and destroy the planet, and I'll be the first fucking casualty. So I think I'm entitled to some frustration here."
"You're not the only one who has to keep up the facade here," the man said, calmly, "Others are taking the same risks you are. Children, even. What's being asked of you isn't so extraordinary by comparison."
"The hell it's not!" she shouted, "Those other people aren't being made to sleep in the same house as that thing. They're not being made to act like they love it. They're not being made to act normal when it tells me... when it tells me with that fucking child's face it has, that... that it loves me..."
Francine visibly shuddered, and the man frowned.
"I can see how that could be difficult," he said, "but someone needed to do it, and you volunteered."
"I know I volunteered, goddamn it!" Francine hissed, "but no one prepared me for this! The other day, I found myself forgetting about what it was, about what it did. I found myself actually caring about it!"
The man had been writing in his notebook, but suddenly stopped, frozen. He tensed his muscles to try and hide his alarm, "You don't actually... love it, do you?"
"No... no," she shook her head, "there's no way. I haven't forgotten what it did, what happened to that poor Sandoval kid. There's no way I could love something that does that to a poor, innocent child."
"Well, to be fair, you say 'innocent', but..." the man began.
"I know!" Francine snapped, "but no child deserves that sort of death."
"Not even little Jimmy?" the man asked.
"That is not a child!" Francine said through grinding teeth.
"Very good," the man said, and tore off a piece of paper from his notepad, "here is a prescription for some medication that should help calm your nerves. Don't take more than two a day, understood?"
"Great, but how much longer am I gonna' have to do this?"
"I told you, I can't-"
"And I can't do this forever, so you need to talk with the folks on top and find out when we can finally turn this piece of shit into a grease stain, or push it off onto some other poor sap, because I'm getting sick of this shit."
"I'll..." the man paused, "um... let them know."
Jimmy was running. He knew he shouldn't have trusted this sudden kindness from Tom. Of course, Tom was just trying to get him to lower his guard, and now his plan was all too clear. He wanted to get back at Jimmy by spreading mean stories about him.
Tom hadn't been following. Apparently, it was enough for him that Jimmy knew what he was doing. No doubt the next day at school, all the kids would believe him, believe that Jimmy had done something to Brian. Then everyone would hate him.
Jimmy ran into the house, without stopping went up into his room, and buried his head under his pillow and cried. After what could have been five minutes or three hours, he heard his mother walk into the room.
"What's wrong, honey?" she asked carefully.
"Go away!" Jimmy shouted from under his pillow.
"Oh... okay," his mother answered softly back, "I'm gonna' go get dinner started. If you want to talk, I'll be downstairs."
And then, she left him alone again, and he went back to crying. Eventually, though, exhaustion and hunger won out, and Jimmy somberly marched downstairs. Upon entering the kitchen, his mother noticed him and, without a word, handed him a tissue.
"There now," she said, kindly, "want to tell me what's wrong?"
"It's Tom!" Jimmy said, his voice cracking, "He's picking on me!"
"I know," his mother reassured him, "your teacher told me all about it. She also said she had a word with him and it's all been taken care of, so you don't need to worry about him anymore."
"Nuh-uh!" Jimmy shook his head fiercely, "that's just what he wanted her to think! After school, he... he... he tried to pretend to be my friend. And then, he started making up stories about me!"
"He..." Jimmy's mother looked shocked, "After school? Did you see... um... Do you know where... you know what, Jimmy? I think I'm gonna' make a phone call and have a word with Tom's parents. Uhh..."
Jimmy's mother looked quickly around the kitchen, before spotting a jar of candy kept above the refrigerator, reaching in, and grabbing a large handful of candy.
"Here," she said as she pressed the candy into Jimmy's hands, "Go up to your room and play some videogames while I call. And... uh... I'll let you know when dinner's ready. Okay, honey?"
"Um... okay, mom," Jimmy said, confused, and turned to head to his room.
"Oh, and Jimmy?" he heard his mother say, and turned to look back to her, and she continued, "I love you, honey."
(Might write more later if people want)
Submitted May 06, 2016 at 03:26AM by CaspianX2 http://ift.tt/1Tqh8Hn WritingPrompts
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