Life.
He heard the helicopter for the fifth night on a row now. He pulled up the flight radar site. It was a police chopper. But why? He had asked a neighbour he could talk to, a middleaged woman living in the same house, a few apartments away. She said they were looking for fire as it had suddenly turned very hot and dry. The fear from last year's forest fires were forgotten by most, still the police was sent out now, just to have a look from above, at night, when they could easily see if anything was alit.
There had been no summer. Just rain and cold weather. Sometimes hail storms or wind. But nothing resembling a nice, Swedish summer. Now there was a heat wave. Not at all like last year's, but still. But when that happened, there were only a few days left of the summer holiday, then school would start. And now the dreadful night had come. The one that was always like a nightmare. "It cannot be true!" his mind shouted. He lay down in bed. No one was home. His mum had a late shift. He thought just as well as the laptop had overheated and shut down. He would use his smart phone instead, still connected but in bed. Tricking himself to go to sleep he did this most nights. It felt better not to be disconnected and alone. He did a little surfing and then it usually ended with him watching something interesting on Youtube and the device slowly fell from his hands and he fell into the darkness. Even if his table lamp was still on. It was always on.
Waking up to the alarm confused him. He had nowhere to go today. And then he remembered. School. 9th grade starting. Stefan almost stumbled down the old, slippery wooden spiral stair case straight into the kitchen. Food. He made Yerba Mate to drink. Made a sandwhich to eat on his way to school, white bread with margarine and liver paté between the slices. His school rucksack. It probably had what he needed. He threw yesterday's clothes on and walked off. Easiest that way. Waking mum by accident would be a bad idea. Stefan knew this.
As much as he hated school, he liked the walk to it. It took him 20 minutes and he was often asked why he did not bike there like the other kids. He didn't want to. He wanted to walk on the walk-only path at the side of the stream. He ate his sandwich. It was already hot. He chew a gum to freshen his mouth. He had this feeling something was different. His mind went back to last night when he was worried that the very loud helicopter would keep him up. It didn't. He sat down on a bench. A quick search on his phone gave him the facts. There had been no big fires at all, so why were they so worried? Surely people would call in if they saw something engulfed in flames. Were they looking for something else?
Stefan's mind easily put things together. He saw the connections more than anyone he knew. The way others appeared to him were that they just waited and let life happen to them and they acted surprised even if anyone with a brain would have known what would lead to what. But they didn't. That scared him a bit. Sometimes he found answers to questions in science, telling his teacher, who of course thought it was nice to have an interested pupil but dismissed him. It happened quite often that the same conclusions he had offered, had come from researchers and was now seen as being true. When he was younger he wondered how he could see into the future, but then realized people cannot piece things together, and he could.
It didn't take ESP or any real intelligence to understand what the first school day would be like. The school. The door to hell. He opened it and the noises of hell reached him at once. At once he entered what he called the mist, or sometimes the City of Mist, depending if anything was going on in there or not. The mist was his world and the "world" was flat and on a very big screen. Sometimes he fell out from the mist, Sometimes he had just not to be there, because of tasks inside the classroom or when he needed to protect himself more than usual. Today the mist was nice. Friendly. Like it missed him.
"Stefan!" he hears someone yell. OK, that is registered. It was Arvid, his nemesis. Keep walking. Through the corridor, up the stairs, to the door. Ten minutes left and he is safe inside. He is not alone. Arvid, Aziz and Gustaf, called Gugge are walking at some distance behind him. Faster than him. They will reach him soon. He doesn't reach the stairs. They all like violence, but Gugge likes it just for fun not thinking if it is a good time for it. For him it is always violence time. He sweeps Stefan's legs away from the floor, and Stefan falls on his bottoms. He tries to get up but Aziz puts a heavy foot on his chest. They say things. It doesn't matter what they say. They cannot be reasoned with. So Stefan only focuses on what they do, He is prepared to a blow to his face by Gugge but instead the leader Arvid steps in and says, "Take his shoes!"
His friend looks at him but obeys. They just rip them off, even if they are tied quite tightly. It hurts. Then the boys walk off, with his shoes. Gugge stops, runs back and kicks Stefan in his face. Not very hard, but it will leave a scratch mark surely. He should have gotten up faster. He crawls back up. Gugge has caught up with the other boys and they disappear up some other stairs. Stefan looks in the mirror in the lavatory. He washes his face. Then he goes to his first class in his socks. What else could he have done? His shoes were probably either destroyed by now or hidden somewhere he'd never find.
"Welcome back, all of you!" the teacher exclaims and smiles. Her skin is unnaturally dark. Did she tan that much in just a week or two, or was she abroad? She is full of energy and happiness. She seems to have totally forgotten what happened last semester and how she cried in the teachers' area, about her wicked pupils. She wants to start right away. Stefan fears she will ask them to write about the summer. What should he write about? How much he leveled up at his game? The books he read? Coffee with neighbour? Trying yoga? Cooking for his mum?
"I know you all had a most extraordinary summer! I want you to write about it. I will hand out writing papers." Especially the girls had already started talking about this which each other, before the task was given. They always talked. Their classroom was always quite noisy. Stefan sighed. Then he wrote a perfect essay about how he had visited his dad in London, helped clean at his pub where local bands played, what the British food was like, what few tourist attractions they had visited, how he had helped a week at the homeless shelter (just in case the teacher would have forgotten what a good kid he was), been to a big amusement park and visited a girl he met online, he managed to make her mysterious. That was enough. He put down the pencil and entered the mist fully. Just writing was in a way part of the mist, when it was populated. The teacher started to collect papers, the teacher on the TV screen as he was the only real and 3-dimensional person in the room.
My wrists ache from the cold.
I touch my throat, the bumpy scar still heals and burns. My nails scratch and a tiny scab bleeds. It reminds me of what I was told.
There were others of course, four. All had the same scar as me.
But now there is only me, the rest hidden under the bathroom floor.
There are nights where he does not speak. Only takes my feet and frees them. Some nights he tells me to leave, and I look.
I look but I cannot find the doors, the windows I cannot see them.
He laughs when I come back to him, brushes my hair and rubs my arms for warmth.
Sometimes I wonder.
What other girl would he choose I wonder, he pushes up against me and his cock finds my entrance but I'm not ready. He stops and pushes two fingers in. Would she have blond hair like mine? I move against him to make it faster. Would he take her as she walks back home from the store with the milk mother asked her to buy for supper? He takes his fingers and licks them, drags them across his lips and smears them against my mouth.
Would this new girl be braver? He spreads my legs farther and thrusts into me, I try not to move. Would she fight him? He pulls my hips towards him as he fucks me. His fingers dig into my skin and the bruises slow burn.
He leans over and take my nipple into his mouth and bites. The rusty sound is unbidden and leaves my lips without my permission. I can feel him smile against me. The stubble of his chin on my skin burns as he moves to my other breast and bites. It is my hips this time that move without permission.
He gets harder. I can feel the callouses on his hand and my lips taste the sweat of his skin. He kisses my throat in regret.
I get lost. I pretend he is the most popular boy from my middle school. With brown eyes and dirty blond hair and tanned skin. I pretend this boy loves me. I pretend it is him telling me how great I feel. I pretend it it is him I push my hips against and wrap my legs around. I pretend it is him telling me he loves me.
He thrusts once, twice and a last time and stops. When he pulls out I pretend it is that boys semen that spills from me, his hot semen that spills from me and down towards my ass.
I pretend it is him when he tells me to clean up and pulls me up so that I'm on top and he's beneath. I pretend that it is him that tells me kindly as he caresses my face to clean up the mess I've made.
I open my mouth and the boy disappears. I move my head back and forth like he's taught me, after forever he gets hard again and pulls my hair. My throat makes a rusty creak and he gets up. He makes me lie on the bed kneeling and he moves behind me.
I can feel the pain in my tummy start. He puts a finger inside where I'm still warm and wet and slides it up between the cheeks of my ass. I bury my head with my arms and close my eyes.
There's a noise that sounds old, like the car my dad once tried to fix before he left. Or like an old cat that just had its paw caught in a steel trap. I realize I'm screaming. But it doesn't sound like me. There's warm wetness from my throat and he shushes me and tells my what a good girl I am.
The sound doesn't stop. And I don't see anything but black.
He wakes me up and tells me what a good girl I am. He's crying. He tells me what I good I am. He asks me if I understand and I nod. He kisses me soft and slow and bites me slowly and stops. He gets up and leaves me cold. He tells me what a good and sweet girl I am. He promises that he won't forget me. I try to move but my throat hurts and my legs won't move like I tell them to. He sees and his mouth turns sad and he tells me what a good girl I am. I can feel something sharp poke my side and I move my head. I see one of the dead girls. He never told me their names but this one had a bow in her hair. The bone of her elbow digs into my side. I turn to look at him and he tells me he's sorry, he didn't mean it. He kisses me, rough and sloppy and kisses my neck. He smears blood on my cheek and kisses my forehead. He gets up again and climbs back up. He tells me he loves me and I believe him.
The lightbulb swings on a frayed cord above him as he puts the wooden planks back. He takes my light when he puts the carpet back on.
I only see black.
My tummy hurts.
It's dark.
I want water.
I'm cold.
I miss my mom and dad.
My tummy hurts.
I miss doing homework.
My tongue hurts.
He told me I was a good girl.
Dirt falls on me. I was almost asleep.
He came back. I think I'm crying
His voice changed.
He has friends.
The light hurts my eyes. There's a lady that tells me what a good girl I am and hugs me.
She says I'm safe.
She tells me what a good girl i am.