Atonement Read online

Atonement

  by

  James Bailey

  * * * * *

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Atonement

  Copyright 2012 by James Bailey

  [email protected]

  *****

  I sat on the bench across from my old school and stared at the buildings and pavement where my life had been transformed.

  It had been over a decade since I had last seen this place. A place where I had made a few friends and seemingly a far greater amount of enemies.

  As I thought back to those days I could not help but think of the constant teasing and harassment I had received, the pushing, shoving and physical taunts, but nothing compared to the psychological abuse I had endured. Countless nights I had cried myself to sleep and I had even contemplated suicide a number of times, going as far as purchasing the rope and tying the noose. I had that noose for a year under my bed, pulling it out on the worst nights and taking some comfort in the fact that I could end it all in just a few minutes.

  I never did though. I don't know if that made me brave or a coward.

  Thinking of that noose made me wonder what my mother had thought when she eventually discovered it under my bed. She had never brought it up after all those years of visits.

  A bell sounded from the school, it wasn't the sound I remembered but considering the time of day I realised it must be signalling lunch time for the children. I watched the school turn into a bustle of activity as students burst out of the classrooms, happy expressions on their faces as they joined their groups of friends and headed off to wherever it was they enjoyed their break.

  From a distance they all looked so happy, so innocent. I knew that wasn't the case though. I looked through the masses of students for the odd loner up the back, the fat one, the skinny runt, the nerd. They were always forgotten those kids that brought up the rear, in both the present and in memory.

  I did wonder to myself why I had chosen to come here after everything, after all this time. I guess I thought it a form of pilgrimage.

  I considered walking closer towards the school, retracing my old footsteps along the pave-stones and into the main foyer. After a moment I realised that it would be a bad idea though, my stomach had dropped with the thought, that old fear overcoming me.

  Another flashback came to me. Blood. Blood, on the ground of the lunch hall. Pooling underneath the bodies of my classmates. The cries and screams of the students deafened by the silence of those who no longer had a voice to cry with.

  Michael. I remember him in particular. I remember his eyes staring at me, pupils dilated as his life slipped away. Staring at me in shock and disbelief as he realised his existence was at an end so early.

  Every night I remembered that face. I guess it was because he was one of the boys who had tormented me the most during my school days, I don't remember the others that had died that day as well as I did Michael.

  I remember his parent’s interview in the newspapers after his death proclaiming what a good boy their son had been, a model student, loved by everybody in the school. He was the face of the memorial for that whole horrible day, his face recognisable across the country for weeks. His parents obviously hadn't known him too well. He had been an arrogant little shit who took pleasure in teasing those he perceived as weak, highlighting the slightest flaw for his own amusement and gain.

  He hadn't deserved to die though.

  Shutting my eyes I relived the events in my head again. The shots of the hand gun. So loud. I couldn't believe how loud they were. My ears rang as every shot went off. The bodies themselves dropped to the ground so quickly. I thought it would be like a video game or a movie when people got shot, a sudden bang and then they fell to the ground silently. I learned that day that this wasn't the case. Rarely did people die instantly, they died screaming. Screaming for their mother, their god or just screaming in agony. Until someone shut them up or they lost too much blood or energy to keep their voice going.

  Those screams accompanied Michael's face in my dreams.

  My mood was growing steadily worse so I tried to think of those that had survived that day. My fellow nerds and fatties who had been spared a painful death, the others that had survived their wounds or escaped before the violence reached them. I had kept tabs on several of my old classmates and had been pleased to see so many of them do well. I did wonder whether the events of that day had helped or hindered them but I would never know. I know that my life had certainly taken a turn for the worse.

  Sure newspapers, TV shows and documentary makers had approached me. The outrage at my short sentence gained me as much notoriety as the deaths themselves. My young age coupled with my father’s abuse at home worked in my favour for once. At times it felt like I was a piece of carrion sitting on the sands of the desert while these people were circling above me like vultures, waiting to pick me to pieces and not caring what they left behind. I turned them all away. I didn't want some random person picking at my brain. It was hard enough dealing with my mother.

  Mother. She never left my side through the whole ordeal. Stayed with me at the hospital while I healed and helped me through everything else afterwards. Considering we were never that close I was happily surprised I must admit. At the same time I was also disappointed . I was unsure why an event like that would bring her so close when I had been in so much pain through my school years earlier on.

  I shouldn't complain I guess. Family can be funny like that sometimes. That's what my counsellor tells me anyway.

  I admit I was surprised at the time that no-one had recognised me. The side walk was quite busy in front of me and no doubt many of them had heard of the massacre at the school and seen some of the reports and news articles, many featuring my face.

  I guess a lot can be forgotten in ten years though. A lot can change too. I had changed. When I looked in the mirror I no longer saw the fat kid with acne anymore. My skin had cleared up, the weight had gone.

  My voice and personality had changed too I guess. I was more confident, more aware of myself and also other people. Thicker skinned too. I was a changed man inside and out. No one was going to recognise me.

  With a sigh I stood up from the bench and turned to leave the school. I had seen the place now, seen it and survived the experience. I didn't know if I felt better or worse for it but the deed was done. I turned my back on the school and began to walk back to the train station when I saw an old man standing a few feet away, staring at me. I stopped and looked at him, trying to remember his face. Nothing. He clearly remembered me though and there was only one thing I was memorable for.

  I didn't say anything. I didn't move either. I just stood there and waited for him to speak.

  "You have some nerve coming here boy." The man said with a voice full of emotion.

  I still didn't speak.

  "What? Cat got your tongue? Say something boy. Would have thought you would have plenty to say since you got your freedom. You should still be rotting in a cell, like my son is rotting in the ground!" The man continued.

  I struggled to say something but the words caught in my throat. My mind became filled with memories of that day. Looking out into the lunchroom at the gathered students there, happily eating their meals. Picking out my targets and mentally numbering them in order of importance, in order of who had caused me the most psychological and physical torment. I remember pulling out the pistol, my Mother's gun that she had kept safely locked away, not quite safe enough unfortunately. I don't remember feeling any emotion as I kept pulling the trigger, as classmates dropped to the ground bleeding. I do remember feeling a faint sense of surprise at how no one made a move when I had to stop to reload.

  "Speak!" The man said shaking me out of my day dream. He had moved right in front of me and I hadn't even not
iced. I could see the barely contained anger as his body quivered with rage, the grief in his eyes. From his age I knew he must have been the father of one of those killed.

  "I... Who was it?" I sputtered out eventually. I don't know why I asked really. I guess I just wanted to know just who this man was grieving for that had confronted me.

  "John. John Darwin. You went to school with him every day for years. You killed him in cold blood. While he rots in the ground, here you are staring at the school he died at gloating!" John's father said.

  For a moment I didn't speak, I thought back to that day, how John died. He was fourth on my list now that I thought of it, I remember him turning to flee after I had already fired a few shots, I had marked where he was though and fired a bullet through the back of his head as he ran. He was one of the few I hadn't needed to finish off later on.

  "I remember John." I said. "We were not friends. He spent five years picking on me, teasing me, pushing me around. I hated your son. Hated him."

  The man's eyes widened in rage and I knew he was close to lashing out.

  "But he didn't deserve to die." I said.

  The man didn't say anything. It seemed like it was his turn to be stunned silent.

  "There is not a day, an hour that goes by where I don't think about that day. When I don't regret my actions, grieve for the dead, wish I could go back and talk myself out of it. I can't though. The deed is done. I came here because I felt like I needed too, I don't know why but I did." I said.

  The man still stood there and stared at me, rage and hate emanating from him.

  "Get out of my sight," he said hoarsely.

  I turned away silently and walked away towards the train station. I almost moved to go back and confront the man. Ask him what he wanted from me, how I could make up for my mistake. Mistake. I realised that that word was nowhere near close to capturing the nature of my crime. There was nothing I could do to make up for it. Ever.