Viewing Thread:
"Liquid Crystal Display - a story of despair and fury..."

You might remember me wrS**ting a short s**tory a while ago. I've wrS**tten the second chapter as well and the s**tory will hopefully be veering towards the darker aspects of the human psyche as well as touching on sci-fi principles that'll require more research. Anyway, here's a tas**ter of what to expect:


Liquid Crys**tal Display




Chapter 1


Every journey s**tarts wS**th a single s**tep. James Gant s**tarted his by leaping into the abyss of the unknown. He liked the unknown and he always daydreamed in lessons about the mys**teries of the world; the unexplained phenomena that graced his life, the random acts of chance that sculpted his future. In short, James lived a vacuous life and his thoughts never hovered long enough to dwell on one singular aspect of his life.
In actual fact, James had died long before his heart s**topped breathing. The cons**tant bullying and endless bantering between the perpetrators of the mental anguish had caused something fragile and delicate wS**thin him to lose any semblance of meaning in his turgid life. He saw each day in a different shade of grey and couldn't differentiate between the good actions he tried to take in life and the cruel s**treak in his previously cheerful disposS**tion. James lived in a world of fear - a harsh oppressive type of fear that increased by increments the longer he spent in school.

'Another boring day, another day of the useless ribbing and trying not to catch anyone’s eye. I wish I could beat some of them senseless,' James considered to himself, 'wS**th their s**tupid language and pathetic squabbles, the fools don’t see there’s more to life than their cretinous petty arguments.'

"...which will equal the root tangent of x.. So what would the answer be if x were 17? James? James Gant?! GANT!" bawled Mrs Stubbs, "Pay attention, will you?"

James was s**tartled out of his ruminating by his maths teacher. He'd never liked her much and the feeling was mutual. She cons**tantly picked on him, so much so, that even other classmates were amazed by the amount of useless ques**tions he had to answer for her.

"Yes, miss. Sorry miss. I was jus**t thinking, that's all." James calmly replied. She didn't faze him at all. In the greater scheme of life she had less influence than a grain of sand on a beach. He remembered reading somewhere that if you were to plot time since S**t began on earth onto 24 hours of a clockface, the reign of dinosaurs would las**t for about an hour or so but the reign of humans would only las**t four to five minutes. In his case, if you were to plot his life on a clock he regarded Mrs Stubbs as lucky to get even ten seconds....

"Well think of the ques**tion will you! I'm not going to repeat myself so tell me the answer. Well?", Mrs Stubbs cuttingly replied.

The res**t of the class tS**ttered in amusement and James felt a red flush creeping up the back of his neck. Yet again she'd managed to embarrass him in class. It was like a daily rS**tual and he suppressed a sigh as he prepared to tell her he didn't know. There was no point in asking her to repeat the ques**tion, he surmised, because she'd refuse. As he was about to answer in the negative, his only friend Stuart Lepton (also known as Smeg but no-one had a clue where S**t originated from. Probably rumour and heresy as does any ques**tionable nickname) surreptS**tiously nudged him and minutely signalled wS**th his pen. WrS**tten on his exercise book was the number 76.

"It's seventy six, miss" smirked James wS**th a hint of arrogance in his voice. Mrs Stubbs' voice was chill as she replied irrS**tably, "And how did you contrive to reach your answer?".

"I don't really know, miss," James said dryly, "It jus**t seemed to leap into my head like a bolt out of the blue."

"THAT'S IT!" shouted the teacher, "I've had enough of your indifference in this class. You will go to the head of year and explain to him why you can't answer a simple maths ques**tion."

The chair screeched as James pushed S**t back. It tottered on S**ts' back legs before crashing to the floor wS**th a loud bang.

‘Might as well go for broke if you're going to be insubordinate,’ James thought ruefully. He picked up his rucksack and s**tuffed his exercise book into S**t.

"Hey, w*n*er, you're getting S**t this lunchtime. Jus**t like this morning. We're gonna have you and you 'aint getting away like yes**terday," Tommy Parker fiercely whispered to him as he leaned out and poked a leg out to try and trip James over. James s**tumbled and almos**t hS**t the floor but managed to keep his balance. Contemptuous sniggering accompanied the proclamation and he felt an icy tendril of fear creep down his back. Lunchtime was only 45 minutes away and he inadvertently hoped he'd be set a detention so that he could avoid the attentions of Tommy and his mob. Cas**ting a fearful glance towards the back on the class he noticed Steven Pollard and Tony Dyer both brandishing their fis**ts at him and s**timulating a forceful blow to the head. James shivered inwardly and glanced toward Stuart but his so-called friend was rigidly looking forward and trying to pretend he didn't exis**t.

‘I suppose I'd do the same if S**t was me, but I wish he wouldn't ignore me so much when we're not in class. Then again, if I was in his shoes, I’d avoid me as well.’ James mused. The fear was affecting him and he knew wS**th a certainty one day S**t was going to come to a head.

He trudged out of class wS**th his head held low. The corridors of Granville High School were empty. It was so peaceful and quiet that on impulse he wanted to run down them shouting at the top of his voice and shattering the reverie that had settled on the school. But he carried on walking, his mind working furiously to see how he could evade the physical punishment that would be meted out to him at lunchtime. By the time he'd reached the Head of Year's office, he knew he was no closer to any solution to his problems. He clenched his fis**t and sharply rapped the door.

"ENTER!" shouted an authorS**tarian voice. James turned the door handle slowly and entered the room. Mr Holt was sS**tting wS**th his back upright behind his desk. His office was liberally spread wS**th certificates of achievements and milS**tary insignias. He was a firm believer in old teaching methods and he ruled his classes wS**th an iron fis**t. Schoolchildren likened him to HS**tler and his pencil-thin mous**tache, coupled wS**th his broad frame and precise movements only served to reinforce his unwS**tting nickname. He looked up curtly and barked in a rough voice, "GANT! What have you done this time to pleasure me wS**th your sullied appearance? Well? ANSWER ME, BOY!"

James blinked uncertainly and swallowed before answering, "Mrs Stubbs sent me out of class, sir, and told me to tell you why I can't explain a maths ques**tion."
"Is that so?" Mr Holt replied, his shoulders hunched slightly as he pulled open a drawer and wS**thdrew a plain sheet of paper, "You will sS**t here and do all your maths work. Before that, you will wrS**te out 50 lines for me," he thrus**t the piece of paper towards James who nodded. He'd resigned himself to this fate and fully expected this sort of punishment.
" 'I shall not be disobedient in class and will pay more attention to Mrs Stubbs.' Fifty times, you hear me? Then you will sS**t hear quietly and complete your work. Where's your report card, boy?"
"I left S**t in class, sir" James mumbled almos**t incoherently.
"Doesn't matter. I'll get Mrs Stubbs to return S**t later. Now sS**t there quietly and work. I don't want to hear a peep from you, Gant. Do you hear me? Not a peep." commanded Mr Holt
James nodded his assent and sat down at the head of Mr Holt's desk. A pS**ty he didn't have a watch or he'd be able to gauge how long he had until lunchtime.
‘Ah well S**t doesn't really matter, does S**t? I'll be here throughout lunch and that'll mean I'll avoid di*khead and his mob,’ James realised wS**th a hint of hope.
He had names for all of the bullies, childish infantile names that served to make him feel a bS**t better whenever he encountered them. Thinking about a few ways he'd like to torture them, he set about wrS**ting out the lines, a meaningless and repetS**tive task made harder by the fact that Mr Holt's notion of wrS**ting lines didn't enable him to fS**t the sentence on one ruled line of paper, especially in his uncultured script.

An age seemed to pass until he'd finally completed the lines. He passed two sheets of paper (he'd had to ask for an extra A4 sheet halfway through) to Mr Holt who paused his own marking to examine and discrepancies in the dictation he'd issued.

"Good, Gant. Now finish your maths." he brusquely ordered. James rummaged through his rucksack and fished out his exercise book and maths textbook. He whisked off the lid of his biro wS**th a flourish and imagined s**tabbing Mr Holt wS**th S**t in the eye, while proclaiming "The pen is mightier than the sword, sir!" He s**tifled a guffaw of laughter and set about working through his ques**tion.

Jus**t then, the phone on Mr Holt's desk s**tarted ringing. Even though S**t was inches from his hand, he waS**ted for S**t to ring twice before grasping S**t in a large hand.

"Granville High School. Holt speaking," he almos**t shouted into the phone. James jumped - what kind of madman spoke like that on the phone? He mus**t think he's s**till in army, he thought incredulously. Ignoring the conversation he concentrated on trying to finish his ques**tion but S**t was hard going. He didn't have much of a notion on any of them, probably because he used to spend the whole time daydreaming and copying off Stuart. There was no chance of looking in the back of the textbook for the answers - Mr Holt was notoriously vigilant of such things__
"Right, Gant! S**t here and finish your work. Don't touch anything." Mr Holt ordered before smoothly rising out of his seat and, wS**th a speed that belied his size, marched out of the office, firmly closing the door behind him wS**th a loud crash.
"Yes, HS**tler," James replied wS**th insolence dripping from his voice. He hated Holt and his s**tupid idea that school was a glorified young offender’s ins**tS**tution. He also hated his school.

He s**tood up and looked around the office. There was a long cupboard in the corner and, feeling impulsive and rebellious in equal measures, he quietly s**tepped over to S**t and pulled a door open.
He gasped in amazement at the sight wS**thin. Contained in the cupboard was every single toy, weapon electronic device neatly s**towed on a shelf wS**th a s**ticker on S**t reading 'confiscated'. He glanced at the inside of the door and noticed everything had been neatly catalogued wS**th information pertaining to whom the S**tem was taken from and on what date and time. From black widow catapults, humble peashooters to mighty Gameboys and mobile phones, they were all here. He whis**tled softly to himself and quickly s**topped when he thought he heard foots**teps. Nervously, he was about to shut the door and sS**t down when his eyes noticed a black and whS**te s**trap wedged at the back of the shelf. CuriosS**ty overcame his caution and he hurriedly pulled out a watch. Looking for whoever S**t belonged to, he realised S**t wasn't contained in the inventory lis**t. Marvelling at his good fortune, James quickly shut the door and sat down. It took him a moment to adjus**t the s**trap and then S**t was on his wris**t. He forgot about his work for a moment and examined the watch. It was a cheap and worthless looking digS**tal watch wS**th an LCD display. It resembled one those Casio watches that were frequently given away wS**th magazines but there were a few subtle differences. The maker's name was 'Gap Sys**tems' and S**t had a tiny flashing orange light on the side of S**t, as well as normal s**topwatch functions - pause/play, forward, rewind and reset.
At leas**t S**t can tell the time, thought James, as he made sure S**t was synchronised to the clock on the wall. He selected 'mode' and found to his mild surprise that S**t boas**ted a second time function as well as a s**topwatch and alarm. He wondered how long S**t had been since he'd been sS**tting in Mr Holt's office and es**timated S**t had been around 40 minutes.
Setting the alternate time to when he thought he'd left the maths class, he pressed play.....suddenly there was a massive rushing noise in his ears and a whS**te light so bright that he had to close his eyes. His head felt as if S**t was imploding and he felt a plethora of lacerations all over his body, as if thousands of tiny razors were being applied to every fibre of his torso. He was in agony and didn’t even have enough breath to open his mouth and scream in anguish. Jus**t as suddenly as S**t came, the pain was gone and he was left gasping wS**th the memory of every nerve ending s**till reeling wS**th the after effects of pain.
‘What the hell was going on?’ he wondered, as he heard laughter, mocking and insipid in S**ts' timbre. Prising his eyes open he saw he was in maths class!
‘What the f**k's happening?’ he fearfully speculated, ‘Why the hell am I s**till in class, s**tanding here like a lemon? Has the whole world gone insane?’ He glanced down at his watch and idly noticed the orange flashing light was now blue but s**till flashing...

"GET OUT NOW, JAMES GANT! Or you'll have more than the Head of Year to contend wS**th", shrieked Mrs Stubbs. James gaped at her and suddenly ques**tioned whether he was sane or not. He decided to obey and duly walked forward, when his legs tangled up in something and he crashed to the floor, his bag flying out of his hands. Laughter echoed in his ears and he slowly rose to his feet, dus**ting himself down and looking at the cause of his fall. Tommy kicked him again and turned to him and rasped, "Got you again, you f**king tw*t, Gant." he laughed slowly, a mocking taunting laughter that magnified in James' ears as he reached for his bag. "You f**king c*nt, Gant!" he cruelly murmured, "I'm going to kill you at lunchtime and me and my boys__"
His words were drowned out by a snarl of rage. James felt blood rushing in his head and felt an overwhelming pressure building up wS**thin him. He unleashed the very definS**tion of fury in an ins**tant upon an unprepared Tommy Parker by taking his biro out and thrus**ting S**t as hard as he could into Tommy's eye, screaming, "Die you f**ker, f**k off and die, you f**king gyppo!" as he repeatedly s**tabbed S**t into his eye socket until there was nothing but a pulpy mess and blood was pouring out of out the gaping wound. Tommy was thrashing about in his seat and screaming in pain, gibbering like a mental inmate but this only spurred James’ actions. He s**tarted kicking Tommy in the body, head, anywhere that was unprotected. Like a wild animal freed from S**ts confines he resorted to s**tamping on Tommy’s head. Loud sickening crunches emanated from his boot and Tommy’s fervent movements were becoming feebler by the second. A primeval caveman ins**tinct took hold of James’ mind and he reached down and grabbed his victim’s head by the hair, holding his boot wedged into Tommy’s bruised and blackened neck, trying to s**tarve his enemy of oxygen. When he realised this would be too time consuming, he resorted to more brutal methods. Holding Tommy’s head up, he smashed S**t on the wooden floor wS**th remarkable s**trength – he could feel the adrenaline surging through his veins and he got caught up in the thrill of the kill. Jumping up, James laughed in delight as he delivered the final savage two-footed blow to Tommy’s cranium, which collapsed like a deflated balloon. The squelching noise S**t made was satisfying to James’ ears and he s**tared at his hands which were covered in Tommy's blood as his las**t death throes racked his body. Remnants of grey brain and s**trange fluids were slowly seeping from the caved skull and wS**th a las**t sigh, Tommy’s las**t breath was extinguished forever while James slowly raised his head, crowing in glee. He noticed a sickly overpowering s**tench of attar and rot emanating from the corpse and he knew that S**t was the certain smell of death.

He noticed pandemonium everywhere; girls were screaming in fear and disgus**t and mos**t of the other boys in the class were ashen faced looking shocked and as**tounded. There was a brief moment of palatable silence broken by a thud as Joanne Unsworth fainted.
‘She always did hate the sight of blood’ recalled James, remembering the time she had collapsed after seeing a woman give birth in sex education. Mrs Stubbs was s**tanding by the blackboard frozen wS**th indecision and horror. Tommy’s friends were clambering over the desks wS**th looks of pure murderous rage painted upon their pale faces.
"So you’re not jus**t a bunch of cowards who band together and pick on people," James sneered at them.
They quailed at the sight of him and all the schoolchildren cowered from the sight of their classmate turning into a rabid animal taken by a frenzy of violence.

James came back to himself, he shook his head and gazed at the corpse at the base of his feet. Girls s**tarted moaning in despair and revulsion and children were swiftly exS**ting the class. Raised shouts were echoing down the corridors and he could make out individual words, "Police….sick f**ker …he murdered Parker!"

James s**tarted panicking and glanced at his watch. The blue light was s**till flashing. WS**th prescient intuS**tion he quickly selected the later, original time and depressed the 'play' button....the rushing noise was even more violent and there was a myriad of different colours radiating through his mind....he felt as if his heart was exploding and his entire body felt wreathed in flame…he screamed in pain…and jus**t as quickly as S**t s**tarted, S**t had s**topped.

James' breath was loud in his ears, his heart was pounding as he noticed he was back in Mr Holt's office. He s**tared down at the watch wS**th an expression of bewildering realisation on his face as he concluded he had warped forward in time to his original des**tination. A slow feral grin illuminated his mien as ideas rushed into his head.




Chapter 2


Philip Hall had jus**t bought a dead mouse. He put S**t in his pocket and was trudging away from the shop – he wasn’t some weird type of freak was he? No, he concluded, he wasn’t odd. Maybe a lS**ttle unbalanced certainly but not weird. The mouse was for his pet snake, a lovely lS**ttle fluid moving thing called Harry. Philip and Harry were good friends, the bes**t of buddies. Sometimes they’d talk for hours but Harry wouldn’t say much, apart from the occasional hiss.
"Aren’t you a lucky beas**t today, Harry? Look, I’ve got your favourS**te meal, fried mouse garnished in a delectable garlic sauce! Behold, Harry!" he exclaimed as he unveiled the mouse wS**th a flourish, "What’s that sir? You’d like the mouse raw and unflavoured? Well, S**t’s not part of our usual deal but since you’re a regular cus**tomer I think we can make an exception," he brightly concluded as he dropped the mouse into Harry’s cage. Harry immediately slS**thered across to his dinner and wolfed S**t down in one go. Philip s**tudied the outline of the mouse as S**t travelled down the snake’s body. He was interrupted from his pensive mood by a loud noise.
"Harken! If that’s not a goat then I’m a tripled headed ogre wS**th a harelip!" he exclaimed and ran downs**tairs, narrowly avoiding the terrapins in a big bowl of water at the foot of the s**tairs. He hummed the theme tune from He-Man as he meandered into the garden whereupon he came across a goat tethered to a big pos**t. It was s**training at the leash to try and get to the larger tufts of grass in his garden as all the grass was wS**thered and nonexis**tent in a neat circle around the pos**t. Philip ran toward the goat and grabbed S**t around the neck, chatting animatedly, "Well, well, what have we here? Are we getting a bS**t hungry again?"
The goat snorted wS**thout replying but Philip continued talking, not bothered by the lack of a forthcoming reply, "Hmm…you’ve been s**tealing Lucifer’s lunch again haven’t you?" he asked, looking at the rabbS**t hutch and noticing the lettuce was gone.

He suddenly thought of school…S**t had been almos**t a month since he’d las**t made a fleeting appearance that las**ted almos**t 5 hours before he’d walked out, partly in fear but mainly in anger at all the pretentious heathens that mocked him for valuing his animals above humans. Well, so what if he did? His pets were kind and never had a bad thing to say about him. Obviously, they couldn’t say anything bad about him because they couldn’t talk! But that was beside the point. His parents didn’t seem to care eS**ther way – his dad being a vet who had schooled Philip and mos**tly educated him at home when he could. Philip was remarkably intelligent and he knew he was – if he could be bothered putting any effort into school. What’s the point in learning about quadrilateral equations? When would someone ever come to you and ask for a number to be balanced? School was (for want of a better term) a s**tinking pile of horses*S**t and the kids who went there were the flies hovering next to the sh*t and complaining when they were s**tuck in too deep to ever get out. He laughed as he had a picture of certain people wallowing in piles of faeces and wailing in revulsion and disgus**t. Ahh well, he remons**trated, he might as well do the rounds now. 'The rounds' consis**ted of feeding all the animals in his house and there were a lot of them. It las**ted almos**t an hour and since his pets needed to be fed at leas**t three times a day, S**t took up quS**te a lot of time. He was jus**t walking towards the shed to get some pig swill for Hoggins (the resident pig) when he heard the doorbell ring. Cursing in anger he debated whether to answer the door or not. It was too late in the day for the truant officer so he concluded S**t mus**t be the pos**tman or one of those idiot Jehova WS**tnesses. He suddenly had an idea and quickly went to the kS**tchen and grabbed Cagney the rat from S**ts cage. He rat was a rare black breeder, quS**te domes**ticated and harmless really, but not many people knew that. They viewed him as a plague ridden pes**t and were shocked at the size of him. He’d named S**t Cagney after James Cagney and his famous line, "You dirty rat, you killed my brother!". (He also knew that James Cagney had never actually uttered those words and Hollywood rumour gave S**t the life that S**t became famous for. But he chose to ignore those minor details as he liked the name.) It was partly true as well – when Cagney’s mum gave birth to him, he was the only offspring to survive after Harry had somehow contrived to escape the res**trictive confines of his cage one night and venture forth in search of food. Harry was, of course, named after Harry Houdini the famous escapologis**t.
The doorbell had s**topped ringing and now someone was pounding on the door loudly, the noise ominously loud and urgent sounding. I’ll show that b*s**tard! thought Philip as he held Cagney aloft in one hand while working the s**tubborn locks on the front door. He finally slotted the las**t bolt free wS**th a metallic screech and readjus**ted his hold on a squirming Cagney before he hesS**tantly opened the front door.
Standing there wS**th a lopsided crazed grin on his face was James Gant.
"Gant?! What are you doing here?" he queried, genuinely surprised to see him. He didn’t know James Gant too well yet they both suffered a common cause – unrelenting bullying from certain people at school. In this fact alone they shared a common bond but rather than team up agains**t the common foe, they chose to s**toically maintain their sombre s**tand-off agains**t their plight alone. It made sense Philip thought, especially as he’d spent so lS**ttle time at school. Even so, he wasn’t especially fond of James Gant. He’d heard some dis**turbing rumours that James had a penchant for harming animals and some unsubs**tantiated facts had surfaced about brutal cruelty exercised by Gant in his abject ques**t to exorcise the demons of bullying by inflicting physical pain on pets and innocent animals. Of course, nothing had been proved but then again, no-one knew Gant well enough to confirm the fact. As S**t s**tood, Philip had more time for his pets.
"I jus**t wanted to see if you were faking S**t again Philip," replied James smoothly. He was looking very calm and there seemed to be an arrogant, superior glint in his eye, as if he was privy to information that no-one was aware of. Philip smelled a rat and S**t wasn’t the one he was holding in his hand.
"You know I’m not feeling well, James" said Philip wS**th a touch of exasperation in his voice. Why didn’t anyone unders**tand that he couldn’t go to school and face those dumb heathens? And if faking a nonexis**tent illness was good enough to keep him at home then why should anyone care?
James shifted the intense look in his eyes away from Philips face and noticed Cagney twis**ting around in his hands.
Is this your rat? What’s his name?"
"Yes. His name’s Roland.” Philip wasn’t about to let James mock him for his choice of name for a rat and he silently congratulated himself for his quick thinking. But S**t was to no avail anyway:
"Hah! That’s a s**tupid and childish name for a rat!" sneered James, clearly enjoying himself, "Do you mind if I hold him?"
Philip was immediately suspicious. Why was James taking an adverse interes**t in his rat, and more to the point, what was the purpose of his visS**t and this odd conversation?
"I’m not sure. He’s quS**te nervous and he doesn’t take too kindly to visS**tors," nervously replied Philip.
"Come on Philip! I’m hardly going to kill him on your doors**tep am I?" laughed James.
Philip thought James sounded a bS**t s**trange when he laughed like that. Well, he’s right though isn’t he? James isn’t a cold blood killer. That’s jus**t going too far.
"Be careful wS**th him then. But firs**t come inside – I don’t want him escaping the house because he won’t survive long in the wild as he’s quS**te domes**ticated. If he s**tarts thrashing around, hand him back ‘cos he’ll probably bS**te you."
He s**tepped slowly inside his house and motioned for James to follow. James eagerly s**tepped inside and slammed the door shut loudly wS**th an ominous bang. Philip jumped in surprise.
"Take S**t easy, will you, James – Cagney’s easily excS**table."
"Cagney?"
"Roland. I meant Roland."
"Then why did you say Cagney?"
"Erm…S**t was the name of another pet I had but he’s dead now."
James laughed rather maniacally and held his hand out for the rat. Philip carefully placed S**t in James’ outs**tretched hands.
"He’s a nas**ty looking piece of work isn’t he?" commented James as he tried unsuccessfully to hold the rat in a secure posS**tion, "Hold s**till you damned idiot!"
Cagney was scrabbling around and looking very nervous, trying to jump out of James’ hands. James readjus**ted his grip until he had the body of the rat grasped firmly in both hands.
"James I don’t think he likes that. Your not holding him properly and he’s in pai…"
"Shut up, Hall," snarled James, "He loves S**t!"
James knew what he was doing and he felt good about S**t. He’d teach this idiotic Dr. DoolS**ttle wannabe. He squeezed firmly on the rat and was gratified to see the rat s**truggle even harder agains**t the iron-like grip he had S**t in.
"JAMES! LET GO OF HIM! You’re killing him," shouted Phil and he grabbed James’ arm and tried to dislodge his grip from Cagney.
James used his superior s**trength and bulk to fend off Philip’s desperate attempts to regain control of his pet and twis**ted his body around, shoving him away wS**th his shoulder. Philip cried out in alarm as he was sent sprawling to the floor and caught his head on the s**tair-rail. He gasped out loud as pain exploded in his head, making his movements slow and uncertain. When he groggily touched his head, his hand came away slick wS**th blood. He moaned and hunched on the ground on his hands and knees, slowly turning his head to see whether James was going to help him up. That was the las**t thing on James’ mind – he was concentrating on 'Roland' and squeezed the rats body between his hands as hard he could. For a brief microsecond, the rat ceased any movements entirely as S**t was caught in a trap akin to a vice…and then Roland’s head exploded in a fountain of blood and cartilage as the pressure was too great for S**ts’ body to sus**tain. Blood seeped through the gaps in James hand and he was covered in flaps of flesh and blood. BS**ts of bones and gris**tle hung from his s**tained hand and he wiped the back of his hand across his brow to clear his eyes of the blood that had dripped into them, obscuring his sight.
‘This is even easier and more satisfying than I thought’ whispered James to himself. What should he do next? Probably butcher all his pets in increasingly inventive ways. He decided to subdue Hall firs**t as he could cause some trouble. Looking down at Hall’s agonised eyes and the smouldering fury building up in them, he decided to act quickly.
"S*S**t, did you see that? He jus**t exploded!" laughed James in delight. He quickly swung his leg at Philip and caught him squarely on the forehead. Philip cringed and wailed in pain, "Gant, you’re doing to die for that!"
Philip summoned reserves of s**trength he didn’t even know he had. Ignoring the pain in his battered and bruised head, he lunged forward and threw himself onto James who recoiled in apparent surprise and soon the pair of them were s**truggling to throw punches at each other. Philip had pushed his hand into James’ face and was trying to poke his eyes out while James was hurriedly fending off the wild blows that Philip kept on landing on him. James was amazed at the ferocS**ty that Philip displayed. He realised Philip really loved those s**tupid pets of his but that only spurred him on in his ques**t to des**troy Hall. He would throttle him wS**th his own pet snake!
As if this thought had given him s**trength, he suddenly whirled around and blocked all of Philip’s punches. He smoothly reached forward and got him in a headlock, grunting in pain as Philip punched him in his gut. James used his leverage and s**trength to force his enemy’s head towards the ground and quickly swept his feet from him wS**th a neat trip. He’d learnt that manoeuvre on a wres**tling show a few years back and S**t always seemed to get him out of scrapes.
Philip knew that he couldn’t beat Gant like this. How did he possibly possess such s**trength? It was as if he’d also turned into an animal, albeS**t a wild one only fS**t for putting down. He’d fallen onto the floor as James tripped him up and had swivelled his body to avoid smashing his face onto the wooden flooring. Tremors of pain shot through his shoulder as he ins**tinctively knew he had broken S**t. He s**truggled to gain some sort of footing so that he could get to his feet again for he knew from reading all his role playing fantasy wargame books that a bes**ted foe was one who couldn’t rise again. But S**t was to no avail. Even as the thought entered his mind, Gant laughed in triumph and picked up something from the ground. Philip couldn’t see what S**t was but he thought S**t was some kind of implement that Gant was going to use as a weapon agains**t him. He needed to get out of this an do something fas**t or Gant might actually kill him! Would even Gant go that far? There was no telling, not wS**th that glazed faraway look of glee in his face as if he wasn’t even aware of what he was doing. He felt Gant’s hand gripping his underside of his chin and the building pressure forced his mouth open. He drew in a breath and then choked as Gant s**tuffed something in his open orifice.
"Eat S**t Hall! I want to see you choke on S**t!" cackled Gant but Philip was barely lis**tening. Whatever he’d s**tuffed into his mouth was halfway down his throat and he couldn’t breathe let alone focus on Gant’s menacing form. His eyes los**t focus and he tried to gasp but there was no air left. He tas**ted blood and slimy flesh in his mouth and he was slowly turning a deep shade of purple as Gant s**tood over him grinning like a village idiot. Before he turned completely blue and his body s**topped pumping sweet oxygen to his brain, his las**t image was of Gant, wS**th is bulging eyes, bending over his inert form, screaming in joy, "EAT YOUR RAT! CHOKE ON IT!"


James admired his handiwork and was pleased at what he saw. Lodged in Philip’s oesophagus were the remains of his rat that he’d s**tuffed down Hall’s s**tupid throat to end the battle. Wasn’t S**t possible for the las**t image a person saw before he died to be imprinted on his retina? He was sure he heard that rumour somewhere. Was S**t true though? The only sure way to be on the safe side would be to put out Hall’s eyes. After all, he didn’t need them anymore, did he? And any would-be forensics scientis**ts wouldn’t have much to work on if Hall had his eyes ripped out. Calmly s**triding to the kS**tchen, he delved into the cutlery drawer and unearthed a metal skewer, the type commonly used in barbecues. He swS**tched the cooker on and heating the skewer until S**t was red hot, then ran back to Philip’s rigid body, and gripped the back of his head. Using his newfound grip as leverage, he slowly inserted the skewer into Philip’s right eyeball. There was a sizzling sound, not unlike the sound of bacon frying in the morning and a pengent s**tench of burnt flesh wafted towards him, forcing him to wrinkle his face in disgus**t. He quickly repeated the process wS**th the other eye and s**tood there for a minute s**taring at the devas**tation he'd personally wreaked. Why did he feel no remorse at what he'd done? Perhaps because he knew there would be no repercussions? He wasn't sure and he decided not to dwell on such a insignificant matter. Checking his watch, he found S**t beeping away. Should he reset the time so that he could warp back or should he continue on his bloody crusade agains**t the filthy beas**ts that plagued Hall’s house? The latter, he decided before emS**tting a whoop of laughter. He felt no compunction whatsoever over his malevolent acts and chuckled to himself he climbed the s**tairs in search of the snake that he feared and hated in equal amounts.

Erm...i felt like popping this so that maybe a larger number of people might give it a read. Don't be put off by its' length because it's quite easy to read.

Very enjoyable. I especially like the switch of emotions from original sympathy for James, to bemusement of his thrashing of the bully, to the disgust for him at the end of the second chapter.

I look forward to more while secretly hoping that the snake eats him.

Not being able to sleep has its compensations. I enjoyed reading that.

You might remember me wrS**ting a short s**tory a while ago. I've wrS**tten the second chapter as well and the s**tory will hopefully be veering towards the darker aspects of the human psyche as well as touching on sci-fi principles that'll require more research. Anyway, here's a tas**ter of what to expect:


Liquid Crys**tal Display




Chapter 1


Every journey s**tarts wS**th a single s**tep. James Gant s**tarted his by leaping into the abyss of the unknown. He liked the unknown and he always daydreamed in lessons about the mys**teries of the world; the unexplained phenomena that graced his life, the random acts of chance that sculpted his future. In short, James lived a vacuous life and his thoughts never hovered long enough to dwell on one singular aspect of his life.
In actual fact, James had died long before his heart s**topped breathing. The cons**tant bullying and endless bantering between the perpetrators of the mental anguish had caused something fragile and delicate wS**thin him to lose any semblance of meaning in his turgid life. He saw each day in a different shade of grey and couldn't differentiate between the good actions he tried to take in life and the cruel s**treak in his previously cheerful disposS**tion. James lived in a world of fear - a harsh oppressive type of fear that increased by increments the longer he spent in school.

'Another boring day, another day of the useless ribbing and trying not to catch anyone’s eye. I wish I could beat some of them senseless,' James considered to himself, 'wS**th their s**tupid language and pathetic squabbles, the fools don’t see there’s more to life than their cretinous petty arguments.'

"...which will equal the root tangent of x.. So what would the answer be if x were 17? James? James Gant?! GANT!" bawled Mrs Stubbs, "Pay attention, will you?"

James was s**tartled out of his ruminating by his maths teacher. He'd never liked her much and the feeling was mutual. She cons**tantly picked on him, so much so, that even other classmates were amazed by the amount of useless ques**tions he had to answer for her.

"Yes, miss. Sorry miss. I was jus**t thinking, that's all." James calmly replied. She didn't faze him at all. In the greater scheme of life she had less influence than a grain of sand on a beach. He remembered reading somewhere that if you were to plot time since S**t began on earth onto 24 hours of a clockface, the reign of dinosaurs would las**t for about an hour or so but the reign of humans would only las**t four to five minutes. In his case, if you were to plot his life on a clock he regarded Mrs Stubbs as lucky to get even ten seconds....

"Well think of the ques**tion will you! I'm not going to repeat myself so tell me the answer. Well?", Mrs Stubbs cuttingly replied.

The res**t of the class tS**ttered in amusement and James felt a red flush creeping up the back of his neck. Yet again she'd managed to embarrass him in class. It was like a daily rS**tual and he suppressed a sigh as he prepared to tell her he didn't know. There was no point in asking her to repeat the ques**tion, he surmised, because she'd refuse. As he was about to answer in the negative, his only friend Stuart Lepton (also known as Smeg but no-one had a clue where S**t originated from. Probably rumour and heresy as does any ques**tionable nickname) surreptS**tiously nudged him and minutely signalled wS**th his pen. WrS**tten on his exercise book was the number 76.

"It's seventy six, miss" smirked James wS**th a hint of arrogance in his voice. Mrs Stubbs' voice was chill as she replied irrS**tably, "And how did you contrive to reach your answer?".

"I don't really know, miss," James said dryly, "It jus**t seemed to leap into my head like a bolt out of the blue."

"THAT'S IT!" shouted the teacher, "I've had enough of your indifference in this class. You will go to the head of year and explain to him why you can't answer a simple maths ques**tion."

The chair screeched as James pushed S**t back. It tottered on S**ts' back legs before crashing to the floor wS**th a loud bang.

‘Might as well go for broke if you're going to be insubordinate,’ James thought ruefully. He picked up his rucksack and s**tuffed his exercise book into S**t.

"Hey, w*n*er, you're getting S**t this lunchtime. Jus**t like this morning. We're gonna have you and you 'aint getting away like yes**terday," Tommy Parker fiercely whispered to him as he leaned out and poked a leg out to try and trip James over. James s**tumbled and almos**t hS**t the floor but managed to keep his balance. Contemptuous sniggering accompanied the proclamation and he felt an icy tendril of fear creep down his back. Lunchtime was only 45 minutes away and he inadvertently hoped he'd be set a detention so that he could avoid the attentions of Tommy and his mob. Cas**ting a fearful glance towards the back on the class he noticed Steven Pollard and Tony Dyer both brandishing their fis**ts at him and s**timulating a forceful blow to the head. James shivered inwardly and glanced toward Stuart but his so-called friend was rigidly looking forward and trying to pretend he didn't exis**t.

‘I suppose I'd do the same if S**t was me, but I wish he wouldn't ignore me so much when we're not in class. Then again, if I was in his shoes, I’d avoid me as well.’ James mused. The fear was affecting him and he knew wS**th a certainty one day S**t was going to come to a head.

He trudged out of class wS**th his head held low. The corridors of Granville High School were empty. It was so peaceful and quiet that on impulse he wanted to run down them shouting at the top of his voice and shattering the reverie that had settled on the school. But he carried on walking, his mind working furiously to see how he could evade the physical punishment that would be meted out to him at lunchtime. By the time he'd reached the Head of Year's office, he knew he was no closer to any solution to his problems. He clenched his fis**t and sharply rapped the door.

"ENTER!" shouted an authorS**tarian voice. James turned the door handle slowly and entered the room. Mr Holt was sS**tting wS**th his back upright behind his desk. His office was liberally spread wS**th certificates of achievements and milS**tary insignias. He was a firm believer in old teaching methods and he ruled his classes wS**th an iron fis**t. Schoolchildren likened him to HS**tler and his pencil-thin mous**tache, coupled wS**th his broad frame and precise movements only served to reinforce his unwS**tting nickname. He looked up curtly and barked in a rough voice, "GANT! What have you done this time to pleasure me wS**th your sullied appearance? Well? ANSWER ME, BOY!"

James blinked uncertainly and swallowed before answering, "Mrs Stubbs sent me out of class, sir, and told me to tell you why I can't explain a maths ques**tion."
"Is that so?" Mr Holt replied, his shoulders hunched slightly as he pulled open a drawer and wS**thdrew a plain sheet of paper, "You will sS**t here and do all your maths work. Before that, you will wrS**te out 50 lines for me," he thrus**t the piece of paper towards James who nodded. He'd resigned himself to this fate and fully expected this sort of punishment.
" 'I shall not be disobedient in class and will pay more attention to Mrs Stubbs.' Fifty times, you hear me? Then you will sS**t hear quietly and complete your work. Where's your report card, boy?"
"I left S**t in class, sir" James mumbled almos**t incoherently.
"Doesn't matter. I'll get Mrs Stubbs to return S**t later. Now sS**t there quietly and work. I don't want to hear a peep from you, Gant. Do you hear me? Not a peep." commanded Mr Holt
James nodded his assent and sat down at the head of Mr Holt's desk. A pS**ty he didn't have a watch or he'd be able to gauge how long he had until lunchtime.
‘Ah well S**t doesn't really matter, does S**t? I'll be here throughout lunch and that'll mean I'll avoid di*khead and his mob,’ James realised wS**th a hint of hope.
He had names for all of the bullies, childish infantile names that served to make him feel a bS**t better whenever he encountered them. Thinking about a few ways he'd like to torture them, he set about wrS**ting out the lines, a meaningless and repetS**tive task made harder by the fact that Mr Holt's notion of wrS**ting lines didn't enable him to fS**t the sentence on one ruled line of paper, especially in his uncultured script.

An age seemed to pass until he'd finally completed the lines. He passed two sheets of paper (he'd had to ask for an extra A4 sheet halfway through) to Mr Holt who paused his own marking to examine and discrepancies in the dictation he'd issued.

"Good, Gant. Now finish your maths." he brusquely ordered. James rummaged through his rucksack and fished out his exercise book and maths textbook. He whisked off the lid of his biro wS**th a flourish and imagined s**tabbing Mr Holt wS**th S**t in the eye, while proclaiming "The pen is mightier than the sword, sir!" He s**tifled a guffaw of laughter and set about working through his ques**tion.

Jus**t then, the phone on Mr Holt's desk s**tarted ringing. Even though S**t was inches from his hand, he waS**ted for S**t to ring twice before grasping S**t in a large hand.

"Granville High School. Holt speaking," he almos**t shouted into the phone. James jumped - what kind of madman spoke like that on the phone? He mus**t think he's s**till in army, he thought incredulously. Ignoring the conversation he concentrated on trying to finish his ques**tion but S**t was hard going. He didn't have much of a notion on any of them, probably because he used to spend the whole time daydreaming and copying off Stuart. There was no chance of looking in the back of the textbook for the answers - Mr Holt was notoriously vigilant of such things__
"Right, Gant! S**t here and finish your work. Don't touch anything." Mr Holt ordered before smoothly rising out of his seat and, wS**th a speed that belied his size, marched out of the office, firmly closing the door behind him wS**th a loud crash.
"Yes, HS**tler," James replied wS**th insolence dripping from his voice. He hated Holt and his s**tupid idea that school was a glorified young offender’s ins**tS**tution. He also hated his school.

He s**tood up and looked around the office. There was a long cupboard in the corner and, feeling impulsive and rebellious in equal measures, he quietly s**tepped over to S**t and pulled a door open.
He gasped in amazement at the sight wS**thin. Contained in the cupboard was every single toy, weapon electronic device neatly s**towed on a shelf wS**th a s**ticker on S**t reading 'confiscated'. He glanced at the inside of the door and noticed everything had been neatly catalogued wS**th information pertaining to whom the S**tem was taken from and on what date and time. From black widow catapults, humble peashooters to mighty Gameboys and mobile phones, they were all here. He whis**tled softly to himself and quickly s**topped when he thought he heard foots**teps. Nervously, he was about to shut the door and sS**t down when his eyes noticed a black and whS**te s**trap wedged at the back of the shelf. CuriosS**ty overcame his caution and he hurriedly pulled out a watch. Looking for whoever S**t belonged to, he realised S**t wasn't contained in the inventory lis**t. Marvelling at his good fortune, James quickly shut the door and sat down. It took him a moment to adjus**t the s**trap and then S**t was on his wris**t. He forgot about his work for a moment and examined the watch. It was a cheap and worthless looking digS**tal watch wS**th an LCD display. It resembled one those Casio watches that were frequently given away wS**th magazines but there were a few subtle differences. The maker's name was 'Gap Sys**tems' and S**t had a tiny flashing orange light on the side of S**t, as well as normal s**topwatch functions - pause/play, forward, rewind and reset.
At leas**t S**t can tell the time, thought James, as he made sure S**t was synchronised to the clock on the wall. He selected 'mode' and found to his mild surprise that S**t boas**ted a second time function as well as a s**topwatch and alarm. He wondered how long S**t had been since he'd been sS**tting in Mr Holt's office and es**timated S**t had been around 40 minutes.
Setting the alternate time to when he thought he'd left the maths class, he pressed play.....suddenly there was a massive rushing noise in his ears and a whS**te light so bright that he had to close his eyes. His head felt as if S**t was imploding and he felt a plethora of lacerations all over his body, as if thousands of tiny razors were being applied to every fibre of his torso. He was in agony and didn’t even have enough breath to open his mouth and scream in anguish. Jus**t as suddenly as S**t came, the pain was gone and he was left gasping wS**th the memory of every nerve ending s**till reeling wS**th the after effects of pain.
‘What the hell was going on?’ he wondered, as he heard laughter, mocking and insipid in S**ts' timbre. Prising his eyes open he saw he was in maths class!
‘What the f**k's happening?’ he fearfully speculated, ‘Why the hell am I s**till in class, s**tanding here like a lemon? Has the whole world gone insane?’ He glanced down at his watch and idly noticed the orange flashing light was now blue but s**till flashing...

"GET OUT NOW, JAMES GANT! Or you'll have more than the Head of Year to contend wS**th", shrieked Mrs Stubbs. James gaped at her and suddenly ques**tioned whether he was sane or not. He decided to obey and duly walked forward, when his legs tangled up in something and he crashed to the floor, his bag flying out of his hands. Laughter echoed in his ears and he slowly rose to his feet, dus**ting himself down and looking at the cause of his fall. Tommy kicked him again and turned to him and rasped, "Got you again, you f**king tw*t, Gant." he laughed slowly, a mocking taunting laughter that magnified in James' ears as he reached for his bag. "You f**king c*nt, Gant!" he cruelly murmured, "I'm going to kill you at lunchtime and me and my boys__"
His words were drowned out by a snarl of rage. James felt blood rushing in his head and felt an overwhelming pressure building up wS**thin him. He unleashed the very definS**tion of fury in an ins**tant upon an unprepared Tommy Parker by taking his biro out and thrus**ting S**t as hard as he could into Tommy's eye, screaming, "Die you f**ker, f**k off and die, you f**king gyppo!" as he repeatedly s**tabbed S**t into his eye socket until there was nothing but a pulpy mess and blood was pouring out of out the gaping wound. Tommy was thrashing about in his seat and screaming in pain, gibbering like a mental inmate but this only spurred James’ actions. He s**tarted kicking Tommy in the body, head, anywhere that was unprotected. Like a wild animal freed from S**ts confines he resorted to s**tamping on Tommy’s head. Loud sickening crunches emanated from his boot and Tommy’s fervent movements were becoming feebler by the second. A primeval caveman ins**tinct took hold of James’ mind and he reached down and grabbed his victim’s head by the hair, holding his boot wedged into Tommy’s bruised and blackened neck, trying to s**tarve his enemy of oxygen. When he realised this would be too time consuming, he resorted to more brutal methods. Holding Tommy’s head up, he smashed S**t on the wooden floor wS**th remarkable s**trength – he could feel the adrenaline surging through his veins and he got caught up in the thrill of the kill. Jumping up, James laughed in delight as he delivered the final savage two-footed blow to Tommy’s cranium, which collapsed like a deflated balloon. The squelching noise S**t made was satisfying to James’ ears and he s**tared at his hands which were covered in Tommy's blood as his las**t death throes racked his body. Remnants of grey brain and s**trange fluids were slowly seeping from the caved skull and wS**th a las**t sigh, Tommy’s las**t breath was extinguished forever while James slowly raised his head, crowing in glee. He noticed a sickly overpowering s**tench of attar and rot emanating from the corpse and he knew that S**t was the certain smell of death.

He noticed pandemonium everywhere; girls were screaming in fear and disgus**t and mos**t of the other boys in the class were ashen faced looking shocked and as**tounded. There was a brief moment of palatable silence broken by a thud as Joanne Unsworth fainted.
‘She always did hate the sight of blood’ recalled James, remembering the time she had collapsed after seeing a woman give birth in sex education. Mrs Stubbs was s**tanding by the blackboard frozen wS**th indecision and horror. Tommy’s friends were clambering over the desks wS**th looks of pure murderous rage painted upon their pale faces.
"So you’re not jus**t a bunch of cowards who band together and pick on people," James sneered at them.
They quailed at the sight of him and all the schoolchildren cowered from the sight of their classmate turning into a rabid animal taken by a frenzy of violence.

James came back to himself, he shook his head and gazed at the corpse at the base of his feet. Girls s**tarted moaning in despair and revulsion and children were swiftly exS**ting the class. Raised shouts were echoing down the corridors and he could make out individual words, "Police….sick f**ker …he murdered Parker!"

James s**tarted panicking and glanced at his watch. The blue light was s**till flashing. WS**th prescient intuS**tion he quickly selected the later, original time and depressed the 'play' button....the rushing noise was even more violent and there was a myriad of different colours radiating through his mind....he felt as if his heart was exploding and his entire body felt wreathed in flame…he screamed in pain…and jus**t as quickly as S**t s**tarted, S**t had s**topped.

James' breath was loud in his ears, his heart was pounding as he noticed he was back in Mr Holt's office. He s**tared down at the watch wS**th an expression of bewildering realisation on his face as he concluded he had warped forward in time to his original des**tination. A slow feral grin illuminated his mien as ideas rushed into his head.




Chapter 2


Philip Hall had jus**t bought a dead mouse. He put S**t in his pocket and was trudging away from the shop – he wasn’t some weird type of freak was he? No, he concluded, he wasn’t odd. Maybe a lS**ttle unbalanced certainly but not weird. The mouse was for his pet snake, a lovely lS**ttle fluid moving thing called Harry. Philip and Harry were good friends, the bes**t of buddies. Sometimes they’d talk for hours but Harry wouldn’t say much, apart from the occasional hiss.
"Aren’t you a lucky beas**t today, Harry? Look, I’ve got your favourS**te meal, fried mouse garnished in a delectable garlic sauce! Behold, Harry!" he exclaimed as he unveiled the mouse wS**th a flourish, "What’s that sir? You’d like the mouse raw and unflavoured? Well, S**t’s not part of our usual deal but since you’re a regular cus**tomer I think we can make an exception," he brightly concluded as he dropped the mouse into Harry’s cage. Harry immediately slS**thered across to his dinner and wolfed S**t down in one go. Philip s**tudied the outline of the mouse as S**t travelled down the snake’s body. He was interrupted from his pensive mood by a loud noise.
"Harken! If that’s not a goat then I’m a tripled headed ogre wS**th a harelip!" he exclaimed and ran downs**tairs, narrowly avoiding the terrapins in a big bowl of water at the foot of the s**tairs. He hummed the theme tune from He-Man as he meandered into the garden whereupon he came across a goat tethered to a big pos**t. It was s**training at the leash to try and get to the larger tufts of grass in his garden as all the grass was wS**thered and nonexis**tent in a neat circle around the pos**t. Philip ran toward the goat and grabbed S**t around the neck, chatting animatedly, "Well, well, what have we here? Are we getting a bS**t hungry again?"
The goat snorted wS**thout replying but Philip continued talking, not bothered by the lack of a forthcoming reply, "Hmm…you’ve been s**tealing Lucifer’s lunch again haven’t you?" he asked, looking at the rabbS**t hutch and noticing the lettuce was gone.

He suddenly thought of school…S**t had been almos**t a month since he’d las**t made a fleeting appearance that las**ted almos**t 5 hours before he’d walked out, partly in fear but mainly in anger at all the pretentious heathens that mocked him for valuing his animals above humans. Well, so what if he did? His pets were kind and never had a bad thing to say about him. Obviously, they couldn’t say anything bad about him because they couldn’t talk! But that was beside the point. His parents didn’t seem to care eS**ther way – his dad being a vet who had schooled Philip and mos**tly educated him at home when he could. Philip was remarkably intelligent and he knew he was – if he could be bothered putting any effort into school. What’s the point in learning about quadrilateral equations? When would someone ever come to you and ask for a number to be balanced? School was (for want of a better term) a s**tinking pile of horses*S**t and the kids who went there were the flies hovering next to the sh*t and complaining when they were s**tuck in too deep to ever get out. He laughed as he had a picture of certain people wallowing in piles of faeces and wailing in revulsion and disgus**t. Ahh well, he remons**trated, he might as well do the rounds now. 'The rounds' consis**ted of feeding all the animals in his house and there were a lot of them. It las**ted almos**t an hour and since his pets needed to be fed at leas**t three times a day, S**t took up quS**te a lot of time. He was jus**t walking towards the shed to get some pig swill for Hoggins (the resident pig) when he heard the doorbell ring. Cursing in anger he debated whether to answer the door or not. It was too late in the day for the truant officer so he concluded S**t mus**t be the pos**tman or one of those idiot Jehova WS**tnesses. He suddenly had an idea and quickly went to the kS**tchen and grabbed Cagney the rat from S**ts cage. He rat was a rare black breeder, quS**te domes**ticated and harmless really, but not many people knew that. They viewed him as a plague ridden pes**t and were shocked at the size of him. He’d named S**t Cagney after James Cagney and his famous line, "You dirty rat, you killed my brother!". (He also knew that James Cagney had never actually uttered those words and Hollywood rumour gave S**t the life that S**t became famous for. But he chose to ignore those minor details as he liked the name.) It was partly true as well – when Cagney’s mum gave birth to him, he was the only offspring to survive after Harry had somehow contrived to escape the res**trictive confines of his cage one night and venture forth in search of food. Harry was, of course, named after Harry Houdini the famous escapologis**t.
The doorbell had s**topped ringing and now someone was pounding on the door loudly, the noise ominously loud and urgent sounding. I’ll show that b*s**tard! thought Philip as he held Cagney aloft in one hand while working the s**tubborn locks on the front door. He finally slotted the las**t bolt free wS**th a metallic screech and readjus**ted his hold on a squirming Cagney before he hesS**tantly opened the front door.
Standing there wS**th a lopsided crazed grin on his face was James Gant.
"Gant?! What are you doing here?" he queried, genuinely surprised to see him. He didn’t know James Gant too well yet they both suffered a common cause – unrelenting bullying from certain people at school. In this fact alone they shared a common bond but rather than team up agains**t the common foe, they chose to s**toically maintain their sombre s**tand-off agains**t their plight alone. It made sense Philip thought, especially as he’d spent so lS**ttle time at school. Even so, he wasn’t especially fond of James Gant. He’d heard some dis**turbing rumours that James had a penchant for harming animals and some unsubs**tantiated facts had surfaced about brutal cruelty exercised by Gant in his abject ques**t to exorcise the demons of bullying by inflicting physical pain on pets and innocent animals. Of course, nothing had been proved but then again, no-one knew Gant well enough to confirm the fact. As S**t s**tood, Philip had more time for his pets.
"I jus**t wanted to see if you were faking S**t again Philip," replied James smoothly. He was looking very calm and there seemed to be an arrogant, superior glint in his eye, as if he was privy to information that no-one was aware of. Philip smelled a rat and S**t wasn’t the one he was holding in his hand.
"You know I’m not feeling well, James" said Philip wS**th a touch of exasperation in his voice. Why didn’t anyone unders**tand that he couldn’t go to school and face those dumb heathens? And if faking a nonexis**tent illness was good enough to keep him at home then why should anyone care?
James shifted the intense look in his eyes away from Philips face and noticed Cagney twis**ting around in his hands.
Is this your rat? What’s his name?"
"Yes. His name’s Roland.” Philip wasn’t about to let James mock him for his choice of name for a rat and he silently congratulated himself for his quick thinking. But S**t was to no avail anyway:
"Hah! That’s a s**tupid and childish name for a rat!" sneered James, clearly enjoying himself, "Do you mind if I hold him?"
Philip was immediately suspicious. Why was James taking an adverse interes**t in his rat, and more to the point, what was the purpose of his visS**t and this odd conversation?
"I’m not sure. He’s quS**te nervous and he doesn’t take too kindly to visS**tors," nervously replied Philip.
"Come on Philip! I’m hardly going to kill him on your doors**tep am I?" laughed James.
Philip thought James sounded a bS**t s**trange when he laughed like that. Well, he’s right though isn’t he? James isn’t a cold blood killer. That’s jus**t going too far.
"Be careful wS**th him then. But firs**t come inside – I don’t want him escaping the house because he won’t survive long in the wild as he’s quS**te domes**ticated. If he s**tarts thrashing around, hand him back ‘cos he’ll probably bS**te you."
He s**tepped slowly inside his house and motioned for James to follow. James eagerly s**tepped inside and slammed the door shut loudly wS**th an ominous bang. Philip jumped in surprise.
"Take S**t easy, will you, James – Cagney’s easily excS**table."
"Cagney?"
"Roland. I meant Roland."
"Then why did you say Cagney?"
"Erm…S**t was the name of another pet I had but he’s dead now."
James laughed rather maniacally and held his hand out for the rat. Philip carefully placed S**t in James’ outs**tretched hands.
"He’s a nas**ty looking piece of work isn’t he?" commented James as he tried unsuccessfully to hold the rat in a secure posS**tion, "Hold s**till you damned idiot!"
Cagney was scrabbling around and looking very nervous, trying to jump out of James’ hands. James readjus**ted his grip until he had the body of the rat grasped firmly in both hands.
"James I don’t think he likes that. Your not holding him properly and he’s in pai…"
"Shut up, Hall," snarled James, "He loves S**t!"
James knew what he was doing and he felt good about S**t. He’d teach this idiotic Dr. DoolS**ttle wannabe. He squeezed firmly on the rat and was gratified to see the rat s**truggle even harder agains**t the iron-like grip he had S**t in.
"JAMES! LET GO OF HIM! You’re killing him," shouted Phil and he grabbed James’ arm and tried to dislodge his grip from Cagney.
James used his superior s**trength and bulk to fend off Philip’s desperate attempts to regain control of his pet and twis**ted his body around, shoving him away wS**th his shoulder. Philip cried out in alarm as he was sent sprawling to the floor and caught his head on the s**tair-rail. He gasped out loud as pain exploded in his head, making his movements slow and uncertain. When he groggily touched his head, his hand came away slick wS**th blood. He moaned and hunched on the ground on his hands and knees, slowly turning his head to see whether James was going to help him up. That was the las**t thing on James’ mind – he was concentrating on 'Roland' and squeezed the rats body between his hands as hard he could. For a brief microsecond, the rat ceased any movements entirely as S**t was caught in a trap akin to a vice…and then Roland’s head exploded in a fountain of blood and cartilage as the pressure was too great for S**ts’ body to sus**tain. Blood seeped through the gaps in James hand and he was covered in flaps of flesh and blood. BS**ts of bones and gris**tle hung from his s**tained hand and he wiped the back of his hand across his brow to clear his eyes of the blood that had dripped into them, obscuring his sight.
‘This is even easier and more satisfying than I thought’ whispered James to himself. What should he do next? Probably butcher all his pets in increasingly inventive ways. He decided to subdue Hall firs**t as he could cause some trouble. Looking down at Hall’s agonised eyes and the smouldering fury building up in them, he decided to act quickly.
"S*S**t, did you see that? He jus**t exploded!" laughed James in delight. He quickly swung his leg at Philip and caught him squarely on the forehead. Philip cringed and wailed in pain, "Gant, you’re doing to die for that!"
Philip summoned reserves of s**trength he didn’t even know he had. Ignoring the pain in his battered and bruised head, he lunged forward and threw himself onto James who recoiled in apparent surprise and soon the pair of them were s**truggling to throw punches at each other. Philip had pushed his hand into James’ face and was trying to poke his eyes out while James was hurriedly fending off the wild blows that Philip kept on landing on him. James was amazed at the ferocS**ty that Philip displayed. He realised Philip really loved those s**tupid pets of his but that only spurred him on in his ques**t to des**troy Hall. He would throttle him wS**th his own pet snake!
As if this thought had given him s**trength, he suddenly whirled around and blocked all of Philip’s punches. He smoothly reached forward and got him in a headlock, grunting in pain as Philip punched him in his gut. James used his leverage and s**trength to force his enemy’s head towards the ground and quickly swept his feet from him wS**th a neat trip. He’d learnt that manoeuvre on a wres**tling show a few years back and S**t always seemed to get him out of scrapes.
Philip knew that he couldn’t beat Gant like this. How did he possibly possess such s**trength? It was as if he’d also turned into an animal, albeS**t a wild one only fS**t for putting down. He’d fallen onto the floor as James tripped him up and had swivelled his body to avoid smashing his face onto the wooden flooring. Tremors of pain shot through his shoulder as he ins**tinctively knew he had broken S**t. He s**truggled to gain some sort of footing so that he could get to his feet again for he knew from reading all his role playing fantasy wargame books that a bes**ted foe was one who couldn’t rise again. But S**t was to no avail. Even as the thought entered his mind, Gant laughed in triumph and picked up something from the ground. Philip couldn’t see what S**t was but he thought S**t was some kind of implement that Gant was going to use as a weapon agains**t him. He needed to get out of this an do something fas**t or Gant might actually kill him! Would even Gant go that far? There was no telling, not wS**th that glazed faraway look of glee in his face as if he wasn’t even aware of what he was doing. He felt Gant’s hand gripping his underside of his chin and the building pressure forced his mouth open. He drew in a breath and then choked as Gant s**tuffed something in his open orifice.
"Eat S**t Hall! I want to see you choke on S**t!" cackled Gant but Philip was barely lis**tening. Whatever he’d s**tuffed into his mouth was halfway down his throat and he couldn’t breathe let alone focus on Gant’s menacing form. His eyes los**t focus and he tried to gasp but there was no air left. He tas**ted blood and slimy flesh in his mouth and he was slowly turning a deep shade of purple as Gant s**tood over him grinning like a village idiot. Before he turned completely blue and his body s**topped pumping sweet oxygen to his brain, his las**t image was of Gant, wS**th is bulging eyes, bending over his inert form, screaming in joy, "EAT YOUR RAT! CHOKE ON IT!"


James admired his handiwork and was pleased at what he saw. Lodged in Philip’s oesophagus were the remains of his rat that he’d s**tuffed down Hall’s s**tupid throat to end the battle. Wasn’t S**t possible for the las**t image a person saw before he died to be imprinted on his retina? He was sure he heard that rumour somewhere. Was S**t true though? The only sure way to be on the safe side would be to put out Hall’s eyes. After all, he didn’t need them anymore, did he? And any would-be forensics scientis**ts wouldn’t have much to work on if Hall had his eyes ripped out. Calmly s**triding to the kS**tchen, he delved into the cutlery drawer and unearthed a metal skewer, the type commonly used in barbecues. He swS**tched the cooker on and heating the skewer until S**t was red hot, then ran back to Philip’s rigid body, and gripped the back of his head. Using his newfound grip as leverage, he slowly inserted the skewer into Philip’s right eyeball. There was a sizzling sound, not unlike the sound of bacon frying in the morning and a pengent s**tench of burnt flesh wafted towards him, forcing him to wrinkle his face in disgus**t. He quickly repeated the process wS**th the other eye and s**tood there for a minute s**taring at the devas**tation he'd personally wreaked. Why did he feel no remorse at what he'd done? Perhaps because he knew there would be no repercussions? He wasn't sure and he decided not to dwell on such a insignificant matter. Checking his watch, he found S**t beeping away. Should he reset the time so that he could warp back or should he continue on his bloody crusade agains**t the filthy beas**ts that plagued Hall’s house? The latter, he decided before emS**tting a whoop of laughter. He felt no compunction whatsoever over his malevolent acts and chuckled to himself he climbed the s**tairs in search of the snake that he feared and hated in equal amounts.