Above everything else Derek Alfein hated how time had stopped working–for him at least. Everyone on this planet moved about their day bound by a measurement of the Earth’s perpetual revolution around its nearest star. He was the one thrown out of sync.

Sure, his life had other inconveniences. Thanks to this little problem, though, he was going to be expelled. Still, he ran. He had to make an effort to not end his last year of high school before it started. An expulsion certainly dampens any plans of escaping his hometown.

His wristwatch reassured Derek with every glance there was no reason to rush. It told him he was free to go back home and crawl under gentle, warm covers. Were he still in bed, he’d have the option to hit the snooze button once, maybe twice if he ignored speed limits.

The electronic bell cracked through loud speakers, telling a different story. Chimes of the early bell echoed along with his footsteps as he sprinted through emptying hallways of H. P. High. As he moved, he counted the number of cutout silver falcons. Covering the walls in school spirit every three feet or so seemed excessive–even for the first day back. Their mascot was everywhere, its image flying alongside him as though the calculated hunter had sprung to life. Or it was stalking him, waiting to sense weakness before swooping in.

Failure was guaranteed, even as he charged ahead. His first class was one of the furthest from the parking lot. Tardiness following the long summer was not good. He had to arrive promptly.

It wasn’t as though the watch ran slow or its battery had died. This band was more ornate than a high school student, likely to lose it or have it stolen, deserved. It measured time’s passing with the fine precision bestowed on Swiss-constructed watches. The problem was with him.

Derek wanted to stop wearing the useless accessory, except his parents insisted otherwise. In their irrational wisdom, they refused to let him leave home without some tool to gauge the hours in his day. Ignoring the fact that all smart-phones performed the exact same function, they had purchased a fancy watch, claiming it as a huge favor, a gift! It was presented under the guise of an extremely early birthday present. His parents were so ecstatic they gave him the miraculous trinket six months early with the intention he use it to magically get to his summer job on time. Either that, or they confused his birthday with his sister’s.

He would have preferred a new game: an RPG long enough to get lost in, or a team shooter to take out his frustrations by laying waste to immature children shouting slurs into their microphones. Either had the potential to entertain him in the otherwise lonely idle summer days apart from his too busy friends.

That was the problem with parents. They rarely got what you wanted and expected gratitude for misinformed, supposed “favors.” His were more clueless than most. With the amount of money they spent on this jewelry, an improvement to his crappy used car was a better investment.

Not that the price tag mattered in the slightest. A cheap plastic watch from a cereal box produced the same result. No matter the time of day, for the past year or so he always saw 6:53:27am.

Right now, he was glad to have the thing on his arm. It gave him the opportunity to stare at the shiny object as he ran, pretending to ignore judgment from students he passed. Derek decided not to hear their laughter while he acted like a freshman sprinting the length of the building. He most certainly didn’t listen to their jeers at his expense.

Though they were the more embarrassing obstacles he hoped to avoid, it was not the swarm of other students that had him so worried. Security monitors and administration staff were roaming the halls. They were already out in numbers, coordinating with untold efficiency to catch stragglers. With the start of a new year, they had to present a policy of strict adherence to the rules. Punishments for rule-breakers were to be delivered without a first warning. There were no Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free cards today.

Derek passed the principal, Mrs. Nowachek, separating a large gaggle of his classmates as she directed them towards their respective lessons. Moaning loudly, they practically begged not to be separated for the next hour.

Doing his best to not draw attention from either party, Derek looked away, hoping to obscure his face. His worsening track record provided no leniency. He spent a lot of long hours last year in Mrs. Nowachek’s office discussing his future at this school and filling numerous notebooks with the line: “I will not be late.”

As for the group of his peers, Derek knew them all. He just had no interest in joining their cavorting. Derek felt a sickening twang as they laughed at someone’s parting joke. He was too boring to carry on as the center of attention in such an interesting conversation or witty enough to make a group like this laugh in unison.

What words of wisdom could they possibly be bestowing? They must have spent the entire summer together and here they were, chatting away without depleting their well of topics. He was more than glad to be removed from them as he took the shortcut past the band room.

Derek’s long legs were already aching as they carried his top-heavy body. Apparently he wasted his summer weight lifting. Pushing for a barrel chest, the end result was a slightly barreled belly and horrible lung capacity. He should have built endurance instead of striving for the chiseled muscles that had yet to appear. Then he wouldn’t be so winded in the sprint from his car to the science wing.

Granted, unless the bathroom scale was lying, he was losing weight. Though how he accomplished such a feat on a diet of sugar cookies, slabs of meat, and protein shakes eluded him. Hopefully these were the preliminary stages to another growth spurt. Not that he had reason to complain with his already slightly above-average height.

“Hey DS! Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?” Louis’s deep voice, perfect for radio or a podcast, carried the extent of the hall over the quiet rumbling conversations.

Louis Tachus was loyal to a fault. Slimmer than Derek, the larger presence he carried allowed him to direct the mass of freshman. Though some of the new high school entrants were taller, he dominated even the most strong-willed. His short, dark hair made a widow’s peak above thick eyebrows on an angular face. Louis’s eyes were beaming, taking in the friend he missed these past few months. Any sign of dough on Louis’s stocky frame had been removed; his summer was spent marching all day and well into the night.

Shouting over the din of close-pressed bodies, Derek called ahead to one of his two best friends, “I didn’t plan on being late and I’ve told you a thousand times not to call me that.”

Louis paused for a moment, and then commanded to the young gathered assortment of students. “Make way. My pal, Derek, needs safe passage. Red Sea formation!”

Snapping his fingers, the underclassmen band students, having spent the summer drilled by Louis’s marching orders, reacted. Like magic, they parted, forming a much needed clear route. There was still a chance to make it to class ahead of the late bell.

“Thanks,” Derek managed over his shoulder as he picked up the pace.

Rounding the corner to the science wing, he nearly knocked over a pair of not-so-star-crossed lovers in his haphazard sprint. Partially hidden by an alcove, the inexperienced underclassmen were protruding enough into the open. Giving the impression they wanted the illusion of privacy, their carefully chosen location offered quite the contrary. It left them fully exposed to every passersby.

With outstretched tongues locked together, they reminded Derek of grazing giraffes at the zoo reaching for leaves. Too enraptured in their moment, they failed to notice he had almost bowled them over, in what would have violently interrupted their vomit-inducing display. Clearly the pair were not dating for each other; they were dating to be seen. Had their feelings been genuine, they’d have sequestered to a more private spot in which to show affection.

He gave their relationship to the end next month, paying no more attention to the doomed young lovers as his goal neared beyond the next bend.

Droll notes clanged as he approached the final stretch, each tone bouncing around his skull. The late bell had rung, and with it, the entrance ahead had closed. Refusing to accept defeat, Derek chose to take his chances and covered the remaining distance. Wasting only a split second to peer through the glass window on the door, he took stock of the classroom within. Luckily, the teacher was standing at the front with his back towards the doorway. Holding his breath, Derek bravely opened the door and quickly shut it, now on the correct side. Sliding into the nearest empty desk he made a vain attempt to start senior year detention-free.

Preferring a seat closer to the action, he settled for this spot. The complex symbols were difficult to read from the back of the class. Yet, he dare not risk drawing attention by moving.

Too many heads turned to snicker at his arrival. It was unlikely any among them intended to announce to their teacher he made it in late. Derek prayed for the unspoken rule of the student to be paramount. They needed to help and protect one another. Besides, this class lacked his real enemies. No one here was willing to make life more difficult for him without reason, for now. Once he skewed the curves on the first few tests those attitudes were bound to change.

Their teacher, Mr. Spangler, didn’t acknowledge the minor disruption. Derek allowed himself to exhale. To perpetuate the ruse he silently inched open his backpack, retrieved what was needed, and proceeded to furiously copy everything on the overflowing screen to blend in with the rest of the class.

Elaborate equations came to life by Mr. Spangler’s hand, which were in turn transferred to the screen at the front of class. What started as concise notes had expanded into a kaleidoscope of varying, colorful details. Already, diagrams and arrows were jumbled over the equations that surprisingly helped to make sense of it all. Color-coordinating formulas were matched with graphs and diagrams to clarify the meaning of each of the variables.

The jovial man brought energy and life into a physics class which in less capable hands was dry and dull. A little on the hefty side, he effortlessly sprang between the multiple projector screens with a lively step. Wearing a red striped button-down shirt, a solid orange tie, and khakis, he was the image of professionalism. He waited to display his patched scholarly suit jacket or whimsical Hawaiian t-shirt. Those he held in reservation until getting a better measure of the class. On one day last semester he had gotten away with wearing fake glasses, to see how many people commented. He was almost hurt when only one student said anything. Derek had never been prouder to be so observant.

After last year’s prerequisite course, Derek learned that Mr. Spangler knew how to motivate the class, often going a little more than slightly overboard in his enthusiasm. Mr. Spangler prodded his students only so far as they needed to actively engage with the subject. In this instance, however, Derek hoped their teacher was concentrating on the board rather than noticing the student who had snuck into class late.

Over his shoulder, Mr. Spangler’s explained his handiwork, “That should do it.” His baritone voice reached the four corners of the room as he asked, “Can anyone recall this formula? It’s a refresher to demonstrate what you learned back in General Physics.”

Vaguely remembering the meaning of the symbols, Derek brushed the cobwebs in his memory, trying to recall the rest. Because he had arrived late, he owed it to Mr. Spangler to help define some of the pieces of the equation. He had seen this exact problem. What was its solution?

Besides, there was no better way to cover his late infraction than to answer the question immediately posed. Resisting the strong urge to raise his hand for a partial assist, Derek sank back into the hard seat, letting the moment pass. He refused to allow himself to be that same person. Now that he was a senior, he wanted to end the habits which alienated him for years. He should listen to Andy’s advice. There were too few people genuinely willing to call him friend. Every year it seemed as though that number dwindled ever lower.

Mr. Spangler spun, regarding his new class as a whole. Looking on hopefully at each face, he searched for one brave fool to take initiative. Blank stares were the only response he received. Honing in on the late arrival, Derek felt a sudden sense of dread as Mr Spangler spoke. “Now that our last class member has entered, maybe he’d care to explain what I wrote?”

Derek’s ability to speak evaporated from his open mouth as the entire class turned. The more annoying students seated at the front contorted in their chairs for a better view of his burning cheeks. Derek knew what to say, but his mouth miserably failed.

Pressing for the answer, Mr. Spangler cut the silence in an attempt to goad a response from an unwilling student. “Keep in mind, while I do not want to deal with the paperwork on day one of writing a detention slip, show up late again and you will receive two. Can’t be showing favoritism, can I? Of course, provide the answer and I may be tempted to forget it altogether.”

It’s not my fault, Derek wanted to scream. Instead, his jaw closed and opened, without forming an intelligible syllable. Derek remembered Mr. Spangler providing an explanation to this formula at some point. The solution was beyond his grasp. A fleeting thought crept into his head. He glanced under his desk to confirm that he was, in fact, wearing pants. This had to be a bad dream. Pinching his leg, Derek knew he wasn’t asleep, and worse, he was stuck in place.

He should have had plenty of time to get to school. The clock on the wall told him this class didn’t start for over an hour. That was wrong. Derek knew as much, yet he had to keep mentally correcting himself. The clock was lying.

Resigned to the lack of willing volunteers, Mr. Spangler began a tirade of how the equation represents the forces applied to an object in motion. As Mr. Spangler spoke, it sparked long unused brain cells, allowing Derek to recall what he had forgotten due to summer vacation. The lesson continued in a similar manner, slowly rekindling more lost knowledge.

Within fifteen minutes, Derek was way ahead of the problems shown on the board, understanding and solving each in a flurry of pencil scratches and formulas. He was careful to keep that fact to himself. The rest of the class was clearly struggling. He had difficulty in holding back a smug grin as he watched one student after the next raise their arms to ask for help. Why were they struggling so much, we went through these problems... last year?

Were these actually review problems? The diagrams and questions were for entirely new material, and yet, Derek had seen these exact problems somewhere. They demonstrated a unique method needed to break apart the object into horizontal and vertical components by realigning the axis in relation to the objects. Once Derek learned the trick, the entire suite of problems were easy. Otherwise, the equations took pages to solve. Derek remembered Mr. Spangler teaching this strategy, without remembering when it happened. It had to have been last year during the prereq course, except this is much more complicated than any equation they learned there.

All the wheres and whens in the world didn’t matter. The second hand ticked at a crawling pace. He watched the long arm clearly move, then jump back to the previous instant, forcing a repetitious cycle. From Derek’s perspective the clock was stuck in perpetual motion without getting any further ahead. It was impossible for every time piece in existence to have frozen. Yet that was the simplest explanation.

Granted this occurred exclusively for Derek. His watch never lied to anyone else. Those he relied on to manage his schedule were baffled at his incompetence. He counted to two hundred before checking again. The hanging wall clock, wristwatch, and cell phone all read the same hour, minute, and second. According to them, no time passed since well before the school day started.

A throbbing headache was spreading, brought on by the intense staring contest he was losing against the clock’s second hand. Off and on these mental blocks had inhibited his capacities for days, weeks even. Thinking clearly through the haze was an effort in itself.

As Mr. Spangler droned on, this class was starting to feel like it truly existed outside the ravages of time. He was in the exact same room with the exact same teacher from the previous year. The black, granite tables lining the opposite end of the room hadn’t aged or changed for the entire duration of his high school experience. Empty beakers, measuring cups, and scales were organized at the center of each table and appeared to have remained idle since their last use months ago. Derek was looking forward to playing with the wide array of utensils on display, though he must never admit that to anyone. Given the extremely difficult course, Mr. Spangler rewarded those who chose to take it. He designed the experiments to be both challenging and enjoyable in the preparation march towards the Advanced Placement exams in May.

Nothing fun was to be tested in an experiment today. Derek had to sign his life away with several liability forms well before getting a hand on even a mass spectrometer. As the teacher’s former aide, he had helped to set up a few such labs and knew what he had to look forward to as this class progressed.

Their semester’s laboratory tests culminated in the egg drop challenge followed by one on paper towel launchers. First they had to use the lesson material to design a container for protecting an egg from harm. Launched from the top of the school, half of last year’s seniors in this class littered the sidewalk with egg shells and yolks. It was a wonder they were still allowed to go through with the borderline vandalism. Then, during the week prior to final exams, they had an easy experiment to construct launchers using paper towel rolls, Popsicle sticks, rubber bands, and glue. A lot of glue. If done properly, the low stress lab was a way to exemplify the key concepts of physics with the added benefit of allowing extra class time to study.

The potential prospects of this upcoming year were captivating, luring Derek from a monotonous review class. Lab experiments aside, this year provided something that none previous even hinted at: a chance to escape. Though he was months from deciding on a college, his aspirations had one thing in common. They were a minimum of one hundred miles from here. He had drawn a circle on a map to ensure none of the colleges he intended to apply to were contained within the “Hazard Zone.”

With an unnatural sixth sense for daydreaming students, Mr. Spangler snuck beside Derek’s desk. “Boredom cannot have taken root so early in the semester, Mr. Alfein. You should be well rested enough to pay attention and pretend you intend to try harder than last year.”

Unable to respond, Derek sat there, an immobile deer caught in headlights. He wanted to disappear from view. That offhand comment burned more than Mr. Spangler intended. He tensed upon realizing the mistake, covering his insult with nervous laughter. “I mean, you were at the top of the class. I expect you to do equally well again this year.”

Deflecting the injury, Derek was forced to shrug noncommittally, hiding behind a facade of normalcy. Struggling to maintain a neutral tone, he fought to keep his voice steady. “I was just letting my mind wander to the egg drop contest for after the third test,” Once started, the lie blended with the truth, taking on a new life and persisting into the realm of the conceivable. “After all, I did help organize the event last year for the seniors.”

So much for not standing out as the resident teacher’s pet. It didn’t take long for the moment to pass. Mr. Spangler dropped the subject, all too quickly returning to describing opposing forces and how to derive velocities as though nothing unusual had occurred.

Physics had always been Derek’s favorite class, but Mr. Spangler had a valid point. Although the lecture was interesting, it was agonizing to sit here. Mr. Spangler’s statement stung deeply and left Derek with absolutely no desire to take notes. He wanted to leave this class and forget how last year he narrowly avoided being held back a grade, despite a near flawless G.P.A.

All he needed to do was arrive by the start of the school day, yet repeatedly failed to do so. He shattered the school’s record for worst attendance. The only reason the principal decided to allow him to move on was to raise their regional scores. Derek would be heavily scrutinized this semester should his grades show a hint of dropping.

He had bigger concerns, though. Everyone thought his problem was a joke he refused to let die. The fact of the matter was that Derek hated how foolish he appeared to be. His condition reduced him to relying on friends and family for time checks and reminders to get to where he needed to go.

His sister had graciously set countless alarms for different responsibilities. These had molded together to be overwhelming. Too many had been set for today, so he wound up ignoring them all. On more than one occasion, he snoozed every alarm in a half asleep stupor. These attempts proved to be nothing more than stop-gap solutions at best, and at worst, utter failures.

Thinking it over made his head spin. The warmth of the room was lulling him to sleep, overpowering a half effort to remain awake. Mostly Derek was trying not broadcast that he ceased listening to the lecture.

Heat wraps around my body making the very act of breathing excruciating.

Derek lifted his head from the desk so quickly he launched from his seat. Refocusing his attentions around the room, nothing seemed out of place, except for him. The long series of equations on the board were being thoroughly explained by Mr. Spangler. His classmates were studiously copying notes as expected. Their tapping on tablets and scratches on paper were a rhythmic lullaby.

Yet Derek couldn’t shake the unnerving feeling at the base of his shoulder blades. In the space between awake and asleep, he inexplicably felt connected to everyone in the room. He heard their beating hearts and counted each person’s pulse. The taste of perspiration forming on the side of his neighbor’s soda made his mouth water. Derek cringed at the streak of the plastic pointer against the smooth glass screen. His head slumped forward, collapsing into cushioned arms. Unable remain awake over weighted eyelids, he was sent adrift into a violent bout of sleep.

My lungs fight for air through thick noxious fumes, burning me from the inside out.

Derek tried to yell, but it was too difficult. He had an easier time chewing the air than breathing it.

The ground beneath his footsteps shifted as he ran, seeking any point of safety amidst the inferno. The heat must be searing flesh on his face. Needing relief, he covered everything except his eyes with his shirt sleeve. Through these narrowed slits, Derek saw a tumultuous world.

Fire bubbled from hundreds of pools, shooting dozens of feet into the air. Layers of stone ground to dust as mountains of rock rose as suddenly as they collapsed under their weight. A red glow permeated all.

Sweat ran freely down Derek’s back. His shirt was drenched from his forehead well before he took stock. Glancing around, he failed to grasp where he was or how he arrived. Animal instincts drove tired feet onward. A burst of molten lava erupted directly in front of his path, threatening to melt skin with a mere touch. Dodging around the immediate danger using reflexes he was unaware of possessing, Derek pressed on, searching for any way out. At this point he was willing to settle for solid footing, as the ground constantly opened to give him a taste of the molten layer beneath.

The heat alone was unbearable, but then an otherworldly roar from behind pierced his ears. Immediately grinding to a stop, fear latched on, preventing the slightest muscle twitch. Cold terror pumped through veins, its icy grip halting the flow of blood.

Power radiated from the cry, captivating him in its enormous pull. Derek’s mind had gone entirely blank, caught in a wild panic. Only the drive to live helped him regain the use of his legs. Enough to press on. Drudging forward, the dragging weights lifted. Every step strained as though he was running through waist deep syrup.

Stealing a quick glance over his shoulder, Derek saw it. Steadily closing the gap between them. A football field separated him from certain annihilation. Another tormented bellow sounded as it was struck by a fountain of lava, too large to dodge. The burst that would have incinerated Derek was merely an inconvenience.

Its jaws clenched shut, spraying froth onto its front paws. Thick white fur covered the lumbering form of a bear. A smoking hole on the side of its head was the only indication an ear had been present.

Perspiration from more than heat drenched Derek’s face, blurring his vision. Analyzing the surroundings he searched for an advantage, no matter how insignificant. On his left, a deep ravine stretched parallel to the arbitrarily chosen path. On his right, the broken land spread beyond view. There was no cover to be seen from the savage pursuant.

Derek’s hope dissolved as he reached the ledge. Hundreds of feet below flowed a wide stream of bubbling lava. He thought of climbing down a small distance to escape the monster. Doing so left him exposed on the side of a slick cliff with death waiting either above or below. That idea was out.

With no alternative, Derek kept running, losing ground with every stride. Then, in the distance, a natural bridge traversed over the canyon. He needed to make it there and destroy it once across.

A new tingling sensation from the direction of the predator forced Derek to turn.

A green, whip-like beam of light in front of that thing’s face. This line hovered in midair, coming alive and bending as it molded with unseen hands.

Without warning, this phenomenon shot forward, snaking towards the hapless victim. Taken aback, Derek had enough time to cross his hands over his face. It was a gut reaction, throwing fleshy bits over more sensitive areas such as his eyes. Just before the impact, the hairs on his neck stood on end. Miraculously, the wave of energy passed by, burning his forearms, but leaving the rest of him largely unharmed. It was almost as though something flowed into his arms which hardened to protect him from the full blast. Derek must have been mistaken.

That was irrelevant now. It was so much closer.

Its muzzle distinctly twisted into what appeared to be a grin. Nothing made sense in the inferno. Bears couldn’t smile and they absolutely were incapable of shooting searing light.

While the blast had been mostly ineffective on Derek, the bridge was severely damaged in the residual impact. Chunks of stone dropped into the canyon, gulped into the depths of the river of lava.

Unable to find a better chance for survival, Derek started across the crumbling stones. This seemed a better idea in his head than in reality. At its thickest, the walkway wasn’t wide enough for his feet to be side by side. Peeking below, Derek saw more of the fragile walkway chipping apart. He had no choice now. Backtracking wasn’t an option.

Arriving at the edge, the gigantic monster refused to follow on the structurally unsound death trap presenting itself as Derek’s salvation. The land bridge was too narrow for the hulking mass to maneuver. Crouching on its haunches, it eagerly watched, waiting for the slightest mistake to cost Derek his life. Disappointed at the lack of a show, it pounded the ground.

The shudder crept from the rocks up through Derek’s legs as the bridge gave way. Without hesitation he bolted, lunging forward, legs flailing wildly long after they were no longer connecting to anything. The bridge’s still-standing end appeared deceptively within arm’s reach, enticing Derek with the promise of safety, as it slipped from his grasp. The cliff face in front blurred as he dropped, blending together into a smooth surface opposite his descent.

Safety had seemed so close. That which hunted him was trapped on the wrong side of the bridge. He shut his eyes tight and waited for the inevitable. There was nothing to do except regret his inability to fly. A bird could effortlessly soar from both death and the predator. Derek wished his descent to stop using sheer force of will.

At first, he noticed nothing. The wind stopped, no longer rushing by. Realizing he should have melted by now, Derek dared to open his clenched eyes. The rocks along the wall weren’t moving anymore. His body had come to a halt.

Derek started to plummet again. Quickly, he focused on not doing that anymore. He stopped. Far below, the pieces of the bridge were already destroyed by the lava, yet here he was, floating on emptiness.

He didn’t know where the impossible thought originated. I AM CONTROLLING THIS! Willing himself to rise, he did so. Up, up towards the ravine’s edge. Derek joyously cried in his victory at defying gravity. It wasn’t until he neared the ledge that he heard the low snarl from death incarnate and remembered why he crossed the collapsed bridge in the first place.

Derek’s feet floated to the ground as he watched the monster step back. Then powerful hind legs rippled. It easily bounded over the gap. There was nowhere to run as its heavy paw crashed into his vulnerable limbs.

Shying away, Derek held out his hands instinctively as his last remaining means of defense. His open palms warmed, as Derek felt faint. It rebounded, paws colliding seemingly against nothing. Though alarmed, Derek was almost energized by this protection, giving him courage where he had had none. It attacked again with renewed strength, both paws slamming against whatever had stopped it before. The shield shattered and dispersed on impact, sending Derek flying. His back peeled against jagged rocks.

His yell of surprise was cut short by heavy breathing above. Its face hovered inches from Derek’s, paws on either side pinning him in place. For a timeless moment, Derek met the vile gaze in open defiance as it peered into his soul. Only anger and pain lay behind those narrowed black coals.

Saliva dripped over crooked teeth onto Derek’s shirt. The stench of rotting flesh seeped from the depths of its throat, bringing water to his eyes. At the sight of a bone still wedged behind a molar, Derek grimly wondered whether it was better to be swallowed whole or torn apart quickly. A blank mind prevented resistance, much less an escape. He watched as teeth capable of ripping a car in half closed in. Unable to move, unable to think, Derek relaxed, finally succumbing to the inevitable.

“Derek!”

The teeth were inches away…

“Derek!”

Its jaws were around his body, rending skin from bone…

“Derek! WAKE UP!” Mr. Spangler shouted.

Automatically Derek stood, dragging a shirt sleeve across his chin to wipe a long sliver of drool. Shaking his head back and forth, the room shifted into focus. It was only a dream. But it felt so real. Derek swore he was about to lose the desperate fight for his life. Unbidden tears dropped to the desk.

Was I really in a volcano fighting a bear?

He needed to stop watching so many science fiction movies. Remembering where he was, Derek realized he was in the midst of causing the very disruption he had been hoping to avoid, for the second instance in a single class period.

Trying to calm himself, Derek kept repeating that he was safe in this relatively normal high school. He was not about to be murdered by a horrible beast. Every pair of eyes in the room turned his way at this new outburst. Fresh tears were welling up, while he searched for a way out of the room filled with judgmental glares. What was there to say in his defense, aside from an insanity plea?

His body locked even while his pulse raced. Then the familiar tingling sensation from his dream made him lurch as the many voices crept into his thoughts.

What is wrong with him?

What a loser.

Derek is so weird.

He’s kind of cute, I guess, but he clearly has issues.

They keep pouring in, drowning other equally nonsensical thoughts. Not a single classmate’s mouth moved. Filled with dread, Derek knew what merged with his thoughts. Refusing the possibility, he conceded that he must be losing his mind from the stress of school.

A small trickle of blood started to run from his nose. Past experience told him he had maybe a minute before this became a full blown fire hydrant spray.

“Oh I’m sorry, Derek,” stammered a genuinely bewildered teacher. “Is something wrong? Would you like to get a drink? Go clean yourself. Take a few minutes.”

“I’ll be back soon,” Derek barely managed to sputter under his breath. Having wiped the blood from his upper lip, it was already replaced.

Not wanting to stay there for another second, Derek ran, fleeing peculiar expressions as they followed his scared race from the room.

That dream left him disturbed, questioning a perceived reality. The heat sprouting from the ground felt real. He had to check his arms to be ensure none of the burns followed him outside of the dream. Relief flooded when no burned skin or abrasions were found.

Setting a fast pace to the bathroom, Derek collected the remnants of his mind as he pinched his nose to halt more blood loss.

He sprinkled chilled water on his face and wiped the sweat that covered it. The blood mostly clotted in the walk to the poorly-lit room. That was one crisis averted.

Looking at the reflection in the mirror Derek was afraid of the image staring back. The long face with chubby cheeks seemed to be exactly as he remembered seeing this morning. His eyes, though dilated and wide, hadn’t changed either. They still were dark brown with lighter streaks radiating outward. Running a hand through unkempt, thick auburn hair, Derek exhaled. Unable to settle on a style, he had let it grow long after the thick locks needed to be tamed. His bangs were starting to curl at odd angles, having already taken over his forehead. To his relief, the greatest disturbance in his reflection was its desperate need of a haircut. There was no demon bear spying over his shoulder. His mundane life never seemed so admirable.

Perhaps nothing appeared out of the ordinary because he didn’t want to find anything, or maybe it was the other way around. Whatever that meant. Handsome-ish features intact, Derek was getting nowhere by staring at himself in the bathroom. Aimlessly pacing the halls seemed like a better decision and it was more relaxing, as long as he wasn’t caught.

Overtaken by thirst from the lingering dream, Derek stopped at the nearest water fountain. Bending over he drank deeply from the cool stream. As he began to stand, his head still swam with disturbing thoughts that engulfed this morning. The hall and lockers spun. So consumed within himself, he barely noticed he was surrounded. A well-placed kick to the heel and a strong push drove his forehead against the hard, metallic fountain.

Dropping to the floor, Derek looked up at his torturers: John and the four lackeys. Derek sagged as his body prepared for the oncoming assault.

Growing up, they had been relatively close in height and build, but the golden haired wonder of John developed a much more toned body. For all of that added padding, John was only slightly stronger, which should have made a single fight between them somewhat fair. Except John learned to fight from his older brother, a semi-pro boxer. While his brother learned discipline, John stole the knowledge of how to strike and inflict pain. Sadly, in most cases Derek was resigned to the role of sparring partner/victim. Dark, frigid eyes anticipated Derek’s roll, a useless attempt to break free. A solid kick to the stomach was waiting as a new round of hurt started. Stepping back to let his crew do the rest, John grunted in satisfaction. Derek doubted John remembered or even cared why he behaved this way anymore.

The rest had their most dominant characteristics etched forever into Derek’s mind through numerous “fights.” Double D, who Derek dubbed “The Brute,” physically surpassed the average high school student, leaving no small number believing it to be not all natural. Though Derek considered himself reasonably tall, he barely was eye level with Double D’s shoulders. Not only that, but this brute outweighed him by at least a good hundred pounds. His short military brown hair stopped well short of a pronounced forehead as it jut into empty space. This gave the impression Double D constantly struggled to form every thought. What he lacked in mental acuity he made up for in force. His kicks felt like a bulldozer squashing the life from Derek. Their impacts kneaded throbbing agony into parts he was unaware of having.

The other one to hit this downed victim was the striking Alryl. Her dark complexion descended with dangerous accuracy. Lithe legs struck with astounding speed. Instead of spreading pain like her obtuse companion, she focused on a single point to penetrate well below soft outer layers. She made excellent use of the many years of soccer experience. Unfortunately, in this case, it was at Derek’s expense.

Two of the five managed to show some restraint, refusing to get involved for different reasons. One of whom everyone called Fuzzy. Soft, spiked hair covered the top of his head and a full carpet of fur poked from under his shirt’s collar, leaving no question why he had been branded with that nickname since middle school. Having completed puberty early, he was forever known as one of the hairiest in the school.

Not too long ago, he was also considered a close friend. Fuzzy’s recollection of that minor detail may be what prevented him from laying in quality kicks. That he chose to side with John did little to help Derek in the current predicament, but one less person hitting him was appreciated. In all likelihood, though, it was for a much more mundane reason. Unlike John, Fuzzy’s size hid few, if any, muscles. This overweight girth was the more reasonable culprit keeping him from pressing forward amongst the others.

Last, and certainly the least of the bunch was Weasel. Less than John’s shadow, his only life goal seemed to cling to the shoes of whomever offered the most in the way of discarded scraps. His tiny eyes were slightly too close to his nose and his pinched face made him look like a rodent. He spoke with a nasal, high pitched squeak which often echoed some snide comment from John. On more than one occasion, Derek overheard teachers mistakenly call this man-rodent by Weasel, having forgotten his true name, the same as everyone else.

With the help of John’s cronies Derek didn’t stand a shred of a chance. Even one on one, he was mostly helpless against the three hard hitters of John, Double D, and Alryl. Derek did have a good chance against Fuzzy and could easily thrash the Weasel. However, they traveled in a pack and never fought on even footing. Thus, Derek was reduced to the losing side for years. They made sure he suffered even worse if he showed the decency to struggle or fight back.

Derek’s reminiscing was interrupted as he was jarred back to reality with a series of simultaneous kicks to his back and thighs. He exhaled deeply, partly in pain and partly out of frustration. He barely remembered a week of school without an incident, either verbal or, more recently, physical. This new year was supposed to be better.

As he was knocked about on the ground, Derek happened to catch not the faces of his oppressors, but one in the distance he recognized. The other leg of the tripod, Andy, sat on the edge of his vision, through the doorway at the end of the hall. Leaning his chair back to the dangerous tipping point, the slacker was content to be in the farthest seat from the front of the class and his teacher. Andy turned to see the sadistic five hovering over Derek. Springing from his seat, Andy shouted something as a thick boot swung into Derek’s face.