by N.A Miller
Everyone wants to go out a hero and have his/her own death scene. What would that be?
|My Death Scene: |
N.A Miller/E.A Stevens
This is Fantasy! The events here never existed or happened at any time in the years or institution specified. All persons the names have been preserved to maintain accuracy. But this event in its entirety is false.
E.A Stevens, Writer, NYC
Snow: It fell quietly in large flakes from the cloud-filled sky, midst the freezing temperatures and frigid winds, in a typical chilly November for the state of Ohio. It is around seven-thirty in the morning, as a fleet of yellow buses rumble along the roadways between the many wooded areas, fields and pastures. They are on their way toward their destination at the Junior High and High School, so early in the morning, located in and around the town of Bellbrook. Here they bring students for the morning as always for the school year that had started back in August.
It is outside in the open service corridor, running between the two buildings, the Junior High and High School, where a sinister scene, a hazing crime was taking place. Four students square off in a cement stairwell that leads into a side door entering the boy’s locker room, two juniors, one senior, and one freshman. The stairwell was concealed by darkness as the morning encroaches on another day, but also was concealed by several bushes and three juniper trees around it.
It is here the senor and junior grabbed the freshman, and held him as he is brutally assaulted by another junior class student. No doubt his is being punished for nothing more than his meager existence as a lower class. A hidden crime because the student did not bow down and be respectful, or recognize them as their elder in the hallway.
In fact, this freshman is different, from a different place, and did belong here. He is from the west, a place where you had to fight for your existence in your own class to be acknowledged, or you would be assaulted in the same way, verbally lashed, or pranks set upon your person.
You also could have other cruel things happen to you too that were much worse. He basically had not recognized his place, coming from a different environment, and not understood how things worked here in the east. He basically told them in so many four letter words to take a flying leap and now is paying the price for his insolence.
They held him as one worked him over and delivering a series of hard punches, kicks, and jabs to the head, neck and body. He did not scream, or whimper and it only infuriated the upperclassman more by his defiance. What it was that he was cold, and partially ill with a cold, and his throat raw from coughing over the weekend so he could hardly speak about a whisper.
One more series of punches struck the youth and this time he slipped from their grasp, but he did not run. He fell exactly on the spot he now stood, hitting the ground, splattering it red by his own warm blood that now covered the ice and snow. As he lay on the ground they kicked him, like a literal rag doll, hardly breathing and his body beyond feeling pain right. His breath is barely visible in the frosty morning air as he remains motionless to the assault to his person. Now in the morning light, they are able to see for themselves the events and what they had been doing for the last ten-minutes, beating him literally into the ground. A pool of bright red blood now pooled around his body, walls are splattered by droplets of his blood and across the staircase near the doorway.
Matt stood over him and spying the blood that he stopped, holding out his arms. He waved to the other two.
“Wait, hold up, what the fuck did you do to him?” The senior known as Matthew asked, the sensible one of the group, “I said scare him, and ruff him up him a little not try to kill him.”
“What are you talking about?” The junior asked. He is the prankster, and funnyman of the class. He is confused by the question, and wondered why all of a sudden that Matt actually gave a fuck, especially about a lower class.
“Dude, I think you hurt him.” Matthew repeated, pointing at the body, the blood and the intestine that he clearly could see under the shirt of the freshman. He didn’t know his name and after all this, it hardly mattered. The other two looked in astonishment at the inert body, and the pool of red blood that now covered the snow, and the freshman’s clothes.
“Oh come on, that’s fake blood.” Jim commented, “Can’t you tell, I didn’t think he would stoop so low to get out of a pounding. He has a bad attitude and a filthy mouth.”
“Dude, I don’t think it is… I don’t think he deserves any more punishment.” Matt declared, “Honestly. I think he’s had enough, we should help him now to the office and simply tell him that we found him hurt after what he appeared to have slipped on the ice.”
“Principle Rhoades will never believe that, how can you say that when he has contusions to his face, lips and body.”
Jim leaned down to the young man who lay silently on he ground in the cold.
“You say anything to the staff, parents or anyone; we’ll do this again, four times worse than what we did this time and leave scars to remind you.” He snarled, “So keep your mouth shut!”
The freshman did not move, wince, or show emotion as he lay on the ground.
“Dude, he needs to go to the office, and an ambulance needs to be called. He’s not going to be able to get to his class, let alone back on his feet.” Matthew pressed, and he saw Jim shake his head. “We shouldn’t just leave him here.”
“We need to get inside. We have like five minute before class starts.” The senior suggested, “Don’t worry about this little shit, he got his just deserves.”
“Well, I’m not leaving him. Not like this.” Matt snarled, “If you geniuses had not noticed, we ripped open something and his internal organs are hanging out.”
“I still think he’s faking it.”
“Let’s go.” The senior told him, pulling at his arm and Matt shook his head, leaning for a moment near the freshman’s ear.
“I’m not going, I’m taking him to the office and getting him help.” Matt repeated, and both Jim and the other student stepped forward toward him.
“I’m sorry.” He said. Jim held up his fist.
“Don’t worry someone will find him, probably they will let the office know… We have three minutes till homeroom, just leave him here.”
Pulling Matthew away, Jim and the other student left, their footsteps echoing softly in the snow despite Matt’s protests. As they ran toward the outer door, they entered and ran down the hallway to reach their respective rooms.
The whole time Matthew, the respectable and reserved one of the bunch, is thinking about the blood and the damage they had caused. The person they left out there, who would die if no one intervened, is not what he had intended to happen, or wanted to accomplish today. All he wanted was to ruff him up a little, and let him go, but this happened instead.
But as they went to their class, little did any of them know that the student dragged himself to his feet, despite his injury. He had stripped off his coat, the fabric freezing to the ground by his blood and he held his hand over his abdomen, staggering up the short stairwell, falling to the ground into the snow, before shakily walking toward the steel and plate glass doors nearby. There is no pain for the student, the pain gone, replaced with piercing cold. His shirt is soaked with his blood, and is frozen to the open wound on his body.
As he passes through the double set of plate glass doors, they are located at the end of the hall on the inside hallway near the gymnasium, a thin trail of blood drips onto the floor marking his entry into hallway.
The hallway here is long and open and dark for a part of it, then lighted. From here one can see the far end of the hallway where a set off doors can be seen next to the far cross of the hallway connecting the new section of the campus. It is sterile white upper with a gray, green bottom color and a carnival colored granite tile making up the floor. Along the wall in the main hallway are the lockers that are occupied by the students. The hallway is currently empty of everyone, save silence except for an occasional voice from a nearby room or office.
As the freshman student staggers blindly down the hallway, he held his guts in with one hand from the gaping wound on his abdomen from an old scar that he received from an old surgery in 1985. His bloody hand prints cover the wall and the locker doors, marking his progress down the hall. By the time he made it to the home-room, several minutes late, he had left a trail of blood on the floor, the piercing cold having faded, replaced by a throbbing pain. It is inside the doorway he stood for several minutes unnoticed by everyone sitting at their desks until someone turned and there was a gasp and screams by his classmates. He had been noticed and chaos circulated through the room to follow.
“It’s… Miller…” A voice gasped, and they all stood, including Ms. Hill who sat at her desk. The student blindly moved to his desk without a word, a hard look on his face as they moved aside allowing him to pass. When he reached his desk he stumbled and hit the floor, and lay there unmoving.
“Jesus. Put those desks together and get him off the floor.” Hill instructed, “Jen get the nurse… right now…”
In the other room, the other students in Ms. Teitelbaum’s class stood up hearing the scream and all spied the injured student who had entered the room and stared in horror as he lay on the floor in a pool of bright red blood, now dribbling blood on the top of the desks that he lay on.
“Jen… Go now! Have the Office call an ambulance!” The young woman is still stunned by her classmate’s entry and stood there for several seconds, staring at the young man who lies on the table top, a pool of blood forming around his body. Hill motioned to her.
“Yes Ms. Hill!” Jen exclaimed, and dashed through the doorway. She ran literally down the tiled hallway, sliding around corners and came up huffing as she entered the main office a moment later.
“We need help in Ms. Hill’s homeroom!” Jennifer exclaimed, “A student came in covered in blood and we need an ambulance called right now.”
Ms Metzler, the Secretary of the office nodded to the young student, picking up the phone as Stan Wenclewicz and Steven Rhoades appeared from the offices along with the nurse.
“What happened?” He asked sharply.
“We were in class and he showed up at the door of the homeroom covered in blood and he looked beaten up.” Jennifer exclaimed, and nodded her head.
They exited the office in a run, into the hallway, followed by Jennifer toward Ms. Hill’s classroom. By this time, the teacher next door, Teitelbaum and Ms. Hill stood next to the student, questioning his on recent events with no response. The principal and vice entered the room, and the teachers nodded a short greeting to them. The nurse was at the student’s side in a heartbeat, seeing the blood pooling around him on the desk and dribbling onto the floor.
Nathaniel did not speak to anyone as the teacher continued to question him on his injuries, who and what happened to him. Steve Rhoades walked toward him, next to Stan Wenclewicz and they both leaned down next to him on the desk. They began to question him as the nurse looked him over and she shook her head silently, opening the medical kit.
“Steve, he’s in a bad way, I don’t know if I can help him until the ambulance comes.” The nurse said, taking out the pack of gauze.
Rhoades was at Hill’s side.
“What happened here?” He asked.
“He came through the door, covered in blood, pooling blood around his feet.” Hill said, “He has not said anything to our questioning about what happened.”
The principal turned to the hurt student and grimaced at the blood and then to the nurse who shook her head.
“Son, who did this to you?”
Nathaniel did not answer, and closed his eyes, focusing on the extreme pain throughout his body.
“He hasn’t spoken a word, and just lays there.” Hill said factually, “I don’t understand why he’s not answering.”
Around them, other students stand stunned as they helplessly look on in silence. Some wept, some stand astonished, hardly able to speak. All seem to sense there was a violent end in the making for their classmate, and there is nothing they can do about it. A low murmur rippled through the class.
“Stan, go out front and coordinate the police fire and ambulance when they get here, and have all teachers report to the hallways. We better inform them of this incident.”
“You got it.” Stan replied, and stepped forward to walk through the nearby door and down the hall toward the main office at the front of the building. Sirens blaring, the Sheriff arrived first, followed by the Paramedics and finally by the Ambulance.
The student now lies in a fairly big pool of his blood, pooling on the surface of the desks and drips onto the floor. He barely is conscious, as the pain is intolerable and the nurse stands at his side, only holding his hand, a look of frustration on her face, having packed the wound with gauze.
“Come on… uh…” She pauses, looking at Ms. Hill, who nodded her head in response to the look by the nurse.
“Nathaniel…” she said, continuing her sentence, “Someone did this to you and we need to know who it was. You will be taken care of soon, but you are hurt very badly, and could die.”
“So be it…” The injured student murmured with a hoarse whisper, and he frowned wondering if they heard him.
There is a gasp by Melinda Morris, Scot Patison, Jason Mincer, Doug Lehman, Dennis Penfield, Amy Panstigle and Katie Lehman, among the many others in the home room who heard him utter those words.
“It’s already too late.” He whispered, making a few of them turn away, fighting the tears. “I’m done.”
“Please no.” Melinda murmured.
Dennis and Nathaniel had not been on good terms after an incident the previous year, after flipping off the teacher and trying to get out of it by trying to include him in his stupidity. There is bad blood between them, but even then, those very words surprised him. Doug and Katie Lehman stood nearby watching in silence as the nurse continues to work feverishly on their classmate, packing the wound on his abdomen with gauze to keep the blood from flowing freely from it.
A moment later, the Vice Principal entered, leading the Fireman, Paramedics, Sheriff and local Police to the room. They began working on him, taking blood, checking his vitals, his heart rate beeping rapidly.
“Why Miller?” Dennis asked, “Why do you always have to be an ass?”
Nathaniel was silent.
Meanwhile, the Vice Principal walked with the deputy Sheriff and followed the blood trail along the hall and the hand prints on the wall and lockers. As they exited the building into the falling snow, they traced it outside which led to the stairwell outside. It was light enough out to see clearly the frozen blood and his frozen jacket frozen in the snow and ice.
“My God in heaven…” The deputy managed to whisper, as he pulled out his radio.
“Hoss, we have found what we thought we’d find. There is blood everywhere and a frozen jacket and a few papers belonging to that student in that room right now.”
“Alright, seal it off. It is evidence and a crime scene.” the reply crackled over the radio and the Deputy managed to pull out the yellow tape. The Vice Principal had turned to walk to the office, remembering one more thing he had to perform this morning… that the staff had to know about this incident. As he walked in, his hands were still covered in the student’s blood after digging away the fresh snow to uncover the blood layer underneath, discovering the dark secret that they found.
Washing his hands quickly in the office sink, he moved to the P.A system on the desk catty corner from Metzler’s desk, the Office Secretary and he takes the seat with a sigh.
Even six three and about two fifty, the Vice Principal, Stan Wenclewicz is a big man, dwarfing the chair he sat in. He managed to take up the microphone with a shaking hand and he hit the switch on the console. He is perturbed by the sight of blood outside, and the spatters that covered he walls, door and the trees. It had been right out of a horror movie.
“Attention all teachers, please report to the hallways outside your classrooms in five minutes.” He said, “Please report to the outside hallways from your classrooms in five minutes. Thank you.”
In the rooms there is a look of question by the staff at the speaker on the wall and a brief look at the clock. It gave the Vice Principal a few minutes to high tail it back to the middle hallway and designate the information to the teachers of the incident that happened this morning.
“They have a right to know.” Stan thought, “And can plan accordingly what to tell the students, especially the Freshman Class who is not directly involved or had seen the incident when it had walked into the classroom on this cold morning.”
He sighed, as he got up from the desk, glancing at the Secretary who watched him make the announcement. Now he managed to do what they all sensed in the office is a very hard deed, but no harder than any other task he performed as Vice in the past. He managed to exit through the door and turning to the left at the office to the Teacher’s Lounge he made another abrupt left, then a right, walking quickly down the hall to the empty hallway.
A voice rang out, “I AM NOT A SNITCH! Bellllbrooooooook!” A voice yelled. He openly managed a frown.
In Ms. Hill’s classroom, the student lay dying on the table raised his hands and he yelled out his defiance. He would not report them, he would not be a snitch, and he would not endure another beating again because it was too late. The student knew he is not going to make it and he knew he only had a few more minutes to live. This would be his answer to their questions and he would die, never betraying those who had hurt him. He felt a pain, as the scar ripped open, and a warm sensation as blood poured from the wound, despite the bandages, gauze and the shirt that soaked up the blood.
Around him the others in his classroom managed an astonished expression, staring at their classmate in silence as he raised his hands, shouting out in defiance against those people whom he had assaulted him this morning, and who have potentially taken his life. He made a decision, that it was over, and he could not go on any further. Everyone noted that the spot on his abdomen had become a dark red spot as the scar opened the rest of the way, allowing his innards to be exposed now to the open air under his shirt. He breathed outward, focusing on the pain as he dropped his hands.
In another room, Matthew heard the solitary shout and he gasped, closing his eyes in silence as he uttered a silent prayer.
“Jesus, Jim, what have you done?” The senior asked himself and continued to pray.
Back in the Homeroom, Nathaniel lay with his eyes closed, and he let out a sigh.
“It is done.” Nathaniel quietly murmured, as he lay on the desks, the pool of blood larger and now pouring off the desk and onto the floor.
He turned his head to the young woman in the other classroom, and here he pointed at Emily, holding up one finger, the index finger, then four fingers, then three fingers. As he held up each series of fingers, the injured student mouthed the words I L-O-V-E Y-O-U as he completed them, and at the end he whispered her name. After he was finished, he met the silent look of her astonishment with a nod. She had a look of horror on her face, and she began sobbing uncontrollably. Nathaniel lay back and closed his eyes, his hand falling abruptly limp as he embraced Death.
“Oh my god… No!” A voice said finally with a sob, realizing what had just happened, that their classmate is now dead. Others began to realize it too. Amy began sobbing, as Scot held her, weeping hysterically.
“Come on, Nathaniel, hang in there.” Dennis coached, stepping forward to touch his shoulder. The nudge made him open his eyes one last time and Nathaniel only managed a short nod.
“I-I’m sorry… for everything…” and he let out his last breath with a long heaving sigh.
Dennis gasped aloud as he stared at Nathaniel lying in a pool of his blood.
Around him, there is silence by his fellow classmates by the words spoken. Most of the young women have broken down in tears, as others had looked away, fighting emotion to stay strong.
The Paramedics and Fireman stood around him as they work on Nathaniel’s battered body for fifteen minutes, zapping his heart many times. But, with the lack of blood in his system everyone knew it is difficult to start something with no fluids. After a few minutes they covered him with a blanket. Steve Rhoades managed to stand astonished like the other teachers beside him and he motioned to them, leading them outside. Outside, the teachers waited from the other classrooms in the hallway from this part of the school. Similarly, on the other hall the same type of meeting is being conducted made by Stan Wenclewicz, the Vice Principal.
“There has been an incident in which a student of the Freshman Class was found injured severely, after what appeared to have been a hazing incident, later to have died of his wounds. You can report it to your classes, but we rather you wait until the official report after we report it to the parents that we are currently trying to get a hold of at this very moment. For all who knew him, there will be a memorial service for the entire school in two days time, replacing the PEP rally. There will be an announcement by the end of today or by tomorrow morning regarding this incident.”
Many questions assaulted both Rhoads and Wenclewicz from their groups but they only reply was a shrug their shoulders, both not knowing what to do until they got a response out of the district and the parents. The counselors Yux, Martin, already on the scene, talked to the classes who had watched the grisly scene of their classmate’s death, and watched the body of their classmate wheeled out on a gurney after being placed in a body bag. They had, with the other counselors, offered their services to be a friendly ear to listen if anyone needed to talk.
Melinda heard none of it, absolutely numb like many in her classes. She walks alone down the hallway to the next class, hardly talking to anyone, the same as the others in her homeroom. The only contact were the others in her first class of the day, including Dennis and Scot who were just as stunned by the loss than anyone. Many questions were before them with so little answers. They seemed to gather together and gain strength from each other.
Their silence had been noticed, even after the teachers made the announcement in each class, and there is still absolute astonishment by all the classes, especially by the trio who left him lie and ran to their class.
Jim laughed when he heard the solitary voice but now there is stunned silence. Sitting at his desk, the junior had been astonished, and gasping, realizing what he did to the lower class student. He really hurt him and realized that he had not been faking with fake blood. The sight of blood had been real, and the innards sticking from his body was real. He wondered if he should have listened to Matt who warned him and the other student of the lower class student's condition.
“If we would have gotten him help, he probably would not have not died the way he did.” Jim thought, but they had not listened and decided to leave him where he lay. A stupid move on their part, they should have listened to Matt who always is sensible about such things. He left the room and made his way down the busy hallway, everyone glancing at him as he made his way to his locker, preparing for the next class of the day.
“Hey, Murderer.” The senior said jokingly, as they approached him at his locker. Matthew shot him a look, it is not a negative one, but the comment certainly is not too far off for the death of the student by their hand. Jim glanced at the others who had overheard the comment, at their surprised looks, and questioning glances. It is the classic “What did he mean by that comment?” look.
Jim managed an angry glare at him and Matthew who laughed it off.
“Oh, ha, ha, fat stuff. Don’t call me that, I didn’t kill him.” Jim said indignantly, his voice a whisper, “It is an accident, you know on the ice.”
“Whatever… murderer…” The other student replied coolly, and he turned to leave. Matthew followed.
Jim snarled at him, and balled up a fist, rage passing on his face. “I told you not to call me that, Lard Butt. See how you like to have a little name calling.”
“It goes with your murderous attitude and dark behaviors.” The student shot back, and turned to leave. Around him the other students looked on at the exchange, muttering between themselves, wondering what this whole exchange is about.
“It doesn’t matter, what’s done is done.”
“Matt, you know about that accident right?” He asked, and here he managed to turn his head, putting some thought into the question. After a moment, he shook his head.
“I warned you, that when he went down that he needed help.” Matt coldly replied, “But you and your bud overruled me, and let him lie. Now the young man is dead.”
Jim made a decision, to pound the senior who stood there, murmuring “Murderer… Murderer…”
He lunged at the large man, taking a swing to intersect with his face, quickly blocked by him, and Jim grabbed his shirt. Both struggled for a moment, as whistles and the chant ‘Fight Fight.’ erupted in the hall for a moment. It, however, quickly is replaced with silence as everyone stopped, including the senior class and Jim to regard the stranger who now stood among them.
A figure knelt before a key locker, usually given to the upper class. Unsheathed and in his hand, he holds a Long sword blade as he knelt, his eyes closed as he appeared to be praying. Jim stared at the figure in silence. Others began to notice this stranger among the other classes too. He is clad in a simple gray cloak, held together by a clasp made of gold and silver at the throat. Under it, they could see the hint of a Tartan pattern with sheepskin boots and belt to match. They could not see his face and head, as it is obscured with the thick gray hood of the wool cloak he wore about him.
“Who is that?” A voice asked, and there is a low mutter throughout the hallway as everyone stared at the stranger who ignored everyone around him. He continued to pray, his blade in his hand, the swordsman way and the blade they could see glistened in the low light, the handle made of what appeared to be a cast handle of a Renaissance Period long blade.
Melinda was walking to her locker when she saw him, and gasped. She cast a glance to the silent hall where Ms. Long and Ms. Bender who were talking with each other, both turning to watch the strangely clad individual. What would be strange to them is his appearance, having walked in unnoticed before the classes released for fifth period, and strangely no one noticed him until just now.
“Who is that?” a voice asked, and Melinda shot a look at the speaker, to Kathy Lewis who stood beside Stacey Warner and Bill Wheeler.
A low murmur rippled through the hallway among the class of 1991 and 1990. It moved to the upper class too, especially to the hallway nearest to the locker where this stranger stood.
“I don’t know.” Melinda murmured, speaking to them for the first time today and they turned their heads alarmed for a second.
The cloaked figure, realizing he is on display, stood up and slid his blade back in its sheath. Here, he pulled the key to unlock and open the locker before him. He pushed back the hood of his cloak, revealing his ruddy, moderately fair features, his gray eyes but heavily bearded features. They recognized him as Scottish, noting that the kilt clearly could be seen in the front opening of the cloak. The pattern or Tartan was not recognizable to them.
There is a low murmur that rippled through the hallways. Another staff member appeared from the door that is brightly lit from the windows near where the stranger stood and it is that of Ms. Martin, the Counselor of this institution of learning. She managed a gasp seeing the stranger, and peered down the hallway to where Chris Long and Cathy Bender stand in silence. They turned to move toward the stranger, to intercept him but paused when he entered the locker, assuming it is a relative a brother or sibling to gather the belongings of the dead student. They had no idea it was someone else, a good friend that he had met a while ago.
Here the stranger unzipped the bag that the student used for P.E and he withdrew the shirt. Taking his dagger, he cut the strip of the decal from it and in his other hand tied it to an extra blade that he pulled from his cloak. He tied one strip to the blade that hung from his hip openly.
Everyone saw the gesture, and a look of sadness and understanding appeared in their faces.
Checking the blade, he closed the locker door and he saw the astonished, but understanding looks given to him by the class of 1990/91 and the staff who is on hand. They saw the blade in his hand, and they did not comment or react to the dagger at the side of the stranger, or the sword attached to his belt under the gray cloak. All eyes were on the blade that he carried in his hands, the shirt piece tied to the handle.
The stranger then turned, regarding them all with a panning look at each of them and with that he silently managed a slight nod of his head. Walking toward the far door and the hallway near the new section of the inside hallway, the stranger makes his way past the many people until he reached the secondary cross of the hallway. On his left is the new section of the school, the right is the hallway leading to the front toward the office and cafeteria and he stood before a set of plate glass doors.
He held the blade in his hand belonging to the student, his friend, the short piece tied to the handle of it. Turning he exchanged glances with the questioning looks of the Freshman Class, most of it, the upper classman, and a few of the Sophomore Class who now stood here.
Jim, and Matthew studied the face of the stranger, and they thought at first it is the person they had injured today, here to razz them and play a prank. They then remembered the announcement had happened, and a memorial was being planned in two days time in which they would say good bye to student of their school. The students who had seen the classmate wheeled out on the gurney almost could say it is their friend standing before them, but the resemblance was only slightly, than definitely.
“You all befriended Nathaniel when he managed to arrive at Bellbrook, and he never forgot your friendship. Now come with me to say goodbye.” The stranger said his voice thick with a familiar Scottish cockney, but barely loud enough to carry over the noise around him. There were sad looks among many of the students, who had been in close contact as a fellow student in the same classes and who knew him best. They heard his statement, as did the staff and their looks said it all.
They remembered their classmate is someone who is not easy to deal with. The student had always been mouthy, arrogant, and sometimes strange, also quite immature. But then again he was also fourteen. They remembered that Nathaniel also is someone who cared a lot about others, who managed to be generous, smart, and when he wanted to be strong in many ways, not just physically. They remembered he remained strong in will, and spirit, He is the only one that charged an accident scene, attempted and succeeded to lift a table single handed after it fell on Doug Woolard just enough to allow him to get free partially. He had done things without malice or with out regard to harming himself or others. The thoughts made them smile.
After a moment the stranger pushed open the doors, drawing the blade from its scabbard, and he ran across an open area a few feet. Inside people watched and partially came out from the doors, including teachers. The stranger stood in the middle of an open area as the sky seemed to billow and the clouds seemed to churn. Raising the blade he motioned, easing his body back to throw. A battle cry erupted on his lips…
“NNNNNAAAAATTTTTHHHHAAAAANNNNIIIIEEEL!!!!” The stranger screamed, as he flung the blade, letting it fly from his hands. The students watched in silence, especially from Ms. Hill’s class, a few of the class of 1991 who was in the hall with a few class of 90, 89, and 88. They all had come out and watched as the blade spun and tumble. Students and staff from the windows of the classrooms also peered at the blade having gasped as the stranger had appeared, drawing the blade from the sheath.
When he threw the blade, it was like spinning in slow motion as it spun and tumbled through the sky. There was a lone handclap, as another joined in, following by more and more. The crowd saw the blade hit the ground, over fifty meters away and gasped as it struck the ground straight up, buffeting in the wind. A bolt of lighting hit the sword, making it crackle and there had been a scream, as people dodged. They glanced at the stranger who stood a distance from them and gasped aloud as he managed a smile, drawing his own blade to hold it up to his brow, in a salute, bowing slightly. Turning the figure whistled, his horse appearing on the threshold before them. He mounted the beast, and pulled the reins as it reared up, holding up his arm, suddenly disappearing into thin air like he had never been there.
“He’s gone!” A voice stammered, and they ran partially to the spot where he stood only a moment ago. A sharp cold wind hit them in the face as flakes of snow began to fall upon them. They all stood out in the snow, staring in wonder as the only thing that remained of the stranger was a stiff cold wind that whipped through the open area. The blade, however, continued to buffet in the wind, as did the shirt piece that had been tied to it, a reminder of a lost classmate and friend who had been lost on this day.
“Where’d he go?” A voice asked, “Who was that stranger?”
A low murmur echoed across the field, as students were glancing at each other and peering at the blade that buffeted in the wind nearby, the piece of fabric waving in the breeze. A smile appeared on many faces, of all classes as they stood staring at the blade for a moment, and a feeling of peace seemed to overwhelm the crowd.
“Goodbye Nathaniel.” Melinda murmured, as she stared at the blade, the crowd dispersing back inside. A week passed and the pain of loss lessened among the classes and staff, as they all got together at lunch. Together they talked and chatting about their lost friend. Some laughed, a few cried, never forgetting who he was, getting to know him for over two and a half years. His locker had been cleared and covered in decoration of the school colors. Placed on the door a paper had been attached, where the whole school wrote a unique farewell message to their lost classmate, and a signature each. Teachers who knew the student also participated in writing a message, and signing their name too and other staff.
When the scroll went to the parents, and his family, they read the inscriptions of the words by the school of Bellbrook. They read many, but not just any one. There was one that had caught their eye. It was a lipstick mark of a kiss, and next to the mark were the words:
“I love you too Nathaniel and I will love you always. Don’t forget me.” And it was signed Emily Montgomery.