Mind Labyrinth, Book 1, Chapter 1 (Part 4) (Patreon)

Warnings:  Suicide discussion, light gore, heavy bullying, poisoning other children, at some point Vincenzo gets forcibly fed horse manure. It's dark!

This office again. He remembered visiting this bloody principal’s office his first week at the institution. He used to see the furniture as imposing and larger than life, but now that he knew better, he saw it for what it was: tacky and dated. The office had a distinct musk to it that he could only attribute to old men. No other thing other than old men smelled like it.

The principal was older now. The ruins of his divorce had left him in shambles. People brought the tragic events up as a point of sympathy, how everyone should be thoughtful to him now, but Vincenzo delighted in it with quiet glee and a morbid fascination. At the back of his mind, he thought about how the principal deserved it. Even gods did fall.

The principal stared at him. He stared back, but with softer, angelic eyes. The principal knew better than to be fooled.

“…A suicide attempt, Vince? What were you thinking?”

“It — it wasn’t suicide, sir. I was dared.”

“By who?”

He kept quiet, as if to look like he didn’t want to snitch. The principal sighed.

“The infirmary’s been abuzz since the incident. They said legally, we gotta confine you. I don’t really get this mental disease business — seems like a lot of quacks hoping to make a quick buck — but that’s the law, and the school would get into some serious trouble.”

Vincenzo’s eyebrows narrowed. “Confine?”

“’Cause of your suicide attempt.”

“What do you mean, confine?”

“What do you think? To a bloody asylum.”

He read about many asylums in his books, and none of them were good. They put people in silly jackets and locked them up in cement rooms where they struggled and screamed all day and all night. They’d be put under the care of sadistic doctors who put leeches on their skin or lobotomized them into emotionless husks. He might’ve been sick in the head, but he wasn’t like those any of those psychos. He’d never see daylight again.

“I don’t want to go to an asylum,” he said firmly.

“You have to, though. I don’t know anything. But the doctors said you have to. It’ll make you less… sick? You look fine to me, but you know what the medical blokes are like — always paranoid with these crazy ideas.”

Vincenzo squirmed in his seat, tugging on the hems of his shirt. His face was red, tears stinging at his eyes. The principal groaned.

“The doctors are overreacting? This is more trouble than it’s worth. Just look at me. You can tell I’m not crazy! Please don’t send me away…”

The principal sighed in defeat. “Alright. Honestly, I don’t like making a big fuss about this sort of thing either. It just seemed like your average wankery — you know how boys are.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “Off you go. Stay out of trouble, Vince. I mean it.”

Vincenzo stood up on wobbly legs. He exited the office, and for the time being, intended to make good on his promise. 

***

January reared its head after the new year, and along with it, the students coming home from their winter holiday vacation. It was different this time round. Vincenzo was moving on to high school, and with that, came their new room assignments. His teachers chattered about it all year long. You’ll have to learn to live with a roommate, like a proper adult. Instead of a supervisor, you’ll learn a proper schedule and attend to your own bed and clothes. The promise of independence was enticing.

While the student population was still scarce, the teachers didn’t want to be overwhelmed by the move, so the ones that were around were allowed to move into their new room assignments before the other children. Vincenzo didn’t have a lot of belongings. He kept everything he owned in two duffel bags and a backpack. The rest were just books borrowed from the library or stolen trinkets. If he had more before, they were either broken or lost. A peculiar item caught his attention though — a board game he’d stolen years back. The weejee board, a tool meant to communicate with the dead. The mystery of The Witch’s House. An unfortunate thread, never followed on.

His supervisor accompanied him, and his peers, to their new rooms at lunch break. He carried with him a very proper clipboard with a list of alphabetical names and room numbers.

Vincenzo’s room was at the end of the ground floor. It was a cozy space, with two beds pressed against the wall, a desk in between, and a closet for each boy. They even had a window with a view to the forest outside! Vincenzo was allowed to choose which bed he took, so he chose the one to the right, underneath the window. He was already optimistic about this new arrangement. He didn’t like the primary school dormitories much at all. He could barely handle being in a room with one child. Twenty was simply torture. At least here, they could put up a curtain or draw a line with chalk and never have to converse again. He was given a key by the supervisor, and it held with it a future of promise.

That first night in the new room, he felt rejuvenated. The peace and quiet did wonders for his mind.

Like all pleasures in his life, it inevitably came to an abrupt end.

The rest of the boys returned from vacation. Vincenzo found out who he was rooming with. Marc Fontaine, an entitled greasy French boy whose parents hovered around him like flies until the supervisor had to escort them out. He filled up more than half of the room, so he put the rest of his stuff in Vincenzo’s space. When his parents stopped bickering with him, they left, and he punched the wall very dramatically! That was when he finally acknowledged Vincenzo in the room.

“You’re that Italian, aren’t you?”

“Please.” Vincenzo frowned. “I haven’t been called the Italian since I was nine. That was just because I didn’t know the language.”

“Wow, you talk a lot.”

“I’ll be quiet from now on, if it pleases you.”

“It would please me!”

Vincenzo zipped his lip, and threw away the key.

Had it been any other oaf, that would be that. Vincenzo was an expert at ignoring most of the pests of St. Michael. He could keep his eyes straight ahead while they tugged at his hair and shoved him in hallways. But this wasn’t any ordinary pest. He was a jock. A member of the polo team along with the other brick wall-shaped boys. They weren’t handsome, but they enjoyed acting like they were. In the evenings, they would invade Marc’s room, forcing Vincenzo to leave the room if he wanted to be alone. 

That night wasn’t any different, but Vincenzo had a limited amount of kindness and patience, and they about reached the end of it. While they were gathered in a circle around the floor sharing spirits they shouldn’t have and playing an inane board game, Vincenzo picked up Marc’s ridiculous helmet and chuckled it straight at the game. The pieces flew into the air, smashing the board and denting the helmet upon impact. Everyone yelped in surprise and stood up. One of the bigger boys elbowed him in the chest during, and he was promptly knocked onto his back on the floor. 

“What the fuck, Vince!”

Immediately, a couple of the jocks jumped him for his stunt, kicking him and spitting out curses. He rolled under his bed to escape them. None of them were suited for such a narrow space. Fat hands tried to claw and grab at him, but he stayed in place. His heart throbbed against his ribcage. He could feel his pulse between his teeth. They would hurt him, of course, if not now, then later. He refused to make it easy for them. Marc crouched down, and stared him down directly in the eyes.

“I despise you,” Vincenzo spat. Marc’s face burned red like a lobster, nostrils flaring.

“Sod this,” Marc exclaimed, scrambling to his feet, stumbling because his body knew he was disproportionately big. He grabbed the edge of the bed frame and lifted it up so somebody else could reach him. The edges of the bed squeaked and tipped, and soon enough, Vincenzo faced the luminescent light overhead and the array of sadistic smiles looking down on him. Good. It wasn’t just about the game pieces or the helmet. They were hurt by what he did, to the point that they wanted to hurt him back. They felt slighted that someone so insignificant as Vince could even destroy their things so shamelessly — the pecking order was turned on its head, and he felt that rush of defiance burn through his blood like lava.

One of the boy’s hands reached out to grab him. Vincenzo wiggled down to evade his hold, snatched his backpack propped up against the closet, and booked it out of their bedroom. They chased him out of the building, their stampede like rampaging horses down the dormitory hallway, alerting everybody on the floor of what was happening. The other high schoolers peeked out, some intending to call their class adviser to snitch on what happened, while the others were simple gossip mongers. Vincenzo flashed them a smile and ran out of the front door, straight into the forest outside. He feigned a left, then slid under a bush, remaining still in hopes of losing their trail. In the darkness, he easily outmaneuvered them.

He heard them run past him.

Idiots.

He stayed there under the brambles for a minute or two. In that agonizing stretch of time, he felt connected with everything around him — crickets rustling, leaves rustling, and sounds echoing from the distant forest. He wondered what it would be like to die there under the bush, and have his rotting remains meld with the nature around him. All the ants and maggots would feast until there was nothing left but bone.

“—He’s such a bloody freak.”

“Mate, it’s okay.”

“I don’t know how to deal with that weirdo.”

“Nobody does.”

“He’s so cold, man. And then he just, flips out.”

“I don’t know why they let an obvious psycho in the school.”

“Did you hear? That he tried to…?”

“Wish it actually killed him, right? Then you wouldn’t have a prick for a roommate.”

Laughter. 

They laughed at his suicide attempt.

Hot tears streaked down the sides of his face. He covered his mouth, and tried to stabilize his breathing so they wouldn’t find him. When they were gone, he sat up, all the fight he had in him melting away with the snow. It left nothing behind but fifteen years of soreness. His eyes were damp and bloodshot. He tried to focus on the building ahead of him, but his stomach churned in repulsion at the idea of stepping inside that cursed institution again. He made a decision — he would run away! If he got out of the forest, then he would be a free man, and he could spend the rest of his days reading, playing, and dancing without anyone hurting him. If he died in the attempt, then he would be food for the soil. Either way, he’d win.

He prepared to head out. He left the forest and stood at the very edge of it, giving the buildings one last look before he headed out. Lit windows from the outside glowed yellow or white, and from where he was standing, he could see everything clearly. There was a window that struck as off to him, however. At the very attic of the boy’s dormitory, a window was lit a dark, dangerous purple. Two figures stood there — male and female, side by side, standing so still one would assume they were simple cutouts if not for the slow rise and fall of their chests. They had glowing, golden eyes that condescended him from their elevation. He’d seen those same orbs before, in the periphery of his vision during his most delirious treks to the bathroom or at the darkest corners of the library.

He passed out from fear, body landing on the cold, snowy ground.

***

“Fuck you!”

Vincenzo woke up to his hair being jerked back. He hardly had any time to register that it was morning. He was being attacked, by the same boys that chased him last night, and they showed him no mercy.  Marc forced his mouth open and shoved handfuls of dirt and horse manure into his mouth. Vincenzo’s eyes stung. He thrashed and choked, but they were determined that he swallow. They pinned him down to the ground, different boys for different limbs, all of them laughing and jeering at his misery. He couldn’t escape. He couldn’t do anything. He obediently swallowed, experiencing all sorts of textures and scents he never wanted anywhere near his face. This was awful. Oh god, he was going to die from this.

“You like eating shit, you little shit? You gonna mess with me again?”

He faced Marco’s eyes, for the first time, with nothing but fear. He shook his head. Anything, anything to make him stop.

They released their hold on him, but not without spitting on him first. 

He couldn’t even cry. He just coughed and coughed until his consciousness slipped through like water between his fingers.

***

In his dreams, he was a girl.

She wasn’t a very cute girl, which seemed unlikely already. She thought that, if she was a girl, she’d be the cutest girl there was. Maybe with pigtails. Definitely with pigtails.

This girl was sullen-looking. She had hair so straight and oily, it clung to the edges of her face. She had cheeks gaunt from malnutrition, and eyes so hollow they were literally void. In the girl’s room, she got the impression that she was locked in there for long stretches of time, until whatever pleasurable decorations it had melted into nothing but reminders of her prison. Today was different, however. Today, while sneaking out when her father was too inebriated to monitor her room closely, she got something special from the kitchen.

She held it against the light and felt the weight of it in her hands. It was a butcher’s knife, meant for cutting through the stubborn parts of the pig. Nothing but a deep, hateful resolve motivated her, the kind that powered the most gruesome murders in history. In this act, she would be destroyed, but she’d take them down with her. 

When the door opened for her nighttime meal, she lunged her mother. She hacked through her throat, a gush of blood bursting and spurting out. Her father rushed into the room to pin her down, but she got him too, right in the face.

Nothing could stop her. She was going to kill them.

She was going to kill them all.

***

Vincenzo felt a deep melancholy whenever he woke up after a nightmarish encounter. It seemed abnormal to continue on with business as usual after being trapped and learning what the taste of shit was like, but that was the state of things here, wasn’t it? Bad things happened. People moved on. How very lucky for them! He sure didn’t have that luxury. He was the one that had to live with the scars. He played back the incident in his mind over and over in an act of quiet masochism. It wasn’t as if he was afraid of these boys, but that was the salt in the wound. He got bested by the modern equivalent of cavemen. He was better and brighter than them in every way, and yet, he was brutalized because they liked to run around and play with horses all day.

He remembered the girl in his dream. He recognized nothing about her except for her conviction that he felt like already burned deep inside him.

Vincenzo spent the next two weeks at the town hospital shitting, puking, and drinking the most repugnant substances in the name of getting better. During that time, he stirred in hatred and began to plot. When the doctors deemed him healthy enough, they carted him back to school with a bill the principal intended to send to his father and a slap on the wrist. He didn’t bother telling them who did this to him. They wouldn’t have believed him anyway.

The polo team won whatever championship they were gunning for that year, so in celebration, the school decided to throw them a grand feast. Vincenzo despised that tacky gold statue, but this was perfect for him. With his trusty old bag of rat poison, he sneaked into the kitchen, ducking under the tables and avoiding view while the lunch lady came in and out of the kitchen, busy as can be. The entire table was covered in food, and some of them, dare he say it, actually looked appetizing! He hoped they’d enjoy this flavor explosion while also having their internal organs corrode.

He poured handfuls of rat poison into the soup. He flattened the surface with a spoon, and when he was done, they didn’t look different from the bowls already out. He crawled underneath the table. The lunch lady shuffled in with her busy steps, mumbling about this and that, before taking the tray and leaving. He stayed around, listening to the events outside, heart beating in excitement. In a matter of seconds, there was loud cursing and complaining. He left his hiding spot and rushed to leave — 

He came face to face with the lunch lady.

“You!”

She grabbed his wrist with her strong, callous hands. “You did this! You insufferable little — why I swear I oughta — bad boy, bad, bad boy!”

She tugged and yanked him all the way to the teacher’s lounge. She had a lengthy discussion with his adviser. They talked over him, but they dropped words they probably thought he should be threatened about. Stuff like punishment and permanent expulsion. In the background, several of the nurses ran down the hallway to get to the screaming, and probably puking polo team at the dining hall.

His face relaxed. He even smiled, a little.

He was going to be free.