Chapter 4
Timothy always wore sunglasses, a baseball cap, a long sleeve shirt, and pants whenever he was walking around outside on sunny days. His skin was very fair and he burned easily. When he did walk around outside, it was only to go from one place to another. He preferred to be indoors and spent a lot of time reading. His school books were in a bag, strung from his shoulder with a strap. Soon, he would be at home, studying.
Latin was his favorite subject and he was fascinated by the ancient Latin texts. When he finished his homework, he often spent the rest of the evening reading Latin. The histories didn't interest him as much as the mythologies. He enjoyed the structure of the Latin language, especially from the Latin poets. Ovid was his favorite.
Today, the hot Alabama sun was shining in its full glory, causing beads of sweat to form all across Timothy's body. His clothing was soaked with sweat and he was eager to return home from school. His sister had gone to a friend's house and he was walking alone.
A taller boy, with a malicious visage and a civil war style goatee, turned the corner. He was wearing a black t-shirt with a weird looking sigil, jeans, and combat boots.
Timothy didn't like the look of him or the cloth bandage wound around his right hand like a cestus, so he began to cross the street. The taller boy darted toward Timothy, shouting, “Inbred!”
The first blow caught Timothy square along the right side of his back, knocking the wind out of him.
Timothy tried to flee.
“Filthy inbred!” shouted the attacker. The assailant's other hand grasped Timothy's shoulder, in order to prevent him from fleeing. Then the assailant struck his kidney.
Through sheer adrenaline and terror, Timothy broke free and fled.
“I better not catch you around here again, you inbred!” The attacker's epithet already sounded distant as Timothy sprinted to escape.
Timothy didn't turn around to look, but it sounded like his attacker had ceased pursuing him. On a large burst of adrenaline, Timothy ran all the way home. When he reached the yard, he slowed down to a belabored gait, hyperventilating in exhaustion. The damage done to his back and his kidney began to sink in and his pulsating right side was becoming rigid.
After entering the house, Timothy slipped his book bag off next to the door and he went into the living room, where he collapsed onto the couch.
There he cried in his helplessness.
The epithet was nothing new, but he'd never been attacked like that before. He already would've preferred to just study at home with the way the other kids reacted to his blond elfin like appearance. Maybe now he would have an acceptable excuse to home school. He never wanted to go to the high school again.
After a few minutes of sobbing, the welts along Timothy's back and side had sunken into a sore stiffness. He was too exhausted to go to his room. Instead he lay down on the couch, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.
He awakened to his mother's voice. “Why are you sleeping on the couch?”
“I was tired.”
“You know you're not allowed to lay down on the couch.”
Timothy slid from his laying position with a groan as pain shot through his right side. Then he put his feet on the floor and slouched across the arm of the chair. “I got beat up today.”
“By who?”
“Some guy attacked me while I was walking home.” Already, the attack was sinking into the distance. He was more concerned with the excuse that it would provide. Tomorrow he would bring up home schooling with his mother.
“Well, I'm going to talk to the principal about this.”
“He wasn't from the school.”
“Then I'm calling the police.” His mother picked up the phone and dialed.
Timothy put his head back and his eyelids drooped shut. The need to leave to his room overcame him and he opened his eyes against resistance. Then he rose from the couch.
When his mother noticed where he was going, she said, “Don't leave just yet. They may need to talk to you.”
Timothy sighed with disappointment and sank back down onto the couch.
“Hello. My son was just attacked by a stranger on his way home from school” There was a pause as she listened. “I'll let you talk to him about that.”
Timothy's mother passed the phone to him.
“How badly hurt are you?” asked a woman on the other end of the line.
“He only hit me twice before I was able to get away.”
“Can you give a description?”
Timothy's brain was still hazy and for a moment he struggled to recollect the assailant's description. “He had brown hair and a goatee.”
“Can you remember anything else about him?”
“He was wearing combat boots and his shirt had a weird symbol on it.”
“Have you ever seen him before?”
“I don't think so.”
“Thanks for the information. We'll get back to you soon.”
Timothy was relieved when the woman hung up on the other end. He wanted to go to his bed to lie down and sleep. He rose and began walking to his bedroom.
“Where are you going?” asked his mother.
“To my room.”
“I just fixed dinner.”
Her insistence upset him. He was still drowsy and he desperately wanted to go back to sleep. “I'm not hungry.”
“The left overs will be in the fridge if you get hungry later.”
Timothy was relieved that she backed off.
Just then Timothy's sister, Sara, entered. She too was thin and blond with elfin like features. However, the kids at school acted differently toward her. In fact some of the boys, who were interested in his sister, had tried to stop the others from harassing Timothy. Inwardly, he resented their disingenuous concern for his feelings. He would've preferred them leaving his sister alone and not bothering to feign sensitivity.
“What happened to Timothy?” asked Sara.
“Your brother was attacked,” replied their mother, leaving into the kitchen.
Sara gasped and looked at Timothy with concern. “Are you all right?”
“I'll recover,” replied Timothy. “I just need to sleep.” Timothy slowly traipsed toward the hallway.
“I hope you feel better.”
Sara turned on the television and she sat down to watch it. “Ask your doctor whether Adilify is right for you,” said a soft female voice from the television. “It's time to find the happiness you seek.” The female voice quickened pace as she quickly added, “Adilify may not be for everyone. In some cases routine fevers, seizures, and other types of muscular disorders have occurred. Call your doctor if you have problems swallowing, have violent fits of vomiting, or find yourself choking for no apparent reason. If you have routine thoughts of suicide make sure to seek out professional help immediately. Older people should be aware that there can be an increased risk of stroke in some users...”
Timothy mopingly drifted into his room and sank onto his bed, not bothering to remove his clothes. His entire right side was in knots now. His eyes closed shut and soon he drifted off to sleep.
It was the middle of the night, when Timothy awakened, feeling hungry and thirsty. He rose from his bed, still suffering a sore stiffness along his right side. Then he went to the kitchen, where he put a leftover chicken leg and some rice in the microwave and poured himself a glass of milk. The attack was now fresh in his mind and he liked it that he had talked to the police. He hoped they would catch his assailant and put him in prison. Now that Timothy was refreshed and safe, the overwhelming sense of fear turned into hatred, but the feelings of helplessness remained.
The unfed hatred burning in Timothy's mind inspired him to write a poem. The microwave beeped and he went to a nearby drawer for a pen and some paper, before removing the food from the microwave. He thought out the poem as he was eating and took breaks from his food to write it. That bully was a devil king. However much Timothy hated him, he wanted to obey that bully's command to stay at ho
me.
The Devil King
Unaware of evil approaching he came
And that bastard devil felt no shame
When he attacked me without warning
And I fell beneath that heartless sting.
His fist was like a mallet pounding
My soul flat beneath that devil king
And I'll obey his edict to hide my face
Fearing the devil in another painful chase.
It made Timothy feel better to have his feelings about the attack in written form. Once he'd satisfied his hunger and thirst, Timothy put the dishes away and carried the poem back to his room. Most of his poems were responses to literature he'd read. The poems responding to events from his personal life were always special to him. He typed out the poem on his computer and then put the poem away with the others in the drawer of a night stand next to his bed.
Now that he no longer felt hungry or thirsty, the drowsiness returned. Timothy removed his clothes and put on his pajamas. Then he climbed into bed and closed his eyes. He fell asleep thinking about how he would petition his mother to let him home school.