Those that are silent... by Naomi M-B (e textbook reader .txt) 📖

do you want me to do, Auntie?” he asked dragging his eyes away from Uta.

“What you do best.” She smiled. “Spreading joy. I just want you to talk to her. It doesn’t matter what it’s about. We think that having prolonged human interaction will be good therapy for her, but we’re extremely busy with the latest influx of patients. We just don’t have time to do it ourselves. So now that’s your job and a job for your friends, if they want.”

Eagerly, he nodded and looked back at Uta. “You can leave it up to us, Auntie!”

Appeased that his interest had been caught, she laughed and turned towards the door. “I’m glad to hear it. Now if you need anything just go back to the games room. But remember.” She gave him a stern look; “If you get into any trouble you must press the panic button straight away.” She gestured to a small black button covered by a plastic cap on the wall beside the sofa. “You got that?” He nodded. With another smile, she left.

For a long moment, there was silence. Uta didn’t seemed bothered she simply sat where she was, staring off into space, lost somewhere in her own mind.

“So.” Kami looked about the room, taking in the spotless surroundings. “You’re Uta. My name’s Kami like I said at the door.” Smiling, he got to his feet and switched on the iPod bringing up the menu. Her eyes shot to him, taking in his movements as he scrolled through the songs. Moving away, he observed her closely, especially the way her eyes watched him as he crossed back to the sofa.

“Hmm...” he thought aloud, “What should I talk about?”

Those that recall the past (1)

Lying back on the sofa, he stared at the ceiling, finally inspiration hit him. While trying to work out this mysterious girl’s story, maybe he should tell his own. It couldn’t be that bad to talk about the past. Just because neither he nor the others had mentioned the events that had brought them together since their first telling, two years previously at a sleep over, it didn’t mean that he couldn’t talk about it.

“I've got three friends,” he told her, “Satra, Ren and Terone. We weren't always friends; at first we were really different. I was really different. I barely spoke at all. I guess it changed about... two years ago, before I started being called Kami...”

Kami's story: Those that watch the world go by...

Like an exotic cockerel that had been involved in an accident with a microwave and a nutcracker, the alarm clock intruded on what had been a peaceful sleep. One eye cracking open, thirteen year-old Kamitra groaned and reached out his hand to silence the infernal alarm. Unwillingly, he flipped the covers over, letting the cold morning air refresh his skin. Sleepy mutterings spilling from his lips, he stretched and got to his feet, eyes down cast.

School today.

Why did he go to school?

It was a question that he presented himself with every morning; hoping that maybe another night’s sleep would have dredged up an answer. It never did.

There was definitely something though. Some small illusive detail that always escaped him yet enticed him further.

Dressed, he stepped outside into the hall and knocked softly on his father’s door.

“Hmm?” came the sleepy reply.

“I’m going to school now,” Kamitra said.

“Want me to drive you?” his father yawned. There was a series of clicks as he stretched.

Stiffening, Kamitra swallowed. “No. It’s alright. I’ll walk.”

“Make sure you’re home before dark,” his father called as Kamitra set off down the stairs.

The walk to school was normal. There were calls and greetings but not one of them were directed at him. Head hanging, he hunched his shoulders and watched his breath turn to mist in the crisp spring air. Someone knocked into him, panicking he glanced upwards. It was a tall boy with scars on his face and silver studded into his eyebrows and ears: Ren, the school delinquent. Ren's eyes were filled with promises of violence as he shot Kamitra a customary menacing glower. But then he was looking back towards the front and continuing on his way. Everyone veered away from him. You didn’t cross paths with Ren if you wanted to live. It was well known that he was part of a large and dangerous street gang. According to the rumours, he was a runner, ferrying illegal drugs and stolen goods all across London. He could strike you dead with his bare hands, according to the rumours.

Tentatively, Kamitra allowed his eyes to follow Ren as he cut a path through the throng. His stride was confident and powerful but there were dark shadows beneath his eyes, his hands and boots were scuffed and scraped. At the hinge of his jaw a fresh bruise was blossoming. He’d been up all night, fighting.

Kamitra sped up and was soon in front of the school. Instead of following the crowd, Ren stopped at the railings and rested against them, shooting glares at anyone who looked at him directly.

Through the school gate and past the first milestone. Congratulations, Kamitra, he thought, you made it to school. All around him were the average scenes of a normal school day. There were a group of boys muttering amongst themselves and glancing over at a tree in the middle of the courtyard. Beneath the tree sat Terone, the best-looking boy in the school. He smiled and laughed with the large group surrounding him but his bright eyes were distant. Jaded.

Underneath a different tree, sat a boy the same age as Terone. Dark hair unkempt, his skin was bruised and dirty. Satra. His angry, burning eyes drilled a hole into the ground, hand unconsciously scratching at his long sleeves.

A couple of years ago, it had become common knowledge that Satra lived in a children's home having been rejected by five different pairs of foster parents. Already marked as an outsider, with his lack of social skills and spiteful attitude, this new information had set a spiral of abuse and isolation into effect. No one spoke to Satra anymore, except to throw spiteful words and mark his skin with cuts and bruises.

Hunching his shoulders again, Kamitra sat down against the wall of the main school building, watching the people. With every look, the world shared its secrets with him; tiny details slipping into his brain, puzzle pieces building up an intricate design of what lay beneath the painted layer of an outward appearance. It always amazed him that everyone could be so blind, no one could see the things that lay so obviously in front of them.

A sudden shout broke through Kamitra’s thoughts, bringing his attention back to real life. Everyone who had heard the shout was now looking toward the gate.

“What did you say to me?” Ren was staring at a slightly taller boy from the year below him.

“I said,” the boy, Dean Lukason, replied, “that you need to move. If you’re not gonna go to school, don’t hang around here.” By now the hush had spread to the corners of the crowd, everyone was watching. Breath baited and eyes alert. Despite the ubiquitous fear of Ren, many, Kamitra along with them, flocked nearer for a better view.

“Yeah,” Ren drawled slowly, “That’s what I thought you said. Didn’t think you’d be saying it to me though.”

The challenger let out a bark of humourless laughter. “You think I’m scared of you?” he spat, “just because you wear black clothes and have some fancy jewellery, it doesn’t make you better than me.” From this distance, it was easy to see Ren repeatedly tensing and un-tensing his muscles, loosening himself up discretely and readying his body for a fight. “It’s time someone stood up to you, Ren, you ca-”

The punch came hard, fast and calculated, hitting Dean squarely in the jaw. Ren raised a glittering eyebrow as Dean blinked a little, staggering back. There was a pause as Ren’s dark eyes scanned his opponent before he began his attack again. This time, he led with a kick to the stomach that sent Dean reeling, winded.

“You little,” Dean gasped, before running at him. Ready and waiting, Ren kicked the younger boy’s legs out from under him, then his fist caught him beneath the chin with an uppercut. Dean’s head snapped back.

“Pathetic,” Ren sneered.

Dean’s friends, who, at first, had hung back, now stepped into the limelight. Bright eyed, Kamitra watched each movement intently.

The first one ran, aiming a fist towards the head. Ren fired a punch into the boy's stomach then a knee into his face. Next one came running as fast as he could, head down, trying to ram him. Smirking, Ren stepped to the side and stuck out a leg sending the boy crashing into the pavement. Numbers three and four ran ever so slightly in canon. Still smiling, Ren stepped to the left and then to the right, dodging both of them. They stumbled as they came to a halt. Without giving number three a chance to straighten, Ren's foot smacked him in the groin causing the unfortunate boy to crash down to the floor. Smile growing, Ren turned to face number four.

“Had enough?” he asked. Fearful, the boys scrambled away, pushing through the crowd, desperate to escape. “Anyone else?” Ren demanded, glaring at the assembled audience. They quickly dispersed. Kamitra, however, remained where he was. Almost immediately, Ren spotted him. “What? You got a problem, kid?”

The word ‘no’ stuck in his throat, blocked by the questions he couldn’t bring himself to ask. A single shake his head was all he gave before he turned and ran.

Somewhere inside the buildings bells rang. Everyone on the ground scrambled to their feet and the entirety of the students outside migrated to the entrance. Following a cluster of his peers, Kamitra made his way to his classroom. It was a brightly coloured room, with cheerful displays covered in diagrams the students had drawn. Placing his bag on the desk, Kamitra stared at the presentation on the opposite wall; it had recently been replaced and was covered in work about bees. There were quite a few details that he had yet to take in so he amused himself with familiarising himself with every tiny thing on the red papered board.

After a little while, the teacher walked in. Her mousy brown hair was braided into a plait which bounced on her back as she walked. From the bags under her eyes, the slight scruffiness of her plait and the green and red pen on her hands, Kamitra guessed that she’d spent most of the night marking.

“Morning class!” She smiled jovially as she reached her desk. “Let's see who's here then, shall we?” she asked, opening the register. Names were read out and answered either by a 'Yes Miss' or by silence. Still smiling, she reached the final name and then closed it with a snap.

“There's no assembly today due to the mock exams,” she informed them, sounding rather grateful herself, “so you can talk amongst yourselves till lessons starts.” A wave of talking immediately rose in the class room.

Uttering a mute sigh, Kamitra turned his head and stared out of the window beside him. Two squirrels were chattering to each other in the branches of