It was strange really, at the time all he could think about was the madeleine’s that his mother used to bake. It’s not like they were anything special, but the ones his mother made were always incredible. Walking into the kitchen after finishing school, a bowl in the middle of the dining table, full of the little sponge cakes, waiting just for him and his little sister. Those days were long since gone though, he hadn’t even seen his mother in years, let alone the madeleine’s that she made. Ever since that day, life had gone from bad to worse, leading all the way up to this morning. It wasn’t an unusual one; on the contrary, he was used to this sort of thing now.
The bullies had always been careful, they never hit him in the face, they concentrated on his stomach and chest, that way, and if they got in trouble they knew straight away that he had ratted them out. Personally, he always thought bullies were just meatheads, idiots, morons, scum of the earth. But that was only when it came to lessons, outside of school, on the streets, they were smart. He didn’t attend school much, but because of his father’s influence, the issue wasn’t a big one where the school was concerned. This didn’t go over too well with the ‘bigger’, ‘meaner’ kids in his year. The ones you’d always find smoking just off of the school property during lunch, the ones who liked to skip school but didn’t want to get expelled. And so there he was, victim of yet another session of ‘boxing practice’.
18 and just a shell. Apathetic and unconcerned with anyone else. All but his sister, she’d left with their mother all those years again, the only reason he still lived was to see her again. But what was left of him for her to give a damn about? He picked himself from off of the floor and collected his school jacket. He shrugged it on and walked out from the alley, out onto the busy streets. Today was the first day of his last year at school, if he didn’t at least attend school today, then he’d have to suffer another lecture from his father.
Standing amongst the busy crowds he ran his hand through his short, bedhead ‘styled’, black hair and sighed. The clock on the nearby shop alerted him to the fact that school would be starting soon. With a somewhat forced attitude he walked toward the campus. Within minutes he was at the entrance to the grounds, he wondered if anyone would remember him. Or if anyone cared. Why did he even care? Everyone in school knew what he was like, who his father was, how he was bullied. People just generally kept clear of him, keeping themselves out of trouble.