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George is late for class, and the school bully notices... However, things may not turn out how you would expect them to.

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George Daquiri scampered down the hallway, praying to God Almighty that he wouldn’t be late to his next class. He glanced up at the clock on the wall, reading the time and, distracted, ran into a gigantic, huge, burly man. George gulped. It was Neil, the janitor. “H-Hi, Neil!” George chirped. Neil had been holding a paint remover, shiny and sharp, and when George had plowed into Neil, the paint remover had fallen out of his hands and clattered to the ground. Neil looked pissed. George, deathly afraid of the ogre-like janitor, picked it up and handed it to him quickly, scurrying away after squeaking out an apology. George arrived in his first period, two minutes late. The teacher shot him a deathly stare, full-on evil eye. The class was looking at him. George swallowed heavily. He hated negative attention. To make matters worse, the school bully, Frankie White, turned around and flicked him in the head. “Don’t be late, dipshit.” George, oversensitive as he was, excused himself to the restroom and waddled out of the classroom. He ran into the bathroom, breathing heavily. Frankie was a dick. Everyone knew that. Everyone also knew that Frankie had a horrible home life, and problems with abuse. The teachers always cut Frankie slack because of this. Frankie was power hungry, just like his father. It was a power circle sort of thing, everyone knew that, and that’s why people put up with him. George thought it was stupid, just an excuse for Frankie to do whatever. George sighed. He took a few minutes to gather himself, and as he was about to leave, Frankie entered the bathroom. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, scrub?” George found himself pinned against the wall. “Late to class again, huh, Georgie? How about we teach you not to do that again?” Frankie said, his voice deep. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” George blubbered. Frankie showed no mercy. He slammed George’s head against the wall, as he had done many other kids before. A small trickle of blood ran down George’s forehead. He groaned, in pain. This was not how he had expected today to go. Frankie shoved George to the ground, and kicked him. Over and over, he kicked George multiple times, George’s breaths sharp and raspy. He let out a cry of pain. “Shut up, dickhead.” Frankie growled. “If I get caught, things will end up so much worse for you in the end.” He smiled evilly and kicked George against the urinal, driving the pointed end into George’s back. He yelped. Frankie, not at all appreciating the racket George was making, slapped a hand over George’s mouth. “What do you think you’re doing, fuckface?” His voice was deep and cruel. “Listen here, George. I need you to do something. Comply, and I may consider going a little easier on you in the future.” George’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates. “Okay, anything you need, Frankie.” He smiled weakly, in obvious pain. “Okay, George. Here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m going to knock you the fuck out, and if an adult finds you laying here, and they ask what’s wrong, you, my little friend, are going to tell them that you smoked a little too much weed and got in a fight before you came to school.” George gulped, and then protested. “But… But I’ve never smoked pot in my life!” Frankie grinned, a cruel grin, all of his teeth showing in an ugly smile. “Well, that’s too bad. I guess things are only gonna get worse for you.” A tear rolled down George’s cheek. “Fine, Frankie! Whatever! Get it over with!” Frankie laughed, a menacing laugh. “Okay, crybaby.” With that, Frankie slammed George’s head down into the urinal, driving the point into his forehead, a loud crack echoing across the lavatory. George slowly drifted out of consciousness. “Maybe that’ll teach you to be on time.” Frankie laughed, a bellowing laugh. And with that, George blacked out.

Coming to, George groaned. He put his hands out to pick himself up, and while doing so, he slipped. On what? George looked down, and his eyes widened, the size of saucers. Was… was that blood? He couldn’t have possibly bled that much. He looked himself over, examining all of his limbs. There was a small trickle running down his forehead, however, it was hardly enough to create the pool that he was basically swimming in. George’s eyes flicked to the right. “Oh my god.” He said, covering his mouth. What he saw was extremely grotesque. It was Frankie. His whole body was riddled with deep, deep, cuts, and blood was spewing out of Frankie’s body, as the flow slowly, ever so slowly diminished. There was no life in Frankie’s eyes, they were egg white. And sticking out of his heart, there it was. A paint remover. George sat there for a second, and then stood up and brushed himself off. He walked out of the school, covered in Frankie’s blood, a gigantic smile on his face. He was free.

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