When I was at high school, once upon a time, there were so much memorable and remarkable events that you would never forget about. But there were also the tragic ones that you wish never had happened and to be erased from your life once and for all.
Thomas Willer was in my form and as far as I could remember, he was one of the outcasts from the first day. Tom had a genetic mental disability where he could not properly direct his body movements, especially his head. My friends used to push, kick, punch, spit, and sat on his head. These always happened in the cubicles of the senior boys’ toilets. They would walk into the bathrooms in fours- (surprisingly the teachers never had playground duties in there, but then, inspecting toilets weren’t the most fashionable thing to do).
As soon as they finished their ‘businesses’ they would walk out the door, as though nothing had happened, chatting like a normal bunch of students. I would often lean against that wall which allowed me to just hear all the noise and a glimpse on the excitements inside. I still feel guilty to this day, standing at the back of the ‘barrier’, every single time, which I considered, separated me from the wickedness of my friends.
Tom wheeled into the bathroom, as usual, at lunchtime, caring about nobody’s affairs except his self’s. He went into one of the disable toilets, banging the door and locking it behind him. A moment later, all four of my friends strolled into the room with their backpacks and few other tools, discussing in whispering voices on their plans for that particular attack. I hardly made out a few words in the background shoutings from the football game outside,
“We use this,” breathed the first one, passing a rugby ball to another.
“Then this one,” muttered the other, with a cunning smirk. He was carrying an unblown balloon.
I waited anxiously as I looked on to the scene. They never brought more than a video camera or a mobile phone to capture their...