Rat Boy

Reads: 320  | Likes: 3  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 6

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: November 12, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 12, 2017

A A A

A A A


Rat Boy.

Flynn O’Brien was the sort of boy that everyone picked on. He was small and thin, weak and sickly looking. His almost black hair always looked ragged, as though he took the scissors to it himself without the aid of a mirror, and just hacked at it in a totally haphazard way. His face was pale, pinched and pointed, and it was that that got him the name ‘Rat Boy’.

Flynn lived in an isolated cottage on the edge of a woods with his Grandmother. No mention had ever been made of his parents. If he had ever met them, Flynn had no recollection of them at all. He lived a lonely life, both at home and at school.

His sullenness made him unpopular with the teachers as well as his fellow-classmates. Things were not improved by his erratic attendance. He would be absent and remain so for several days at a time. Any kind of explanation for this never seemed to be forth-coming, but he always returned looking even paler than usual with dark smudges beneath his eyes.

Like most schools there was a definite hierarchy. When he was not in attendance there were others to be picked on and bullied. Those at the top never lacked a target. Knowing what it felt like to be on the receiving end did not stop them joining in the fun, or at least turning a blind eye. Nobody stood up for Flynn at all.

His grandmother kept Flynn busy at home. There were always tasks to be attended to before school and when he came home, but Flynn still found time to make some little friends of his own. Nothing was too good for them and he lavished them with care, and little treats on whenever he could. He kept his friends in his room, safely shut up for the hours he was away for; not that he had any real reason to worry, for his Grandmother never seemed to set foot in his room.

He was fast on his feet but so uncoordinated that no one would ever want him to play on their team. Always the last to get picked, he could see the snarls on the faces of those that realised they were going to be stuck with him. Flynn did his best to get out of the way, and to keep out of the way.

If ever there was trouble, or if anything went wrong, the call would go up; “Rat Boy did it!” The teachers, although refraining from actually using the term, knew who it meant. They had long since given up chastising the other students for calling Flynn that, and when talking amongst themselves, often would use that very same name.

Chester, the undisputed king of the pupils, hated Flynn with a passion. Any chance to get him in to trouble, to cause him a bit of pain and discomfort, Chester was on it like a shot. Sitting on his own, unnoticed, Flynn overheard his chief bully talking with one of his pals. He did not want to listen in, in fact could not hear every word, but when they rounded the corner, found him sitting there, the accusations flew and so did the stones.

One particularly nasty one caught Flynn just above his left eye, it’s sharp corner cutting in to the skin on his forehead. Blood ran down into his eye, along his nose, to drip on the ground in front of him, but still the boy did not respond. This seemed to inflame Chester to even greater anger and he hurled a larger stone that missed it’s target, only to shatter the classroom window behind him.

The teachers streamed out, angrily looking for someone to blame. How they could miss his injury is beyond explanation, but when the call went up, “Rat Boy did it,” it was Flynn Principal’s office; and it was his grandmother that was presented with the bill.

Flynn took his punishment silently. It seemed to have escaped everyone’s notice that the boy had stopped speaking. The only time he used his voice was when he was safely inside his room and could chat away to his friends. They, at least, could be relied upon not to ridicule him or put him down. Did his grandmother hear him? Probably not.

After a week, Flynn returned to school. His head still hurt, and he still had an angry bruise, but it was okay, he wasn’t worried. This time he was taking a friend.

s as the teacher stood at the front of the room. Flynn was near the back, pretending not to notice the pen tops, the wads of screwed up and chewed paper that kept heading his way. He carefully leaned forward and opened the zip on his backpack about three inches. He reached in, stroked the head and the nose that poked its way through the hole, and sat back to wait.

He listened intently, not to the teacher droning away at the front of the room, but to the scuffling sounds, the landing and the pattering of footsteps. Dribble was doing his job; it was just a case of waiting for someone to notice.

Flynn had chosen Dribble to accompany him after lots of thought. He was the largest, the blackest, the meanest looking of all of his friends, although really he was the friendliest of the bunch. Many an hour had Flynn spent holding on to his friend and telling him all his problems.

It didn’t take long before a scream went up, followed by another. There were chairs thrust backwards, students running and jumping from desk to desk, heading for the door. Chester, Flynn noticed with no small amount of satisfaction, was frantic, pushing and shoving to get to the door as soon as he could. The teacher stood there shouting, calling for order; she was clearly oblivious to the imposter inside her room.

She was oblivious, at least until Flynn bent down and scooped up Dribble. He held the large black rat out towards his teacher and said in a loud and clear voice; “Rat Boy did it!”, after which she promptly fainted and Flynn walked off towards his home, for once with a smile on his face.


© Copyright 2019 hullabaloo22. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

Comments

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply