“Two minutes,” said Mr. Durm. He threw down his newspaper, leapt out of his chair and rushed out the door.

“Is something going on?” a boy asked.

“I don’t know,” another replied.

“Best behaviour, lads,” said Jaz facetiously.

“What you talking about?” blurted Rocco, “it’s you we got to be watching out for.”

“Or that weirdo over there,” Sethan muttered.

[Emotional Health: -1 (2)]

The skin on the back of Rod’s neck crawled. He gritted his teeth. “See, I told you,” he said to himself, “I’m a weirdo. They are laughing at me. They are! They are always laughing at me. I’m being targeted already! I am not worth anything.

[Emotional Health: -1 (1)]

He forced himself to look at the group of boys behind him, settling his furious eyes on Sethan. The young boy’s face was twisted and vengeful, and he clenched his fists and wished he could send it right through the taller boy’s cheek; but stopped himself from moving a muscle, remembering that his mother would kill him if he got in trouble at school, and that he was absurdly weak anyhow, and further that he would get his revenge one of these days.

It was during this intense showdown between the children that Rod could feel an omnipresent presence lurking in the air. He felt that it somehow was connected to the anger boiling inside of him.

[Sanity: -1 (-2)]

Sethan and Rocco and the rest of the cool kids met the challenge in his eyes, and they smirked. Everyone else’s eyes also gathered upon him. Even Jaz watched him.

“Don’t be mean,” she laughed. “He can’t even speak. Poor boy.”

[Regressing near completion (93%)]

"Shut up,” said Rod roughly. He could not believe that he was speaking. “Why is no one coming to my aid? Why does no one speak up for me? Eh? I knew I could not trust other people. They all want me to die.”

“Oh, wow, he actually said something,” laughed Sethan.

“He speaks!” cried Rocco.

“What are you going to do? Eh?” Sethan taunted. “You’re not hard. No one here is on your side.”

“I... I know,” admitted Rod, lowering his eyes in defeat. “What’s the point,” he thought.

“No one cares about you,” Sethan added.

“To be fair,” Jaz said, “I was going to ask the teacher if you can get moved because you make me feel uncomfortable. I don’t know about you lot,” and she turned to those around her.

“What?” cried Rod, feeling death close upon him. He shifted his gaze to Barbera, who was Jaz’ partner, and pleaded with his eyes that this was a joke. But she simply shrugged and looked away quickly. “But this isn’t fair,” he whined. Immediately, Rod frowned, for he never whined; that was one thing he was proud of himself for growing out of because as a child he was an avid whiner, constantly criticised as such by his stepfather and his extended family on both sides. “It’s time he grew up,” he told himself sternly, forgetting himself for a moment the situation that he was in.

[Warning: Regressing nearing completion (95%)]

“Uniform...” Rod wheezed, his wet, burning eyes bulging out of their sockets like mashed potatoes.

“Do you know...” he began exasperatedly; he could not believe that he was about to say these words out loud. “Do you know anything about...” He could not finish the sentence. “Do you know anything about...”

“Anything about what?” cried Jaz with impatience.

Rod shot up out of his chair, his knees wobbling, and cried out: “A magical girl uniform!”

He heard Klaudia gasp next to him.

The door burst open, and the teacher shot through it suddenly as though he had been standing there waiting on the other side for the opportune moment. Rod wouldn’t have been surprised if this had been the case for teachers had always been on the sidelines to his humiliation ceremonies.

“What are you doing?” Mr. Durm said sternly. The question was more of an accusation than an inquiry, which terrified Rod more than it should have. He did not know why he was suddenly so scared of the older man. It was as though something inside of him had changed over the course of the class, and all his subsequent experience as an adult had vanished into thin air. “Why are you out of your chair again?”

The young boy struggled to explain himself, his words caught in his throat. He gawked at the red-faced teacher in silence. “Why are you accusing me?” he wondered. “I haven’t done anything wrong. It was them; it was they who started picking on me for no reason!”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Well?” shrieked Mr. Durm with a raised eyebrow. “Well, what is it?”

All eyes once again were on the young boy; most of them were pitying him, which somehow made him feel worse as though he was some stray, limping black dog.

“Nothing, sir,” squeaked Rod pathetically, thinking himself the victim in all this. “Who needs friends, anyway,” he thought rapidly as he slid back into his chair in front of the digital keyboard. He kept a smile plastered on his face to hide the shame, embarrassment and humiliation that he was all at once feeling inside. He wanted to die.

A few moments lapsed, and the shadows grew larger in the corner of his vision. “Why is he so weird? What did he mean by ‘magical girl’? Does he want to wear a girl uniform? What, a skirt? What a weirdo.” All these questions buzzed around him, prodding him closer and closer to the cliff’s edge. He avoided looking at the girl next to him because he thought that she was like them. He hated her.

[Regressing (99%)]

“I’m so fucking useless,” he told himself. “No; you had therapy, remember? You’ve had years of therapy to combat your self-criticisms... don’t start beating yourself up now. It doesn’t work, it doesn’t work,” he repeated in his head desperately, draining all his remaining internal resources. “What ‘therapy’?” he asked himself, wondering what he was talking about. “Am I deluding myself?” Unbeknownst to Rod, his past life as an adult was being erased. “Wait, should I know about this?”

[Well done! Cognitive Restructuring level up! Cognitive Restructuring is now level 1!]

[Cognitive Restructuring is a skill used to break negative thought patterns. Continue to use this skill to maintain Emotional Health]

[Emotional Health: +2 (1)]

“Mr. Beasley,” said the teacher.

Rod lifted his head and turned to the teacher, startled. He saw Klaudia standing there also looking at him and he felt acutely afraid.

“Come here,” he said, beckoning him with his finger.

Rod pushed his chair back slowly and walked shakily towards the pair. Klaudia smiled at him sympathetically, but this did nothing to alleviate his fears.

“Yes, sir?” he stuttered, feeling everyone’s eyes on his back.

“Klaudia told me what happened,” Mr. Durm said abruptly, his arms still crossed against his chest as though he was being forced into a confession. He sighed dramatically, “I... I was wrong... but you should just focus on your work and not listen to those boys. I’ll have a talking to them separately.”

“Yes, sir,” Rod muttered, fidgeting with his hands.

Mr. Durm picked up his newspaper but saw that Klaudia was still looking at him. “Well?” he said exasperatedly. “Fine! You two don’t have to perform at the end of the class... but you’re performing next lesson I promise you.”

“Thanks, sir.” Rod and Klaudia both said in unison. They looked at each other, and Rod suddenly felt light.

“Maybe I do have worth,” he said to himself happily. “Perhaps not everyone hates me.”

The shadows once again brushed past the window, but he did not see it this time.

But Klaudia saw it. And she eyed him carefully.

[Positive Affirmation skill used]

[Cognitive Restructuring level up! Cognitive Restructuring Level 2!)

[Emotional Health: +2 (4)]

[Regressing... (100%)]

[Regression completed]

##

“And what if I want to speak to your mother like that! When are you finally going to move out and get your own place?” his stepfather shouted.

But Rod was only eleven and he had no place to go. He had only his bedroom for privacy, in which he retreated every day to stub out the pain of being bullied at school, and even then the privacy was tentative, for his mother routinely came in uninvited at the worst of times. And now that he was isolated from his knowledge of the future, he was back where he had started with no advantage to speak of. Nor could he remember the reason he had chosen to restart his life in highschool. Only on the cusp could he gather that it was to attain something... or someone. He was puzzled. But damn! How could he get rid of this feeling in his heart? It was like a knife was lodged in his chest and if he pulled it out, he would bleed to death.

He threw open his bedroom door, stepping out into the small corridor with his hands in his pockets, and peaked into the kitchen in hesitation and nervousness. They were at it again: barking like mad dogs at each other with the kettle boiling and the pot simmering; and then they told him to go away and mind his own business, just as before, which left him mad as they. But was it not his own business as well? Had he not caused them to argue? If he had not been born, they would not have been arguing.

The window panel above the old man was grey with condensation and the sun was behind it trying to break through, though it could not despite all its strength. Likewise, the boy was stood in front of the front door and if the condensation had not been on the panel his neck would have been warm instead of cold. On the other hand, if it had not been misted with condensation, the boy would have noticed the sudden coldness of a dark shadow envelop where the sunshine had been moments before. And if he was watching closely, instead of shying away from looking forward because of his stepfather, he would have seen the clouded yellow orb turn dark like a black masked head scouting the place before a break in.

“You best not interfere,” his stepfather growled.

Rod backed away from the kitchen carefully, his hands in front of him in a claw-like grip, and re-entered his bedroom. He saw his mother hurrying out the kitchen in a frenzy behind him. There was not much a distance between the kitchen and his bedroom. If one had to measure it, it would probably come to a little under two metres, though Rod had not gotten to that level of maths yet. To his little mind, that level of abstraction was unthinkable.

“I hate you!” he snarled, slamming the door shut like had done a thousand times before. He had to shut it this way to keep his mother out, for she would invade it otherwise.

“Like mother like son!” shouted his stepfather from the kitchen.

“Oh, fuck off you spiteful coward!” screamed his mother, slamming her door as well.

Nevertheless, after a few moments, the scared little boy opened the door tentatively, and went out and peered into his mother’s bedroom. His face was ghastly and pale, and he was suddenly cold to the touch even though the radiators were on full blast. The curtains were shut, and the room was pitch black, save the static of the television illuminating the room in cold, grey flashes.

It was only half-past four in the afternoon and his mother was already intoxicated, though she would deny it of course, and this sent him ablaze with fury, for much of the argument was down to this one fact. Moreover, he could not recognise his mother from the morning, and this scared him further; there was not one mother he had to contend with, but two.

“Mummy’s boy,” teased the old man stomping down the corridor.