“There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die.” ― Hunter S. Thompson.

It was summer’s end of Nineteen Ninety-Six. The double doors of the elementary playground swung open, and the stampede of children disregarded the teachers.

The children frolicked with the sweetness of a pride of kittens. Everywhere, they banded together to enact their fantasies or play generic games of Tag. A group of girls partook in a handholding circle as they spun rapidly with a tune. Some with melody, others with potential, the girls would sing the same song until they recycled the lyrics thrice.

“…Ring around the Rosie…

…A pocket full of Posies…

…Ashes, Ashes…

...We all fall down…”

A pair of sunken, brown eyes scanned the perimeter beneath strands of uncombed black hair. Malcolm Nelson could see the corner of the fence. Between these objects swirled a pool of other kids running around in Imagination Land. Malcolm was still six years old and tried his best to figure out the other kids. For every class which had around two dozen students, at least half to seventeen already knew each other for some reason.

Most of the boys want to run everywhere. The girls want to play hopscotch and stick to the “safety” of the cement. They’re stupid, if they hit their heads, they may break open…Sunland’s class is being released….

…IF HER CLASS IS OUT THEN I ONLY HAVE FIVE MINUTES LEFT!! That can’t be MY fault that no kid knows me! I have nothing to do and there should ALWAYS be something for me to do! Dad says dumb people get bored! “Nelsons are not like normal people…”

Malcolm maniacally panted, until noticing the little boy named Gregory was standing as a junction where the kids were let out. Malcolm slowly snuffed his panic and observed the boy with swollen pupils. He looked to see the kid frantically zagging. “Would anyone play with me? You? Would you play with me? Wo…”

…He could at least pretend not to beg…

Malcolm walked like a stiff figure across the pavement to the awkward student wearing the most reflective white buttoned shirt and pitiful khaki shorts that didn’t even end to his knees. “I’ll play.” Malcolm told the kid without stopping to even look at his eye.

“What?” the small child asked. “Who are you?”

“I’m Malcolm. Someone who will play Greg.”

“I’m not Greg! Craig! My name’s Craig!”

Malcolm cut a sharp glance while walking onto grass, “Jeanie and May were laughing at you.”

Craig winced. “People never laugh before they make a joke. The brownie boys are always calling me a…”

“That’s because you’re whining louder than a baby!” Malcolm spun to walk up the field. “I almost have to go back so don’t complain about how ‘mean’ I am!”

“Wait!” Craig stammered and followed. “Don’t go! I promise I...”

Malcolm was leading him up the muddy slope of the yard. He dropped on the slope and dug his hands to unearth soggy mud. “Help me if you wanna play.” He spoke to Craig without looking. “…I have my own games.”

Craig whined. “But the mud stains on my pants will make me sticky…”

“Don’t sit on it then.”

“It might ruin my shoes.”

Malcolm cut another sharp glance back at the boy. “Why are you gonna hang around people if you can’t play with them?”

Craig’s eyes were glistening. “I didn’t know what we were going to play.”

“We are not playing anything.” Malcolm interrupted. “I’ll have my own fun because I won’t ever have fun if not on my own. I can test myself, a rat, or any cat across my street.” The child had already finished digging a hole as deep as his arms.

“…Testing what?” the boy gulped.

“What a man we are.” Malcolm grinned, “There are people who swim deep in the ocean. The size of all that water will punch their eyes black. When you can’t breathe it’s like you want to break open.” The congealing mud seeped out of his clenched fists; Malcolm was grinning with his head cocked at the nerve-wracked kid.

“…You’re going to lie under all that?” Craig asked.

Malcolm shook his head. “It’s my turn after. First, I wanna see how you do it.”

Craig shook his head. “T-That doesn’t sound very safe…”

“Worms live in dirt all the time…so do ants…cool spiders do too.” Malcolm reeled his arm over to the hole.

Craig started to relent. “Y-You promise me nothing bad will happen to me?” Craig was turning to adjust himself into the pit.

“Just fight your way up.” Malcolm encouraged. “If you can’t fight your way out, will you ever fight the other kids?”

Craig looked back as he sat in the hole. “Does the mud look too poopey? If my pants get soggy my mom- “

Stolen story; please report.

“Stop being a scaredy-cat!” Malcolm ordered.

Craig cowered his back into the hole, shriveling as he lay on the cold ground. Craig very faintly settled, then Malcolm bulldozed the mud over to bury Craig alive.

Malcolm rose, hunching his knees. He swirled his hands in light circles, thinking Craig would breach his hands like a Zombie. Instead, the mud felt still.

…fifty...fifty-one…fifty-two…fifty-three…

“NELSON!” a scream from behind shattered Malcolm’s awareness. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Mrs. Sunland seized Malcolm’s arm from behind and she tugged him away from the hole he dug. Mr. Blackburn and Mrs. Gerry came in from the flank and were sinking their hands into the earth like it were a ball pit.

“WHAT DID YOU DO!?” a flat-lipped Sunland spun him. “What did Craig do to deserve that!?”

Malcolm’s eyes faltered behind tears, “I-I-I-”

“WHY would you bury a friend alive!?”

“I-I was playing.” Malcolm whimpered.

“WHAT KIND OF GAME IS THIS!” Sunland pointed at the teachers helping Craig out, the child coughed and was blinded by the mud.

Malcolm hyperventilated. “But I just found someone to play with!” Her eyes turned into orbs piercing down his as he continued. “I just wanted to see him escape…He chose to lie in the mud!”

Sunland barked. “YOU’RE ONE WHO’S LYING!”

Malcolm’s eyes popped. “FUCK YOU!” Suddenly, he was backhanded by his teacher. Sunland grasped his wrist, breaking Malcolm’s fall.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME!?” She bellowed as the laughter of other kids melodied. She dragged Malcolm through the double doors of the school; she was tugging him too hard for his petite arm. Malcolm never counted the turns in the hallway, so he never saw the sign which indicated the school Office. The teacher plopped Malcolm into the first soft chairs that lined the glass wall viewing the hallway.

“You stay right there!” Sunland yelled with a point of finger. “And think of your apology!”

“Sunland.” The principal had emerged from his office behind the administrators’ desk, “He’s six; stop it.”

Sunland whipped her head around to stare at the principal, “YOU didn’t hear what he said to me!” Malcolm rolled his eyes on her and took amusement in her twisted neck; it resembled a Big Bird learning too late that a Big Cat was about to eat it.’

“Sunland. Calm down and get in here.” The tubby principal commanded with a point of the finger into his office.

Sunland marched into Principal Puff N’ Stuff’s office; the principal wouldn’t say a word to the child. He bid the boy a nod as he backed into his den and shut the door. Malcolm folded his hands on his lap and sat perfectly still on the chair with his head tilted toward his legs.

…I didn’t see Craig escape…

After long moments for any child, the principal finally emerged from the office. “Hey kiddo.” Malcolm almost reeled as the principal leaned in. “What was your name again?” the adult asked.

“Why don’t you know?”

The adult laughed. “You’re smart, aren’t you? …So, what did you do?”

Malcolm shrugged. “It was a Nature test. I wanted Craig to escape the mud…It was fun.”

“Did he find it fun?”

Malcolm blinked. “He chose to do it.”

“Did you know he could get hurt?”

Malcolm shook his head.

“We’ve already had to call your parents-“

“NO!” Malcolm’s eyes popped.

“They’re on their way now.” Sunland boasted from the ajar doorway.

“Please!” Malcolm pleaded. “Not my dad! My Brother! I want my Brother!”

The principal remained calm. “Who’s your brother, kiddo?”

Malcolm started to shake. But Sunland interrupted by boasting further. “What? You think he can explain your attitude to Mommy and Daddy?”

Malcolm’s face ignited, “I’LL TELL EM MY GODDAMN SELF!” He raced out of the office. He made it down the hallway and pivoted right at the next hallway where he found the double doors that lead to the outside carpool lane.

Fueled by his anxiety, Malcolm never stopped running, even when he made it through the school property and emerged onto a small sidewalk next to the main road. The early afternoon heat, along with his fears of the scale of the world around him, continued to overwhelm the child. Malcolm felt trapped and subsequently ducked behind a bush. He never bothered to count the seconds he spent sniffling in the shrubberies despite never being able to help it during timeout. The sun had not even moved by the time he cut his legs through the green thorns and continued his run home.

Malcolm had taken off down the road and his lungs were combusting like a car engine by the time he turned a corner to his cul-de-sac. His was the red brick house just at the center of the circle. The driveway was empty, and the door must have been locked; for some reason, his parents left a backup key beneath one of the decorative stones that lined the pathway to the front door. Something Malcolm knew was stupid, because anybody who wanted to get inside would just throw a stone through a window and open the handle.

Which is exactly what the child did. It took two stones to break the window. The boy sprinted to the door and stood on his tiptoes to slide his arm inside to turn the handle. Fumbling his fingers for the lock, he had to lift himself inches further, only to realize that the lock was not set. He dropped from the window and flung the door wide open; slamming it as his feet flew up the staircase. Malcolm turned right to his room at the end of the hallway.

His narrow, red-sheeted bed was unmade, revealing the quilt that it was made from, yet Malcolm didn’t care to lie down. There was no TV to speak of, so all he had to stare at when he woke up was his open closet. On the right-hand side across from the door, he had two sets of seven shelves. Each shelf contained toys from GI Joes to Superhero Action Figures.

Recently Malcolm learned that the clothing on some toys, GI Joes for instance, could be removed and switched. He has since taken amusement in standing them upright, pant less, and has even added some girly Barbie toys to switch clothes with. Many were currently arranged in genderless roles that recreated the scenes of cartoons such as ‘Scooby-Doo’ or ‘Ren and Stimpy’.

One toy soldier, fresh out of the box, had been left on the edge of the shelf with no imitations of the surrounding figures. The toy soldier had no toy gun in the box and faced the disappointed child. He took the toy in hand and rubbed his thumb across the ball-joint which connected the toy’s head to the body. Two thumbs pushed and popped the head, sending it soaring to land as a meteorite. Malcolm made a happy giggle when the detached head collided with a barbie whose arms had been switched for a dinosaur toy.

The child proceeded to pop each of the toy’s limbs and spent several moments attaching different appendages from any one of his collections. Malcolm had felt the smallness of the toy soldier required larger arms and legs; he began by removing one muscle-bound arm he had attached to a toy princess and the other arm would replace the antler of a toy deer. The child began to contemplate which animal part would suit the toy soldier’s legs.

Suddenly, Malcolm noticed a sound coming from the air vents; sounds emanating from the garage below. It was a fast rhythm that had been continuing since before Malcolm ran inside the house. It was a guitar rhythm Malcolm associated with a poster on his wall; Malcolm’s Brother referred to the poster as ‘Kurt Cobain’.

Before he could make his mind up what to do next, he could hear the lyrics faintly through the vent. The child chose to happily dance to the soft melody by twirling his arms and hands.

“…Forever in Debt to Your Priceless Advice…”