31st March 1995, 10.45am, Worthington Public School

The grimy tiles of the boys' toilet felt cold and wet beneath his fingers as he laid flat on the floor like a starfish. He could feel thick blood oozing from the crown of his head down along the side of his forehead, and gazed as he watched the blood trickle down unto the pooling water near a leaking sink faucet where his head had been smashed on just about a while ago.

"Ernest Rice the Four-eyes! Ernest Rice the Four-Eyes!"

"Boo hoo, Ernie has lost his glasses!"

He might be alone, but he could still hear the mocking chants from overly eager boys in his head, ringing like a massive concussion. He let out a groan, the pain pulsing in waves in his head. He struggled to stand, his vision blurred as his eyes watched more blood trickle down to the floor from the side of his head, the red tendrils rapidly swirling and streaking across the off-white tiles. His hands found an intact sink to the right behind him and with every ounce of his strength, he pulled himself up from the wet floor. His joints and muscles screamed in painful agony as he straightened up, his knees skinned and bleeding. He did not need to roll up his shirt to examine for bruises on his stomach- he could feel his abdominal muscles ache right where Tyler Atkinson had kicked his foot in just a while ago.

"Oh Ernie, I found your spectacles!" Tyler had taunted, waving them up in the air, "why don't you thank me, huh? Huh?"

That was when he felt something missing from his face. That was right.

His spectacles were missing and he had no idea what became of it.

Once again, he fell on the ground on all fours, this time searching blindly for them. He bit on his cut lip in pain as he felt the sting of his cut knees on the floor but bore it with his enduring strength.

"This is nothing," he mumbled under his breath as his hands searched on the ground ahead of him, "compared to the pain just now, this is nothing.."

His fingers felt a prick, and Ernest felt fresh blood dripping from his fingers. He moved closer to where his fingers had been to have a closer look.

He recognised the copper frame that lay in a twisted mess in front of his squinted eyes.

It was his spectacles.

Or at least, it was what was left of it- a convoluted mess of mangled metal and broken glass.

And then he vaguely remembered that his lack of response to Tyler's taunts was probably what caused its destruction. He remembered now- Tyler looking completely dissatisfied at his lack of response, and then throwing his spectacles to the floor.

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And as if putting a foot to his stomach earlier had not been enough, Tyler had brought his foot down on his spectacles.

Helplessness and anguished gripped him as he swept away his broken spectacles in frustration. He did not see the copper mess skid across the floor and hit a wooden cylinder, which rolled on the floor and knocked lightly against the distant wall of the bathroom. But he heard it.

And then it seized him- the very reason why he was dragged into the boys' washroom in the first place.

"Look at him play with his dolls!"

"Sissy little ninny!"

"Charles?" he called feebly, his voice echoing in the bathroom. But nothing answered him apart from the fan whirring lazily above him.

Of course, he was not expecting Charles to reply him- Charles was a wood block soldier.

And yet, Charles felt real enough to him as a friend that his grandfather had crafted and given to him for his fifth birthday when he was still alive. His grandfather might have been gone for a few years now(off to that big dollhouse in the sky, his mother had said), but Charles felt like the one special person that had linked him to his grandfather.

And Charles followed him wherever he went in his pocket.

And presently, Charles was gone.

Ernest inched his way across the floor, the blood on his knees now making an erratic red streak across the washroom floor.

His heart clenched painfully in his chest as he caught sight of the thin, blue wood cylinder in the corner. He picked it up, feeling it in his hands.

It was one of Charles' legs.

He raised his eyes around him and squinted, his hands trembling and dropping Charles' blue leg on the floor.

"C..charles.." he mouthed brokenly as he finally caught sight in his squinted vision of Charles' broken wooden parts scattered everywhere- his red arms were by the toilet, his red body right by the sink, and the rest of his blue pants and legs right by the bathroom door.

They broke him.

They broke his spectacles.

And they broke Charles too.

Ernest felt completely numb as he slumped against the wall, blood bleeding from his head now trickled down the light blue paint.

And then it came.

The urge to cry.

He looked at the blue wooden leg in his hand, his lips curling up in a simper as his body shook, his breaths coming out in short, quiet puffs of a soft wimper. The pain in his injuries were slowly becoming the least of his concerns. None of it hurt as much as the hole that seemed to be tearing out at his heart.

The pain in his heart was agonising that he wished he could rip into his chest to pull it out. And yet, unlike his injuries, it could not be seen.

Somehow, it was funny to him. So funny. So fucking funny.

Finally, all restraint in him snapped as he finally bellowed his laughter in the washroom, his injured body now bathing in the echoes bouncing off the wall and around his head.

His laughter did not stop when the washroom door burst open and the shocked janitor screamed at him to stop as he dashed to get help.

It did not stop when an ambulance wheeled up at the Worthington Elementary School, with paramedics helping him to a stretcher.

It did stop when he was jabbed with an anaestetic, which plunged him rapidly into deep sleep.

But deep in his broken heart and mind, his laughter never stopped.