Whittemore - Reanimate

Reanimate

by Sophia Whittemore

Published by Clean Reads

www.cleanreads.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

REANIMATE

Copyright 2016 SOPHIA WHITTEMORE

ISBN 978-1-62135-570-0

Cover Art Designed by AM DESIGN STUDIO

To my parents who loved me, my friends who cheered me on, and my teachers who guided me. You are the true heroes of this story. Know that.

H ave you ever had a moment where you hurt so bad that you completely stop feeling? Do you stop for a while and wish that the pain would be like this forever?

You wished that you never felt at all.

Well, thats how I remain, every single day. I feel nothing, not pain, not love. I am as empty as the skies above. And let me tell you something.

Youd rather be dead.

T he fist made contact with the left side of my jaw. It should have hurt, it really should have. It should have killed me.

But it didnt.

I blinked away the memories of last nights fistfight. I had been at the Red Fields, the usual place, and my opponent had been a young man, anxious and thin.

But he had never even touched me

See, a few things happen when you get the living daylights beaten out of you. Not a lot of people have experienced it firsthand like I have, but let me enlighten you. First came the point of contact. It was just pressure hitting the side of your face, like pressing a finger against your cheek. Like all other things that I experienced, it never hurt me. Pain was all in your head. I had only been blinded for a little bit before I paused and stared up at the opponent in front of me. I was like a scholar and he was the experiment, ready to be dissected and disposed of. I gave him a blank, deadpan stare. I had no emotion in my eyes. Others told me that when I got like this, it reminded them of a cadaver. It was like I didnt have a soul. The other guy hit me, more times than I could possibly count.

I hadnt felt a thing.

And just like that, I was back in the classroom, staring off into space as memories and images flashed into my mind. The words formed a senseless jumble, thoughts that could never be placed. My mind was incomprehensible, a mystery unto my own self. Well, when school got boring like this, all I could think of was the last fight I had. I needed to fight, as badly as any other person needed to breathe. Anything would be better than doing nothing and being force-fed facts all day. Even bleeding was more stimulating than rote memorization.

Hushhushhushcame the sound of the teachers leather shoes sliding against the floorboards. The dean taught this class. Where was he again? I remembered, faintly, hearing something about Shakespeare before I was off daydreaming once more

I somehow snapped back to reality. I couldnt let flashbacks from the Red Fields bother me so much. Right now, I had to focus on my inane studies. I had a ninety percent in my literature class. That was ten percent below perfect. It was ten percent too many. I blinked, rubbing my fingers against my eyes before realizing a thin dribble of blood and drool trailed from my bottom lip. I pressed my fingers against it, completely ignoring the neglected, open textbook in front of me. Then I paused and examined the blood. It glittered against the palm of my hand, kind of like rubies. And just like that, I was back at the Red Fields.

My opponents fist made contact with my jaw. Was that the exact moment that my lip had split? All I could remember was seeing scarlet and black and blue all at once. Thats the other thing nobody really knows about fights. A person could experience the most beautiful colors when getting pummeled half to death. I stared at my opponent, a solid mass of tissue shielding a beating heart. I could hear his heart beating. Whether the other guy knew it or not, he was afraid of me.

And if he wasnt, then he should have been.

After all, everyone came to fear the monster beneath their beds at some point or another.

Bloodmy face had been slippery with blood. I remembered how annoying the blood got when it came to visibility. Blood could prove such a nuisance sometimes, though it was awfully pretty. Wait, when had my lip split again? This really was bugging me. Maybe it had just split without me knowing it, from heat or dryness or something. It wasnt like I could feel heat either. I guessed that heat was a wonderful thing, like the adrenaline pumping through your veins during a fistfight. I hunched forward, my fists drawn close to protect my face. I narrowed my eyes and wiped the blood from my lip. My opponent stopped smiling then. He stared, paralyzed at the sight of my complete and total indifference.

Ah, so he didnt know it yet, my secret weapon.

He had been cocky, and that had been his biggest mistake.

Hushhushhush

The dean paused at the front of my row, causing me to snap awake in a panic. I couldnt get a detention, not when I needed the time to prep for my next fight. But the dean just smiled, pushing his spectacles further up the bridge of his nose so that he could chat to the nearest student, an unfortunate soul called Alexander Benedict. To my great fortune, he completely ignored me as I stared up at the blackboard like it was the single most interesting thing that I had ever seen. My pen was frozen at the tip of my still-bleeding lip, motionless as time slowed to a gentle halt. I closed my eyes. Everything seemed too close for comfort in this windowless room.

I wiped off the sweat from my cheek. It wouldnt do me any good if my fingers were so slick that I couldnt even form a decent fist. I hunkered down, internally laughing at my opponent. The big man was terrified of a runt like me? Pathetic! He feared me because he knew what I was and what I could do. He knew that I didnt fear him either. He knew that his time was running out.

The air was thick and salty. The blood tasted like copper on my tongue, sweet and metallic. I imagined that the room was getting colder now, colder as every betting man held his breath and waited to see what I, the monster boy, would do.

I was the king.

Detention for your impertinence, Mr. Benedict, chirped the dean, slipping a bright blue slip of paper over to Alexander Benedict, the resident class idiot, as though it were a consolation trophy. See me this Saturday afternoon.

I ran my fingertips idly over my textbook, leaving pretty copper stains over nearly half the pages. The dean tilted his head in my direction, but then I saw that he was only examining a small blue jay as it took flight outside my window. I had been so wrapped up in my little world that I hadnt even noticed the bird. I guess I was too into my own head to try and get out of it. I sat near the window, where the blue jay had settled on the sill and was now tapping a cheery tune on the glass. The dean took notice of this. I thought he looked at me funny, and I only glared back. This displeased the dean, Mr. Guile. He seemed more disturbed than hed ever been before.