An honest disclaimer: The following texts tell a disturbing tale; tragic and vulgar in nature. So read away at your own discretion.
At the age of twelve, I had put my hands on my teacher, beat him within an inch of his life. I am sure I have written about this in a previous post of mine, but for the whole duration of today, I couldn't think of anything else. So I have decided to just write about it again! Not that I am proud of It or anything, nor was I mentally sabotaged like one of those school bullies who finds it entirely satisfactory to pick on apparently vulnerable random kids—none of that. I had a solid reason behind incurring such a hideous event, yet it was necessary nonetheless.
For a significant portion of my life, I was admitted to one of those prep schools. An institute for the not so easy kids with walls as high as 3 meters and glass shards covering the top of it all around. So that nothing comes in or goes out, lol A prison to a dreamy-eyed kid perhaps!
We had this fat, relatively short dude, almost like an antagonist from a Shakespearean drama as our house tutor. At some nights, he would pick the newest of kids, like the ones from 1st or 2nd grade who were yet to learn about right from wrong, and casually rape them. BTW this is an entirely true story. Yeah yeah, I know. That sentence is enough to make it look a bit 'sus', yet it is all true!
At the first semester of the eighth grade, I had heard a rumor. Another kid had shat so hard that his anus got ripped apart. What a funny story lol. Kids ripping apart their anus's! Nah, dark comedy doesn't bode well for me. Yet we joked about it for quite a while. A few days later, I was called into this meeting in our sports club. Asked for by The president, "Billah", a tenth-grade kid who did the honor of breaking out the story in front of us; A well-presented hypothesis about how we had a sexual predator roaming with indemnity around the school.
The thing was, nobody knew about this because the teacher did his job a little too well. He usually lured the kids into his room by making things up about how his legs hurt, required being massaged and in return, they'd get sweets, and all that kids are drawn to. After successfully hunting the prey, he would roofie them using the candies. Not the actual drug, but he would use various sorts of painkillers like Percocet in higher than usual dosage and taint the tiny angels sent from heaven above. The next morning, they would always shit and rip their anus! You might wonder how could we, a bunch of eight and tenth graders uncover this and connect all the dots. FYI, I had already read the Rosy Crucifixion in sixth grade, and more like it in the following years. So I, like most of the kid with me on that club was pretty well versed in signs of abuse and how it actually takes place. But still i had my doubts!
So, we had come up with a plan to teach him a lesson. A masterpiece, nonetheless. When brainstorming and thinking of ourselves as teenage sleuths and vigilantes seeking grandeur, we were met with a few problems. There were no witnesses and no proof. Even most of us, including me, were skeptical till the very end. But, Billah, was our guardian angel. And so we ususaly like always took him up on his words and followed him wherever he went.
To prove it beyond doubt, we had to wait. We had to hang back till the perfect opportunity arose. Amd within a few days, lo and behold, right in front of one of us, just outside the cafeteria after lunch, he offered this happy looking kid, chocolates. In an enclosed campus, such delicacies were challenging to find, and the tiny younglings too understood that much.
We had collected this odd-looking backpack that was like a bigger version of those vintage coin sacks cowboys would use. Pull-on the strings on the top and the mouth would close. Put it on a head, do a fisherman's knot and poof, lights out.
A dozen of us followed the kid to the teacher's room on the third floor of the dorm. The door was open till the kid was taken in. Half-past eleven and when everything was as silent as the grave, Billah had knocked on the door, faking a cry, asking for the teacher. He came out in his boxers. There was no light except one bulb lit in the far side of the hall, and in that darkness, somebody had covered his head with the backpack.
For the next few moments, all I heard was mar mar mar, and with due diligence, I used my knuckles a little too well by carefully choosing the most softer places I could find. Never was I such calm in a fight! And yet, I punched him like a robot, in a continuous repeated motion—Jab and hook, one step forward, jab and hook. When the dust had settled, hundreds of kids while rubbing their eyes were swarming the corridor and a few teachers were trying to haul us away.
No parents ever got to know this, nor did anyone else outside the wall then few of us. Because we were threatened to be suspended from our classes. After all the reputation of the Institution was at stake. If i dox the name of the school out loud, you all are just one search away from the truth. And for the kid's spectating that night, they too thought it was something to do with grades and a feud between 'billah' and the teacher..
In Boarding or prep schools like this one, or whatever you may call it, if you get suspended once, it meant you'd never get to study again. No school would ever dare to admit you ever again. We would get marked as the waste of society. While looking deeply at Billah's eyes, we knew we had done it, justice was served. And now a tinny tiny bit of penalty was due. Of course, later on, most of the kids found it out, but the actual truth got lost in the fabrics of the time ad rumors!
Sometimes, looking back at my life, and these memories, I can never perceive these times as part of my own. Such corruption, ruthless anarchy and chaos only hurts my belief and tries to point out how we might be all alone in the universe. How the gods might have left us alone only to our fate. And how we all are a bunch of Godless communists. From the mouth of my mentor I have heard these two words many many times. From a long ago, subconsciously, I too might have started to believe in it. For after all, what are we if not self-serving nihilistic ambiverts!
"He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby becomes a monster. And if thou gaze long into the abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee"
