Rusted lockers with two layers of bright blue paint stood out against the mass of other, similarly done, blue painted lockers. The red at the bottom of a few, scattered with orange, was the only indication of their age. Caster's...and mine. They broke those lockers early in the year when their science project exploded.

In the dim of the once too-bright-to-bear hallways, all the little things stood out. Little things like the mole on Karrison's lifeless cheek or the light hair on a Junior's neck and chin, everything that once was considered normal and overlooked was standing out. Acne, in all it's horrific glory, stood proudly on the faces, necks, and chests of bodies once alive. Blood stained the once pretty and overused clothing of students who were friends. Slash marks and stabbings. Mouths were left open with dried dribble forever falling out. Lockers and backpacks were left ajar and papers scattered the floors. Messy. Scott couldn't bear to make a joke. His entire body, weighed with the words he had spoke only an hour prior, slumped against an open locker. The rust must've been infectious for it poured into his soul.

Night was drawing closer and the only light to see by was through the windows lining above the lockers. The fading light of a dying sun. Scott wasn't prepared for it. For the night is dark and full of terrors, it's going to drown me. It ate away at his soul and he knew that in the dark the Psychopath's would truly begin their reign of terror.

"Why did I say that?" he whispered. "Colton was my friend. God, he was everything to Caster. Fucking hell. Every damn mistake."

His mistakes grew in multitudes, congregating together to force more into his life. I killed Dean, practically. Then I carried him out and left him. With a fucking joke. I'm a joke. He's dead, dammit! Why doesn't it feel like he's dead?

The tears burnt and pressure rose as they escaped and ran down the sides of his face. Pink hair, pink eyes, and a pinkish nose from crying. Blood rose and heat filled him with shame beyond compare as he slammed his fist into the open locker, scraping his knuckles and rubbing raw the skin there.

It was then the thoughts came.

You're worthless.

All you are is a joke.

A useless waste of space.

Caster doesn't want me. He doesn't need me. He wanted me to leave so they can kill me and he'll be rid of me. He deserves to live. What do I have to live for? He's got plans, and I've got nothing. He's got a life, and I've got him. I'm worthless. A damn waste of space. I shouldn't still be alive. Try as he might they wouldn't go away. The thoughts hadn't been that bad for over a year. He'd hoped the struggle was over but the thoughts never ended. Not until far after he died could they end. They were his mother talking to herself. The thoughts were himself, his darkest self.

Thinking was far worse than any death the Psychopaths had in store. Scott could think himself dead and yet he knew he never would have the guts to do it. All he could do was cry and feel until they left him alone in his pity. Not even Caster knew about them.

With every shuttering breath Scott breathed in the thick scent of continual rot of dead flesh and bones. In all his life it'd never gotten that bad. Flashes of heat rolled through him as his blood rose to his chest and race, the tears falling faster and his neck closing up. Every sob, quiet as it was, felt like a scream. He couldn't move as it grew and broke down on him like tidal waves crashing over broken glass left over from a shattered light house. All that was good was bad, evil, corroded, but none as bad as Scott. He became everything that was useless. A pollutant upon the world, that was the only way he could find himself. I'm not funny. I'm a choking hazard. My mom spends her days depressed and what am I? She has problems. She's got a right to be like this. I'm...I'm not depressed. I'm useless. I'm nothing.

The tears stopped but the pain didn't. Though he didn't rock back and fourth while crying, and though he made no noise, Scott's pain that carried over him stayed constant. It buried him as he lay beside the lockers, zoned to the eye and dead to any who dared pry into his soul. He didn't want to feel anymore. Living became a burden too heavy to carry and no one was there to lift it.

But that wasn't right. Someone was there.

A tall, scarcely recognizable man was there. The original hot guy, the one who captured Scott and Caster, stood with an odd gait, leaving heavily on his left. He wore a dark red v-neck tee that was torn on the side and a large kitchen knife was held in each hand as he cocked his head to the side. The sunglasses had gone, leaving his milky eyes to suffer the world alone. "I can hear you," he whispered. "You're crying. Let me put you out of your misery."

His laugh was a bark. A viscous fight dog tied up, starved and hungry for the taste of flesh. A chill ran down Scott's back but he didn't move. He couldn't move. Scott was a dead mass and nothing was going to fix that.

"You there, by the lockers."

He can't fucking see me. Scott watched the man's mouth move, as though trying to whistle. He didn't blink, but there was no way he had any sight. He's blind. If I stay still he won't find me. Why should I? Maybe I'll let him kill me. It'll make things easier for Caster. He'll be better with me dead.

"You're laying on the floor."

He took a step forward. Collin was only nineteen feet away and though the hallway was a tangled mess of bodies he managed not to step on a single one. Precision was in each footfall, marking him a predator and Scott the prey. He's going to kill me...stay here. Let him. I want him to kill me.

"Aren't you going to run? I love it when they run."

His voice, before sexy and mysterious, was dark and sharper than his utensils of torture. Everything about him screamed deadly and yet Scott stayed there. His eyes grew larger and his heart beat faster and faster and still he remained steadfast. Let him kill you, Scott. Let him. I want to die. I'll let him do it. I will.

Collin was three feet away. He leaned down, crouching on his heels as a sadistic smile creeped onto his face. "I'm hungry," he said. Never before had two words, two simple words, been so terrifying. "What do you taste like, little boy?" He--he doesn't know I'm a boy. He doesn't know I'm here. He's blind!

Scott's heart stopped beating. The man inched closer, holding out a knife like an artist held a pencil. His grin grew as Collin reached out and firmly grasped Scott's leg. Let him-let-let-him kill you. His body trembled from the core. The want to die and the desire to run fought a war. A prick of pain rose as Collin's knife touched against the knee. He slid it down and it cut through Scott's favorite pair of blue jeans. Blood rose up and still he didn't move. Collin's methodical movements weren't to maim, not yet. He was teasing the boy. Another bark of a laugh ended on a twisted high note that scraped at a chalkboard and murdered a baby. You wanted this.

Biting his lip, Scott looked over at his locker as another cut was drawn on his leg. It was painful beyond compare, like when coach made him run around the entire school six times before it started. The white edges of a picture stuck out from the edge. It was falling. That made sense--it'd only had the barest bit of sticky tape to hold it in place. The black frame showed up next, then with a jerk the entire picture fell and hit the ground. Collin looked up and his smile dropped for the barest second. "Something important?" He shook his head and raised the blood-stained knife.

Scott couldn't breathe--the air quit moving. Static hissed through his body as he saw the smiling face of a girl with bright blonde hair and blue eyes that melted the sky. Dimples pressed into cheeks and a button nose that scrunched up when she giggles. In that second everything changed.

"Bubby, are you sad?"

"No--Cindy, please. I-I don't want to talk."

"Momma's sad, you're sad, and Daddy's at work again. Is Lady coming back to talk to us?" Cindy climbed up on his bed and places her hands in Scott's hair. She rubbed at his blonde head and sighed dramatically. "I wanna party!"

"Party?" He sniffed and ran an arm under his nose while a hand flicked the tears off his face. Broken, he smiled. "Do I need to wear my prettiest dress?"

Collin cut through the noise with a stab, violently plunging it into the tender skin of his side and pulling it out with a feverish passion. Screaming, Scott's hands pushed out at him and he scrambled to stand. It was too late to change it now. Blood coated his hands and slid off the lockers with his every attempt to get up and run away. Collin really was laughing then. Whoever the guy had been that was calm and quiet before had changed into a blood-thirty killing machine. From monster to worse, if someone could be.

"Scotty, why do we cry?"

"Because we care too much or too little."

Waves of pain washed up and all the thoughts dissipated, an overindulgence that faded into nightmares. It grew darker and darker outside and Scott's eyes strained to see the madman trying to get his jollies from a blood sacrifice. Try as he might there was no escaping the wrath. Pain exploded as the knife fell into his tender side, tearing into the scar from a surgery Scott had years ago. It felt worse than when his appendix had actually burst. Acid and blood were one, burning and filling him with death.

"Scotty, is Mommy gonna die?"

"Never, baby."

A saving grace was the reason Scott didn't get a third hit--Caster ran in, skidding to a stop and shouting. Scott couldn't hear them. The world was growing darker and darker, as though hours were passing. Blood and black mixed his vision and he found himself staring up at the ceiling. Caster was shouting. People were fighting.

Noise was an illusion.

"Are you?"

Scott's heartbeat was louder than anything. Everyone had to hear it. He was dying. Blood was pouring out, gushing, a river that wouldn't stop. No dam could save him.

"I won't die, Cindy."

Scott's vision was fading. Caster and the ceiling were one. His mouth kept opening and closing but no words were heard. Colors were an illusion.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

*

Any advice on how I could make this better before I turn it in?