G R A D U A T I O N

In backwoods towns where hope is scarce, teenagers disappear without care. People believe they left willingly, seeking better opportunities elsewhere after graduation. Oh, how wrong they are. It's not about chasing dreams or escaping to greener pastures; it’s about who won't be missed.

Like ravenous hounds, they hunted me across the rain-soaked football field, panting and wheezing, the reward of cruelty driving them on. I stumbled, my body colliding with the wet grass, desperately clawing and fighting to regain my footing. Raindrops pelted my face, mingling with my tears.

Two years ago, I arrived in this dreary town, where the constant downpour matched the gloom that stained its inhabitants. It took a mere week within the walls of that wretched school before I became his chosen target.

The first encounter burned itself into my memory as a vivid display of his cruelty. With a forceful blow, he sent my bag flying, treating it like a soccer ball as it careened down the hall. The students, trapped in his web of dominance, offered hollow laughter that reeked with fear, their laughter saying, "Better him than me."

On that fateful day, our paths collided again in the crowded cafeteria, with his lunch crashing to the floor with shattered plates and food. The lunchroom fell into silence, as if time itself had held its breath. And so his torment began—a two-year tale of pain and suffering. Among a sea of students, I became his favorite plaything. He, a heavy-set boy with a form that mirrored the weight of his malice. Every day, once school ended, he and his cronies chased me relentlessly. Occasionally, I allowed him to catch me, for on the days I evaded him, he would unleash his wrath on me with even greater intensity, punishing me for squandering his energy the day before.

As I scrambled to my feet, their heavy breathing and soggy footsteps echoed in my ears, propelling me forward. Running into the chain-link fence, which wrapped around the field, its cold metal rattled like loose change—a sound of desperation. Leaping over it, I landed on the other side, only to stumble and fall, much to their amusement. Their laughter cut through the rain as they shook the fence, mocking my escape. With all the strength I could muster, I regained my footing and plunged into the rain-drenched woods, seeking sanctuary from my tormentors.

Before the morning bell rang, he cornered me against my locker, flanked by his shadows that clung to his side, grunting and nodding their approval of his escalating sadism.

The glint of a switchblade pressed coldly against my trembling flesh, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered, “today is the day I killed you.”

"Run, little doggie, run!" he yelled, his breath hitching alongside his two lackeys' laughter.

The struggle and the madness of enjoyment intensified as they scaled the fence. Thud. Another thud, and another, each landing on the soft, forgiving grass. Deeper into the thickening woods I fled, until the towering trees cornered me, their branches reaching out like distorted fingers, daring me to confront my pursuers.

The smaller lackey, his teeth crooked and misaligned, clutched his knee, panting for breath. The tall, gangly one, a sadistic grin stretched across his face as he plunged his fist into my gut, relishing the pleasure that welled within him. But I greeted his cruelty with a smile of my own. I felt a drop of drool escape from the corner of my lips. They think in this realm of indifferent nature I seek safety, a sanctuary from their torment; that is not the case.

This is far enough. No one will hear them scream.

That moment at my locker, the weight of my heritage and the significance of the day weighed on me. A fight with my parents that morning about the ritual’s purpose had soured my mood and almost caused me to drop the mask I wore. The momentary flicker of fear in his eyes, however brief, sent a lightning-like intoxication coursing through my veins. I caught a whiff of his foul stench, a pungent blend of smoke and beer that never tainted his breath. The overwhelming sensation threatened to consume me. I trembled with primal anticipation. Yet I swiftly regained my composure, tearing my gaze away, stifling my senses.

Oh, how I longed to devour him.

We, the hidden few, have chosen these forever wet climates, for the moisture drowns our senses, aiding in our control over our urges. We have learned to coexist among humans, to blend in seamlessly, even allowing them to prey upon us and indulge in their bullying games.

It is in this twisted dance that we revel, for when the time of our graduation approaches, we shall have our bully alone. We shall show our true nature, watching as their perceived power crumbles into terror. They will finally realize that they were never in control.

You’ve heard the stories of kids going missing right after their graduation from some backwoods town. People think they just left and never gave it a second thought, chalking it up to leaving for better opportunities. How wrong they are. It's not mere wanderlust; there's no desire to escape or chase dreams in places where the grass seems greener. We choose the ones that people have no desire to miss.

His subordinates, blindly following him for the meager protection he offers, are nothing more than side dishes. I walk among the sheep, aware that I am not one of them. I am a wolf, and today I shall graduate with my first kill.