When Two Worlds Collide
Chapter 4: The Collision
Chester High School was a large brick building. It stood three stories and was rectangular in shape. The entrance had 4 sets of glass doors that opened up into a large entry area. The entry area was filled with benches and tables for students to sit and study at. The wall on the right hand side was covered by a bulletin board that contained announcements for all the different clubs, books for sale, and general information on school activities.
When Brandon walked through the front door that morning, his attention was immediately drawn to the large crowd that stood around the bulletin board. It was a loud, obnoxious group and there was a lot of jeering and catcalling going on. A couple of students made there way out of the group with disgusted looks on their faces.
Brandon immediately headed over in that direction to find out what all the commotion was about. "Maybe I can get a good laugh before class," he thought.
When he reached the edge of the crowd, a girl that he didn't recognize turned around and saw him. Instantly her eyes grew wide and she covered her mouth with her hand. Then she giggled, blushed, and ran off down the hall.
The crowd began to quiet as word began to spread from ear to ear. Some of the people walked away while others stood around smirking.
A path opened up for Brandon and he was suddenly standing face to face with a likeness of himself that he knew all too well. It took a moment for his brain to register what he was seeing. Then the despair hit him like a brick wall and he realized that his deepest, darkest secret was now common public knowledge.
He grabbed the piece of paper off the board, crumpled it up in his hand, and shoved it into his bookbag. Then he slowly turned around to face his peers.
To his left, not more then fifteen feet away stood Danny, one of the more obnoxious creeps in his class. For some reason, Danny had a wooden baseball bat and he was holding it obscenely against his crotch.
"Hey Brandy!" he yelled, "Why don't you suck my woody?"
Blind rage turned his vision red. He moved toward Danny. This would be for blood.
But suddenly, Joe stepped between them. He grabbed the bat from Danny's startled grip and turned menacingly toward him.
"Go spank it moron," he spat, "or you'll be wearin' this around your head."
Joe made an imposing figure with the bat and Danny glared at him for a couple of seconds, then turned away.
The group started to break up and then the bell rang. Brandon turned and ran for the front door. Behind him he heard Joe yell, "Brandon, wait!" but he paid him no heed.
He ran all the way home. It took him 45 minutes. Both of his parents were working and he pulled the key from under the welcome mat, stuck it into the lock, and burst into the house. He ran up the stairs to his room and threw himself on the bed. Then he let it go. He cried for two hours and then he passed out from exhaustion.
* * * *
When he awoke, his eyes were sore and he was disoriented. It was a blissful moment really because he didn't remember what had happened only a few short hours before. Then the knowledge returned and ran him over like a freight train. The despair that hit him felt like a huge weight bearing down on his chest.
He was paralyzed. He couldn't move. He didn't know how long he lay there but eventually, his bladder informed him that it was time to get up. He glanced over at his alarm clock display. The numbers read 3:12. School was just now getting out.
He pulled himself out of his bed and made his way to the bathroom. Once he was out of bed and moving around the blood began to circulate again.
After relieving himself, Brandon wandered aimlessly around the house for awhile until he ended up sitting at his computer. He pulled up Battlereporting.com hoping to find something to take his mind off of his suddenly miserable life.
The page loaded and he clicked over to the forum. The subject of the post at the top of the page said, "Attn: Samson-RK-". The poster of the message was FaceStomper. Brandon suddenly remembered that FaceStomper was the guy that had accused him of hacking the other night. The battlereport he had written that night now had over eighty comments.
Brandon smiled for the first time since early that morning, "I bet he's pissed," he thought.
He clicked on the link and opened up the message. The color instantly drained from his face.
FaceStomper
Hello mother fucker. You didn't know who you were fucking with did you? What do you think now huh? Do you think you'll be able to show your face anywhere again? Do you??
HAHAHAHAHA!!!
You won't you bastard. Not while I have this picture you won't.
Now you realize you bastard that you'd better recognize not everyone will take the bullshit that you dish out. You can't FUCK with me and get away with it. YOU CAN'T!!
PLEASE DIE MOTHER FUCKER... WITH A LARGE POLE UP YOUR LOOSE FAGGOT ASS!!! HAHAHAHA!!!
The picture that had hung on the bulletin board this morning was linked from a Geocities site at the bottom of the post.
Numerous replies made a long thread on the forum. Obviously the Admin hadn't seen the post yet.
Brandon didn't even bother to read the replies. Blind rage welled up inside him once again and he grabbed the first loose item that was available to his grasp. It was his economics book. He slammed it into the side of his monitor with such violence that the monitor fell off the edge of the desk and onto the floor.
An explosion of glass covered the floor and the now ruined monitor lay where it landed smoking silently.
Brandon jumped up from his chair and threw his Economics book violently against the wall.
"FUCK FUCK MOTHER FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!" he screamed.
He didn't have anything to throw now so he threw his body against the bedroom wall. He bounced off and hit the floor hard. He landed face down and began pounding his fists on the carpet.
He wore himself down this way until finally after thirty minutes had passed, he lay quietly.
His two worlds had collided. His fucking computer, the fucking Internet had ruined his fucking life. Somehow, some way, someone had found him. Things would never be the same again.
Brandon knew that the first thing he had to do to set things right was to get rid of the computer. He would never touch one again as long as he lived.
He picked himself off the floor and yanked the computer out of the wall. Then he picked up the computer and walked out of his room with the cords trailing behind him. Down the stairs he went and out the front door.
He went down the sidewalk and turned left. He walked around the picket fence and into Justin's yard. He reached the front door and adjusted the computer so that it was under his left arm. Then he knocked with his right hand.
Justin's mother answered the door. She was wiping powdered hands on her apron and she was slightly taken back at the spectacle she was greeted with. The puffy eyed boy with the computer stood staring expectantly at her.
"You're here to see Justin?" she asked.
"Yes, I don't need my computer anymore and I thought he'd like to have it."
The puzzled look on her face deepened, but she didn't know what else to say. "He's upstairs," she said, "second door on the right."
"Thanks," said Brandon, and he walked past her and up the stairs.
"Yes, this is perfect," thought Brandon, "Justin told me that his computer has been running slow lately. He will be glad to take mine. I can't have this at my house. I can't look at the thing that destroyed my life."
He was at the top of the stairs now and he could see light shining through the second door on the right. The bedroom door was open.
Brandon shifted his weight again to account for the akwardness of the computer and then walked down the hall.
He turned to his left and there sat Justin. Justin was facing his computer and Brandon saw that he was logging onto Battle.net. The "searching for fastest battle.net server" box was displayed on the screen. It disappeared and was replaced by the battle.net login screen.
The color in Brandon's face drained for the third time that day. Perfectly visible in the name box was the one word that Brandon suddenly loathed more than anything else in the world, FaceStomper.
A cold rage welled up inside him. It was different kind of rage this time. Instead of working him into a frenzy, it calmed him. It filled him with resolve.
He set the computer on the floor, bent down pretending to examine it, and coughed loudly.
* * * *
After reading all the responses that he had received on the Battlereporting.com forum for posting the picture of Brandon, Justin decided to log onto Battle.net and see if anyone was talking about his post in NoHackers.
He was logging on when he heard a cough behind him. He turned around startled and when he saw who it was, a look of panic flashed across his eyes. He quickly hit Alt-Tab minimizing his screen.
Brandon was bent over examining a computer that he had set on Justin's floor. Justin sighed with relief. That had been too close.
"I'm sorry about what happened today," Justin said.
Brandon looked up sharply from the computer. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Okay, I understand," said Justin, "what are you doing here?"
"I don't have any use for this piece of shit and I thought you'd like to have it."
Justin's eyes widened. "You're kidding right?"
"Nope," said Brandon, "if you want it, I can run home real quick and get you the monitor that goes with it."
Justin laughed, "I'm not gonna argue with that. Thanks bro."
"Somebody's gotta take it," Brandon muttered and he turned and walked quickly out of the room.
Justin didn't know why, but he felt unsettled.
* * * *
There was no moral dilemma. As Brandon walked back to his house there was no argument in his head saying, "Should I or shouldn't I? Is it right or is it wrong?" No, Brandon was filled with resolve, cold, hard resolve. He knew exactly what he was going to do.
It wasn't quite 4:00 yet and his parents still weren't home. He walked straight to their bedroom. Everything in the bedroom was in perfect order. It looked exactly as it did every time Brandon went in there. The bed was perfectly made in the center of the room, the white curtains were pulled back from the windows allowing sunlight to shine through, the nightstand stood next to the bed completely dust free with a glass lamp perfectly centered on its surface, and dad's handgun lay in the drawer.
Brandon reached into the drawer and picked it up. It felt light in his hands. He made sure it was loaded and the saftety was off. Then he tucked it into the back of his jeans and pulled his polo shirt over it.
He walked down the stairs and as he passed by the phone, it rang, causing him to jump. He glanced down at the caller ID box. It was Joe. A turmoil of emotions welled up inside Brandon. His hand reached for the phone, he pulled it back, then reached for it again. By this time the phone had rung 6 times.
He made his decision on the 8th ring. He just couldn't deal with Joe right now. He put his hand back down at his side, and walked out the front door. He closed the front door behind him and it drowned out the 12th ring.
The return trip to Justin's house was short and before he knew it, he was once again knocking on the front door.
Justin's mother answered the door again and looked inquisitively at him.
"Is everything okay?" she asked in a concerned voice.
A deadly calm came over Brandon. "Everything is fine ma'am, just fine," he replied quietly.
She stood aside hesitantly and gestured towards the stairs. "Justin is still up there," she said.
Time began to slow down as Brandon climbed the steps. Hours seemed to pass with each step he took and a roaring sound filled his ears. Finally he reached the doorway. Justin sat in his chair facing the computer screen.
Brandon said one word, "Justin."
Justin got out of his chair and turned to face Brandon. Eight feet separated them. His eyes went directly to Brandon's empty hands.
"No monitor huh? Change your min--" and then his eyes captured the movement of Brandon's left hand. It came from behind his back. It held a gun.
Brandon levelled the gun on Justin's chest. Justin eyes grew wide and he reached both hands toward Brandon. Then the bullet hit him. He staggered backwards, his eyes grew glassy, and his hands grasped at the air. He stumbled backwards and his legs caught on his chair so that he tipped over and hit his head on the desk. Then he rolled forward and crumpled into a heap on the floor.
A wave of exhaustion rolled over Brandon. His hand dropped to his side and the gun slipped out of his hand and fell to the floor. He grew dizzy and his legs began to sway. He fell forward onto his hands and knees and threw up on the carpet.
A horrified scream from behind him alerted Brandon that his deed had been discovered.
The words, "you murderous bastard," fell on his ears followed by one, then two hard blows to the back of his head. He fell flat on his face. Stars shone in his eyes for a moment. "You don't understand!" his thoughts screamed at his assailant. Then even the stars went out.
* * * *
Epilogue:
The jury refused to convict Justin's mother for the murder of Brandon Sampson. Even though the prosecution could prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that the 6 hard blows to Brandon's head inflicted by the rolling pin had been administered by Justin's mother, the defense lawyer's words in his closing argument to the jury had turned the case.
"I agree with everyone in this room, both of these deaths were a tragic thing," the lawyer had said, "But the fact remains, this mother was reacting in the self defense of her child. This is the most basic of evolutionary instincts. Mothers protect their young!!" He had pounded the table emphatically on each word of the last sentence.
Eight women had been in that jury and they hung on every word.
Justin's mother walked out of the courthouse a free woman.
* * * *
Justin awoke to bright lights and people dressed in white. He could move his head around and he could command his arms to scratch the itchy bandage that was wrapped around his chest. However, from the waist down, Justin couldn't feel a thing. Everything was completely numb.
His doctor told him that the bullet had missed his vital organs and lodged itself into his spine. Nurses poked and prodded him for many days, but he never felt anything below the waist.
He watched the local news every night and saw that he and his mother had become quite the celebrities.
His mom's lawyer kept playing him up as the victim and sometimes he even felt like the victim. But other times, deep in the night, when the vision of Brandon standing and facing the crowd of school kids with the blank stare in his eyes haunted Justin, he knew who the real victim was.
He left the hospital two months after ths shooting. He never left his wheelchair.
An e-mail that sat unread in Brandon's mailbox.
To: Samson-RK-@yahoo.com
Subject: Rater Opening
I've read all your reports and I am very impressed with what I've seen. You have contributed a lot to Battlereporting.com over the past few months and your work has not gone unnoticed.
I have an opening for a rater on the site and I was wondering if you would be interested in applying for this position. I have a special rater course that you will have to take, but I will tell you more about that if you reply expressing interest.
Thanks again for your contributions to the site. Hope to hear from you soon.
Regards,
Princess Purrwin
Mark6
Chat log from Channel NoHackers:
P-Mac: Anyone seen Samson around lately?
VaginalMagician: I haven't seen him for awhile. His BRs kick ass though.
BenDoverZ: !seen Samson-RK-
~NoHackers: Samson-RK- was last seen in this channel 15 days, 9 hours, 32 minutes, and 47 seconds ago.
P-Mac: Sheesh, I hope he writes another BR soon
Planets orbit 'round the sun,
Their paths are side by side.
But tragedy's always the end result,
When two of those worlds collide.
Cheers,
DREFSAB
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