The Death Drive

November 11, 2008
By Jessie Nunnes, Athol, ID

He pulls me roughly by the arm, his other hand over my mouth, so I can’t call out. He drags me into the small room and locks the door. It has begun.




I’m doodling mindlessly on my notebook as Mrs. Tenor drones on. She seriously should not be allowed to be a teacher. If I ever decide to get chummy with the president, I should convince him to make monotonous teaching illegal, and punishable by death. That’ll teach them. “And the pilgrims were…”
“Burned and scalped by the misogynistic and unintelligent life forms called ‘Indians’.” I muttered beneath my breath.
“Excuse me? Would you like to share your views with the rest of the class, Miss Newman?” Oh. My. God. Only she could turn a question into toneless drabble.
See, I’m usually a pretty good kid. I don’t talk back much. Or disrespect my elders. Much. But when it comes to History 203, talking back and arguing with Evil Incarnate is like a charity case. I am giving back to our community in a way; these poor children would die in this class if not for my self-less distractions and office excursions.
I make life interesting.
“Yes, actually I would. It seems that the settlers almost always end up gaining the Native’s trust then betraying it. It say ‘America’ all over it. They forced the Natives to give up precious land that was rightfully theirs, and tearing it up to build wineries and gravel pits, while the Indians had to work at the corner 7- 11 serving Slushies and cigarettes for 2.50 an hour. If they’re lucky.” I finish, proud of myself for stating my facts without stumbling or blubbering once. Ptsch, only I could be that awesome.
“That is a very interesting point coming from a privileged upper-class citizen living comfortable in the suburb.” If her face had showed any expression, I would imagine it would be pleased, or smug. But, as per usual…nothing.”
“So you shut up the views of the comfortable upper-classmen while the under ‘privileged’ classes are running around in circles trying to find some way to earn money for their families to be able to eat. Shut up us who can speak, and hide away those who can’t? Is that really the way our society wants to see itself?” I finish angrily.
The bell rings shrilly- saving me from Saturday school or detention or whatever the latest punishment fad is. I jump out of my seat and run out the door, followed by almost as eager teens.
I see Mrs. Tenor following me with an amused non- expression in her face. Seriously- there is nothing there. I run to the small janitor’s closet and lock the door. I turn and run smack dab into the middle of His chest. My books clamber to the floor. He bends down and picks them up. “Hiding?” He hands the books to me.
“No,” I bite back a smile. “ I just ran in here to say hello, without the burden of my books getting in the way.”
He smiles. “Oh, so you’re hiding. Johnson?”
“Tenor.” I grimace.
“Oh.” Understanding fills his eyes. “You better stay in here a while, she gets kind of vulture-ish.”
“Right.” I look around the small closet. It is almost completely empty except for a small cracked mirror in the corner, and a shelf full of tools. It’s small for a room, but big for a closet, you know? The cement walls were a complacent addition to the-shocker- cement floor. “Nice…er, place you got here. Very homey.”
HE shrugs. “I try.”
“So why are you in here?”
“Johnson?” I guess.
“Tenor.” He laughs. “No, really…she’s my mother.”
“Are you serious?!” I am so shocked im surprised I can form coherent words. She procreated? Was she even married? I had never even considered her home life. Who could put up with that 24/7? Poor guy.
He chuckled again. “yah…you really think I would be hanging around here if I wasn’t? I graduated 2 years ago.”
“So why are you here?” I’m still confused.
“She likes to bring me with her to work. ‘set an example for the younger children. Maybe they’ll learn something’.”
I laugh. “She probably meant me. So… I’d better go. I’m going to be late for class. Actually I have…” I checked my watch. “Exactly 23 seconds to get to my next class. Yippee, detention.”
“For one tardy?”
“For eight. They keep forgetting that ‘second chance’ means 2 not ‘until they are on time’.” The bell rings, and I am officially late.
He’s grabbing at my wrists, pulling me down into this sadistic abyss of nothingness that I couldn’t possibly escape. I struggle against him and he slams me into the hard wall of the broom closet. I claw at him as he tries to gain control of my flailing arms. I can’t speak-scream-call for help. Nothing- I can’t make any noise, not the slightest utter of a sound-whether it’s from pain or fear, I can’t decide.
I’ve always been really social, never shutting up when I’m told, arguing and debating over things I don’t even need to worry about, and my voice has never failed to stand out above so many others before. Yet the time I need it most it leaves me - vanishes, forcing me into this twirl of inescapable pain.
His grasp tightens around my arms, forcing them over my head and against the cold, empty wall. He shifts so that one of his hands is holding both of mine down, the other free to “explore”.
I wriggle one of my hands free from his iron hold and claw at his back, yanking at his hair. Sadly though, he mistakes this for passion or ecstasy or some other bull**** crap thing like that
His hand is constantly moving around me and he slams his mouth onto my own. I turn my head away but his lips refuse to leave my skin as they move along my cheek, my ears, and the hollow base of my throat. The bile threatens to explode out of my mouth as his mouth is at my collar bone-and still moving.
He is so consumed by this that I am temporarily released from his hold on me. I push him away roughly and I run to the door. I turn the handle-it’s locked. I jiggle the handle frantically and pound on the door as loud as humanly possible. I pray to god that someone hears me and notices my absence from class. He turns me around roughly by the shoulder and grabs my throat- tighter and tighter-then he changes his mind and throws me to the ground. I roll over to my side and see a small piece of glass. I look at him and he is holding his head in his hands- murmuring to himself.
Make a noise make a noise make a noise. The words dance through my head and force me to move.
I lunge over and grab the glass-and before he can stop me I throw it at the door- causing it to shatter into a million pieces and making an earsplitting crash. I feel the sharp pain in my hands- the glass had created deep gashes in my palms- but I feel nothing. I slowly stand up and face him; he reaches out so suddenly I can do nothing. He grabs around the back of my neck and throws me down to the floor. He’s yelling now and I’m almost happy- at least someone will hear…
“You stupid b****! Do you want them to find us!?” He pulls me back up by the gullet-making it hard for me to breath- and he murmurs in my ear. His eyes are dark-angry. And I shutter as I notice something else-determination.
“Stop fighting me…. You know you want this as much as I do.” His voice is heavy, strained- I pull away from him.

I hold my hand to my neck and rub it gingerly. “No” my voice is quiet and raspy and unfamiliar- yet back and faithful as ever before. He stands closer to me his jaw is clenched.

“What did you just say?”

I look straight into his eyes which are dark and black, I almost flinch away from them but instead I stand my ground “I…said…no.” It is hard for me to speak due to the fact that he is holding me against the wall- again. My voice shakes.
WHAM! His fist rams into my stomach and I fall to my knees- the intensity of it forces the bile out of my stomach and onto the floor. Hot tears are pouring down my cheeks and I start to get up again-unprepared for another blow.

He kicks me -and I fall back down. But he doesn’t stop- he’s kicking me- again and again- In the stomach, my back-my face.
I don’t realize that I’ve been moving until my back hits the bleak wall. A long rusted nail sticking out of it thrusts into the middle of my shoulder blades and I cry out in pain- but he doesn’t stop kicking, making I can feel the blood pulsating out of my veins and down the small of my back.
Then suddenly- he’s on top of me. His hands once again tight around my throat- cutting off the little air supply that I had left. And I’m thinking death could possibly be better than this, and I make dying my drive
The door busts open and the light blinds me for a second- standing outside are a handful of students and teachers- their faces pallid- drained of all color as the scene unravels before them.
Two of the teachers grab him and hold him against the wall roughly, but I’m not paying attention. After realizing what had almost happened- more tears spill out of the brim of my swollen eyes and I collapse as I hold onto whatever sanity I still have.

The author's comments:
I am a 13 year old girl in love with the written word, and i guess it must ove me too because it always seems to agree with me. This was inspired by a real life event, and i hope that whoever reads it realizes the dangers out there. I hope whoever reads this feels something when they do, and that this story will stay with them forever.

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This article has 1 comment.

on Apr. 1 2009 at 4:33 am
kdpunk182 SILVER, Greenwood, Indiana
9 articles 0 photos 16 comments
That was wow! Just amazing. I could really see it in my mind and feel for her or well you. It was so hard and brutal and real. And I promise I will never forget this story. It was so well written. please please keep writing. You're great ands h My God really powerful stuff.

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