Champions of Recess
(Jakob's mumbled prayer is a poem by Jan Twardowski)
A circle formed around the two boys. Chamlong and Tim threw themselves into one another. Their limbs, like vines, entangled viciously and the circle grew smaller, intimate. They detached, spit each other out, and it became wider; inhaling, exhaling, arena breathing with every punch and kick.
“Faggot bitch!”
“I’m gonna snap your neck and cum in your eye!”
“Fuck you!”
“Yellow immigrant piece of shit!”
“Trailer trash!”
Jakob mumbled a prayer under his breath.
Aniele Boże Stróżu mój
ty właśnie nie stój przy mnie
jak malowana Ma
ale ruszaj w te pęd
Eliot was trying to look on the bright side of things. At least they’re fighting on grass, he thought. Faces red, not bloodied, noses hurt, not broken. Bell will ring soon. Teacher will come, he muttered to himself, teacher will come, teacher will come.
“Stop it!” Jamila tried to intervene. “Stop it!”
An angry snarl echoed through the crowd.
“Shut up and let them fight you dirty Arab!” yelled Francis.
“Yeah! Who the fuck do you think you are?” demanded Peter. “Cunt!”
She feared them when they were this aggressive. Their voices suddenly so much deeper. Boys that were twelve and thirteen acting like a pack of rabid dogs. She lost her resolve and remained quiet, sat lonely on the grass.
Jakob mumbled.
Aniele Boże
ładne rzeczy gdybyśmy stanęli
Jak dwa świstaki
i zapomnieli
że trzeba stąd odejść
Eliot shuddered at the scrapes, the swearing, the dirt and violence kicked up into the tranquil summer air.
“Fuck him up Cham! Fuck him up!” Chauncey encouraged.
“Stupid boys!” Catherine yelled as she knelt down beside Jamila.
“Teacher! Teacher! Teacher!”
They were out of breath but there was still energy in the crowd, still hatred to be settled. Chamlong kept his focus on Tim, Tim that little shit-pile, Tim that cocky little cock, Tim that little cheat!
Jakob mumbled.
Aniele Boże
kto z nas obejmie go za szyję
słuchaj - powie - zmieniły się czasy
teraz ja de przed światem ukryję
“Give up, little Timmy? Fuckin pussy slut like your mom.”
A jolt of electricity shot through the crowd. Pussy like your mom, they smirked and muttered. The boys knew every swear word on T.V., obscenities diffused into their collective conscious like rain seeping into fertile soil. And yet nothing compared to a simple sexual jab at another boy's mother. An all-time classic of pre-pubecent rage.
“Fuck him up Tim! Fuck him up!”
Tim licked the tiny trickle of blood on his lip, tasting, obsessively, savouring, obsessively, still craving more.
They jumped into one another recklessly. Chamlong was hit in the face, again, again, crowd moaning, Tim swinging his fists. Chamlong stumbled back, fell, eyes focused, irate. He threw himself forward, as though falling and attacking with a single motion, low to the ground, little legs kicking, sweeping, grappling their opponent down. The rush of adrenaline as the end drew near. Strategy was abandoned, defence was abandoned, everything in pursuit of a final hit, hit, hit, each pummelling the other. Tim lunged for Chamlong’s throat, squeezing tighter with every violent kick and punch, punch, punch, punch, smother his breath! strangle harder! kill his face! swing faster! The circle in ecstasy.
"Teacher! Teacher! Teacher!"
Mr. Mahoney noticed the tornado of boys move erratically through the field. He hurried over from the other side of the school-yard and stood like a scarecrow above frantic little crows in the midday sun.
“Alright, that’s enough, that’ll do!" he screamed. “I said that’s enough!”
Mr. Mahoney jumped between them and untangled their furious limbs.
“It’s over! Stop swinging or I’ll swing back you little shit-face.”
Ms. Phillips rushed out from her classroom and took hold of Chamlong, screamed at him to sit down on the grass Cham sit down on the grass Cham sit down on the grass Cham sit down.
Aniele Boże
z świętością mają kłopot
bo chyba przeze mnie
mój Stróż Anioł ma stałe
jedno pióro ciemne.
Jakob mumbled.
Mr. Mahoney led Tim toward the opposite end of the field. Tim retreated, away from the heat and energy, breathing, becoming calmer, calm, wind, stop, stretching out his arms and falling into the soft, cool grass.
“That’s the third time this month I find you in the middle of it.”
Tim smiled, panting.
“You’re happy with your little effort then?” Mr. Mahoney asked.
“Didn’t break nothin.”
“I’m not convinced you have anything to be proud of, young man.”
Tim liked Mr. Mahoney; he was new, not old, straightforward, still remembered how to talk to boys.
“Close call, sir, I give it 9-7 me, had him with the choke, don’t ya think? Have to wait and see what the fellas say tomorrow. Good fight though, good fight.”
“You’re mother won’t think so. I think she’s getting fed up of coming to see me.
We need to get you to walk away sometimes Tim, you’ve got to walk away.”
“Nowhere to walk, sir, nowhere else to go. Mom can’t do nothing cause pop’ll understand. He’ll be happy nothin broke, no doctor’s bill if nothing’s broke.”
“Ok, Tim Humphreys, up you come.”
He reached out his arm and swung the child up from the grass. Light as a feather, he thought.
“Let’s get you to the bathroom,” said Mr. Mahoney. “Clean you up for our date with the principal. And I guarantee he won’t be happy.”
Across the field, Cham continued stalking, eyes focused, black, bruised body pacing back and forth, ignoring Ms. Phillips’s desperate cries. He spat at her feet as she moved fiercely between him and his prey. She slapped, screamed louder. "Sit down, Cham! Sit down!"
Aniele Boże
kiedy zasypiam nachyl się nade mną
odmuchaj z księżyca
zasłaniaj rękami przed złem.
Jakob mumbled.
“What the fuck are you mumbling about Polski? Praying for fucking sausages?” Peter demanded. “Fucking faggot.”
The others laughed.
Catherine comforted Jamila who began to sob. Her hands shaking like frightened flickers of candle-light before an open window.
“Sit down boys!” Ms. Phillips turned and screamed back toward the mob, “Sit down!”
The dispersing circle of boys hollered as Mr. Mahoney and Ms. Phillips escorted the champions of recess into the building.
Ms. Phillips was beet red and furious.
“It's alright Vivian, it's over now,” said Mr. Mahoney casually. “Just boys learning to dance.”
“Boys indeed, David! Not at this school,” said Ms. Phillips. “I’ll make sure these two get expelled for this. Next thing you know, David, they’ll be carrying knives and guns. I won’t stand for violence here, not in this day and age. I won’t allow it. Not here.”
"Oh, come on Vivian," said Mr. Mahoney. "They're not bad kids. Just boys. Look at them, hardly a scratch after all that. At their age it's like rubber balls bouncing off one another." He stopped at the door. "Come on lads, show Ms. Phillips how quickly it's all forgotten."
Tim and Chamlong gripped hands, too exhausted for hatred or memory, and suddenly aware of after-school consequences.
Catherine cupped Jamila's hands in her own.
Eliot watched them enter the building, waited anxiously for the bell to ring.
"Aniele Boże, wybacz nam to co Bók nie moze." Jakob added this, his own line to the string of mumbled words, and then opened his blade and slit Peter’s fat fucking throat.
A circle formed around the two boys. Chamlong and Tim threw themselves into one another. Their limbs, like vines, entangled viciously and the circle grew smaller, intimate. They detached, spit each other out, and it became wider; inhaling, exhaling, arena breathing with every punch and kick.
“Faggot bitch!”
“I’m gonna snap your neck and cum in your eye!”
“Fuck you!”
“Yellow immigrant piece of shit!”
“Trailer trash!”
Jakob mumbled a prayer under his breath.
Aniele Boże Stróżu mój
ty właśnie nie stój przy mnie
jak malowana Ma
ale ruszaj w te pęd
Eliot was trying to look on the bright side of things. At least they’re fighting on grass, he thought. Faces red, not bloodied, noses hurt, not broken. Bell will ring soon. Teacher will come, he muttered to himself, teacher will come, teacher will come.
“Stop it!” Jamila tried to intervene. “Stop it!”
An angry snarl echoed through the crowd.
“Shut up and let them fight you dirty Arab!” yelled Francis.
“Yeah! Who the fuck do you think you are?” demanded Peter. “Cunt!”
She feared them when they were this aggressive. Their voices suddenly so much deeper. Boys that were twelve and thirteen acting like a pack of rabid dogs. She lost her resolve and remained quiet, sat lonely on the grass.
Jakob mumbled.
Aniele Boże
ładne rzeczy gdybyśmy stanęli
Jak dwa świstaki
i zapomnieli
że trzeba stąd odejść
Eliot shuddered at the scrapes, the swearing, the dirt and violence kicked up into the tranquil summer air.
“Fuck him up Cham! Fuck him up!” Chauncey encouraged.
“Stupid boys!” Catherine yelled as she knelt down beside Jamila.
“Teacher! Teacher! Teacher!”
They were out of breath but there was still energy in the crowd, still hatred to be settled. Chamlong kept his focus on Tim, Tim that little shit-pile, Tim that cocky little cock, Tim that little cheat!
Jakob mumbled.
Aniele Boże
kto z nas obejmie go za szyję
słuchaj - powie - zmieniły się czasy
teraz ja de przed światem ukryję
“Give up, little Timmy? Fuckin pussy slut like your mom.”
A jolt of electricity shot through the crowd. Pussy like your mom, they smirked and muttered. The boys knew every swear word on T.V., obscenities diffused into their collective conscious like rain seeping into fertile soil. And yet nothing compared to a simple sexual jab at another boy's mother. An all-time classic of pre-pubecent rage.
“Fuck him up Tim! Fuck him up!”
Tim licked the tiny trickle of blood on his lip, tasting, obsessively, savouring, obsessively, still craving more.
They jumped into one another recklessly. Chamlong was hit in the face, again, again, crowd moaning, Tim swinging his fists. Chamlong stumbled back, fell, eyes focused, irate. He threw himself forward, as though falling and attacking with a single motion, low to the ground, little legs kicking, sweeping, grappling their opponent down. The rush of adrenaline as the end drew near. Strategy was abandoned, defence was abandoned, everything in pursuit of a final hit, hit, hit, each pummelling the other. Tim lunged for Chamlong’s throat, squeezing tighter with every violent kick and punch, punch, punch, punch, smother his breath! strangle harder! kill his face! swing faster! The circle in ecstasy.
"Teacher! Teacher! Teacher!"
Mr. Mahoney noticed the tornado of boys move erratically through the field. He hurried over from the other side of the school-yard and stood like a scarecrow above frantic little crows in the midday sun.
“Alright, that’s enough, that’ll do!" he screamed. “I said that’s enough!”
Mr. Mahoney jumped between them and untangled their furious limbs.
“It’s over! Stop swinging or I’ll swing back you little shit-face.”
Ms. Phillips rushed out from her classroom and took hold of Chamlong, screamed at him to sit down on the grass Cham sit down on the grass Cham sit down on the grass Cham sit down.
Aniele Boże
z świętością mają kłopot
bo chyba przeze mnie
mój Stróż Anioł ma stałe
jedno pióro ciemne.
Jakob mumbled.
Mr. Mahoney led Tim toward the opposite end of the field. Tim retreated, away from the heat and energy, breathing, becoming calmer, calm, wind, stop, stretching out his arms and falling into the soft, cool grass.
“That’s the third time this month I find you in the middle of it.”
Tim smiled, panting.
“You’re happy with your little effort then?” Mr. Mahoney asked.
“Didn’t break nothin.”
“I’m not convinced you have anything to be proud of, young man.”
Tim liked Mr. Mahoney; he was new, not old, straightforward, still remembered how to talk to boys.
“Close call, sir, I give it 9-7 me, had him with the choke, don’t ya think? Have to wait and see what the fellas say tomorrow. Good fight though, good fight.”
“You’re mother won’t think so. I think she’s getting fed up of coming to see me.
We need to get you to walk away sometimes Tim, you’ve got to walk away.”
“Nowhere to walk, sir, nowhere else to go. Mom can’t do nothing cause pop’ll understand. He’ll be happy nothin broke, no doctor’s bill if nothing’s broke.”
“Ok, Tim Humphreys, up you come.”
He reached out his arm and swung the child up from the grass. Light as a feather, he thought.
“Let’s get you to the bathroom,” said Mr. Mahoney. “Clean you up for our date with the principal. And I guarantee he won’t be happy.”
Across the field, Cham continued stalking, eyes focused, black, bruised body pacing back and forth, ignoring Ms. Phillips’s desperate cries. He spat at her feet as she moved fiercely between him and his prey. She slapped, screamed louder. "Sit down, Cham! Sit down!"
Aniele Boże
kiedy zasypiam nachyl się nade mną
odmuchaj z księżyca
zasłaniaj rękami przed złem.
Jakob mumbled.
“What the fuck are you mumbling about Polski? Praying for fucking sausages?” Peter demanded. “Fucking faggot.”
The others laughed.
Catherine comforted Jamila who began to sob. Her hands shaking like frightened flickers of candle-light before an open window.
“Sit down boys!” Ms. Phillips turned and screamed back toward the mob, “Sit down!”
The dispersing circle of boys hollered as Mr. Mahoney and Ms. Phillips escorted the champions of recess into the building.
Ms. Phillips was beet red and furious.
“It's alright Vivian, it's over now,” said Mr. Mahoney casually. “Just boys learning to dance.”
“Boys indeed, David! Not at this school,” said Ms. Phillips. “I’ll make sure these two get expelled for this. Next thing you know, David, they’ll be carrying knives and guns. I won’t stand for violence here, not in this day and age. I won’t allow it. Not here.”
"Oh, come on Vivian," said Mr. Mahoney. "They're not bad kids. Just boys. Look at them, hardly a scratch after all that. At their age it's like rubber balls bouncing off one another." He stopped at the door. "Come on lads, show Ms. Phillips how quickly it's all forgotten."
Tim and Chamlong gripped hands, too exhausted for hatred or memory, and suddenly aware of after-school consequences.
Catherine cupped Jamila's hands in her own.
Eliot watched them enter the building, waited anxiously for the bell to ring.
"Aniele Boże, wybacz nam to co Bók nie moze." Jakob added this, his own line to the string of mumbled words, and then opened his blade and slit Peter’s fat fucking throat.
posted by Spcmnspff at 7:28 PM
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