Chapter 4

4.

Whoever you are, Mondays are horrible. There is a pit in your stomach, it burns deeply in the bottom of your stomach. If your best friend looked at you in the wrong way on a Monday, you would be more likely to kill them. Most murders take place on a Monday than any other day. This is a surprising fact when you think that most people aren’t drunk on a Monday. Beer causes more murders than drugs. Drunk drivers swerve, hit a bus full of kids and the entire bus sets alight. The driver loses control, swerves into a field near by, crashes into a tree, all the children are burnt to death. This happened on a Thursday, the man that was drinking had been watching the World Cup the night before. Their is a rise in deaths whenever there is a major sporting event. Mark was in the park on the Thursday the bus crashed into the car. He thought about this often, the bus had skidded past him. It was ten metres away, he was using his jumper as a goal post at the time. The bus set fire to the jumper, Mark liked that jumper. He had gone into the park the day after the world cup in attempt to be like the players on TV. They had lost the week after. That was Marks defining memory of football. He wished on so many occasions that he had died that day. He knew he wouldn’t be sat in this demented class room with these demonic kids staring and laughing at him. He wish that his face had burnt, or that the bus full of kids had become a famous film. For a week or so, the dying children had been all over the news. Then nothing. Marks memory of this event is all he had, no one to talk to about it, no defining moment. This was the closest he had ever come to a defining moment.
“Sir, Sir. I’m stuck”, said a boy at Marks desk, distracting him from thoughts. The young boy was called Johnny. He was very thin. He looked sickly, on many occasions Mark thought he had a bone wasting disease but didn’t say anything.
“What’s wrong Johnny”, Mark said, rubbing his head due to his splitting headache.
“The bus is burning my hand, my skin is beginning to boil”, Johnny said calmly. Mark looked at Johnny concerned.
“What?”, said Mark shocked at what the little boy had just said.
“I don’t understand how to work the circumference of a circle”, repeated little Johnny, Marks eyes were keenly fixed on Johnny’s hand. It was fine.
Mark looked around the rest of the class and saw that most of the class were laughing amongst themselves.
“Okay sit down Johnny”, Mark said, Johnny quickly gathered his paper and went back to his seat. “Okay class, it looks as though none of you know what you’re doing here. Can somebody please come up to the board and explain how to work out the circumference of a circle”, one person stood up, Gabby. She had been sat quietly at the back the whole time, she walked slowly toward the board. Looking over the students as she walked. Smiling. It was as if it was her own catwalk. She enjoyed it, overly enjoyed it. The last few steps she looked at Mark, his eyes would dart around the room and do everything he could not to look at her. On the board was a circle, with the diameter labelled and stated. Mark sat and stared at his computer. Anything to not watch her. The bus had engulfed the tree in a matter of seconds, it was quickly a beacon to be spotted from miles around. His friends ran in peril, grabbing their clothes and football before they left the pitch completely. Mark sat and watched the fire.
“So if the diameter is six, then the circumference would be pie times six”, Gabby said, her body completely aimed toward Mark as if she was telling him and no one else.
“Isn’t that right sir. The boiling skin burnt through my arm too”, Gabby said.
“Yeah, you screamed”, Mark said without focusing.
“Sir, imagining me screaming are you”, Gabby said staring dead at him, the class laughed. This made Mark pay attention.
“No sorry Gabby, yes that’s correct. Please sit down”, she seemed as far away as Mark had done. She was upset that Mark wouldn’t pay her any attention. She was always upset that Mark wouldn’t pay her any attention.
After the bus had burnt the tree, most of the kids died on impact. But one girl, one very small girl walked out of the back of the bus, her skin was bubbling and burning. Her face seemed to melt as she walked, Mark couldn’t keep her eyes off her. He wanted to scream. Or cry. Or both. But he couldn’t, he just stared. The little girl didn’t scream either. Her jaw wouldn’t open, it wouldn’t let her scream although she didn’t want to do anything else.
The class began to talk amongst themselves again, Mark didn’t care this time. He could feel Gabby’s eyes staring at the side of his head, he stared at his computer. There was nothing on it but a word document, Mark would write his suicide note other and other. Deleting every word when he had finished, one day he hoped that he would find the perfect note. Be able to print it and nail it into his forehead. But he never fount the perfect note. That didn’t stop him from trying though. Just as he began to write again their was a knock at his door, the door had a large vertical window so Mark could see there was a women through the window. He ushered with his hand to get the women to enter.
“Hello, Mr Underhill can I talk to you outside?”, Mark looked up now and recognised the women. She was the impossibly skinny women from the group session, Lyra.
“Yes of course”, Mark stood up, still with Gabby’s eyes in the side of his head. He didn’t turn his head. He exited the room, pulling the door closed behind him as he did.
“Lyra isn’t it?”, he said before Lyra had chance to speak.
“Yeah”, she said sheepishly. “I’m really embarrassed if I’m honest, I’ve just moved here and now my new friend knows I am already addicted to coke”, she spoke fast, it was very clear that she was nervous. She seemed as if she could have been on drugs on this very second but Mark knew she wasn’t. She was just shy, nervous and scared. Mark wanted to hug her and calm her down.
“Lyra, Lyra, Lyra, Lyra. It’s fine, I am not going to say a word to anyone. I’m addicted to heroin, you don’t really think anyone her knows that. Trust me Lyra, you’re going to be fine”, said Mark. She threw her arms around him as soon as he finished quickly. In his arms she seemed very skinny.
“So what do you teach her?”, Mark said awkwardly as it was not often that he hugged people.
“I’m an English teacher”, she said smiling.
“What’s your stage name?”, Mark said, she looked at him strangely.
“Your name to the students, I go by Sir because I can’t stand being called Mr Underhill”, Lyra smiled now understanding the term.
“Well I haven’t had a lesson yet so right now, I am Miss Bewlay. Some of the younger teachers have even called me Lyra, I feel like we’ve bonded”, Lyra said jokingly, smiling slightly as she spoke.
“You’re going to learn to hate it”, Mark said.
“It’s too late I already hate it. They keep me asking me what literary character I want to be, all they talk about his books. I hate English teachers”, Mark talked to Lyra for some time. He felt normal for a while. Lyra gave him that feeling, they were similar. But Lyra also made him feel uneasy, his arm began to boil. And then it turned completely white. It was paint. He checked his reflection quickly in the glass. It was completely white.
“I’m sorry Lyra, I really have to go”, Mark said. He walked off from the school without looking back, he was shaking for a second. Then, he was extremely still. Calm. Ready.

Reviews

[mappingthenight]

I'm intrigued by this story - especially as Mark is experiencing some symptoms characteristic of mental health disorders. I can't wait to see where it goes, especially if we get more view points from his wife and other characters. It's hard to tell about the reliability of the narrator, which only serves to make the story more compelling.

I feel that some of the dialogue was confusing at times, but it could have just been the formatting of the story. Spaces between paragraphs, indenting, etc., may make it a bit easier to follow along. I can't wait to see what happens next!

[Billy Stark]

I'm so happy you enjoy it, I think your idea about other people's piint of view is a great idea and will try and use it at somepoint. I will try and get a couple more chapters up in the week

[Karen Arizona]

'War Paint' by Billy Shark is interesting. I read it, wanting to read more, because the character 'Mark' is a compelling soul. Your reading is creative, Billy. I think I'll have to read this story a second time when I am able. Parts of it are confusing, like "Mark" and "Lyra" meeting at the self help group, how "Mark" is interested in her but he leaves abruptly. Is this the same "Lyra" who is an English teacher, knocking on her fellow teacher, Mark's classroom door? If so, he didn't seem to know her from Adam at the meeting. She apparently knew him, as a teacher, and came to his classroom for help. Maybe I read the whole thing wrong but I was confused by it. Other than that, I like the story, 'War Paint.' "Mark" is a character to create a page turner for the reader. One cannot help but want to know more about this guy. What becomes of him? I will look for more chapters of your story to find out. Thank you for sharing.

[Billy Stark]

Yeah it is the same Lyra from the self help group, I will reread it and try and spot the bits that are confusing. I am glad you enjoyed it and will try and get the next chapter up as soon as I can, thank you for telling me what you think.