Ozzie Rozzie #2

[CAUTION: THIS STORY CONTAINS TRACES OF VIOLENCE]

Read part one here.

Thirty uniformed adolescents were held spellbound, their faces a mixture of morbid fascination and fear and shock, watching closely to see what would happen next. Something had snapped in Oswald, that was clear. The violence of his scream was shocking, primal and raw, it still echoed down the dirty dark corridors and stone stairwells of the school. Confronted by Oswald's momentous wrath, Clint's slender, boyish figure was utterly fragile and disposable. Sunlight streamed in upon him from a high window, reflecting his grubby white cotton school shirt into his face, making him look like a sacrificial virgin ready for the altar, his bright summer face turned pale.

Clint's jaw moved silently as he searched for the words that would dismantle the bomb that was now Ozzie, his fast mouth utterly useless. HIs mind was racing in blind panic at the terrifying, towering sight of Oswald, and all he could think of was Camel - Camel hair - Ozzie's farmboy frizz had been called that by some boys, for one week only, special offer - Ozzie's got the hump - Would you like a Camel? - Ozzie Rozzie, the final straw - torrents of words, useless, glib, mocking words, that would not rescue him now.

Oswald dropped his book and moved across the classroom all at once, his gawky lumbering frame suddenly possessed of an athlete's grace as he reached a long arm towards Clint, grabbing his tie and shirt with one huge hand, lifting him bodily towards his own reddened, distorted face. As Clint's shirt buttons popped and fell on the floor with a tiny distinct scatter, there were gasps, and a girl began to sob.

Ellington, one of the more sober boys who was a match for Oswald in size, coughed responsibly, quietly, from the back of the class and said in a stuffy adult voice, "Oswald, I think you've made your point now..." There followed an uncomfortable four second silence while the class waited to see Oswald's reaction to this attempt at normality.

But Oswald was concerned with one person only, and that was his tormentor. Drawing him close and staring right into his eyes which widened pleadingly, he barked into Clint's terrified face, "You don't know fucking nothing, you fucking don't know nothing! Yew fucking twat! Yew FUCKING TWAT!!"

He paused, and shook his head, as if his thoughts were a buzzing bee trapped in his skull.

"Do yew want to come and see my Mum? DO YER? WELL FUCKING COME ON THEN!!" he rasped, and he spun Clint around in one deft movement, grabbing his arm up behind his back like a pro, and held him like a puppet. Clint yelped in pain, and at this, Oswald hit him from behind, twice, hard in the side of his head, splitting his ear with the second, harder punch.

Blood began to stream dramatically down Clint's face onto his white shirt, and he moaned once, the awful sound of an animal trapped. The room made a collective gasp of outrage, horror, fear and admiration, and some of the bigger boys looked at each other pulling oo-er faces, and began gingerly to close in on Oswald, as at speed he pushed and dragged the bleeding Clint like a piece of luggage towards the open door.

Two girls in his exit path jumped up and ran, but Oswald was oblivious. There were three desks between Oswald and the door, and he marched himself and Clint through them banging elbows and shins into hard wooden furniture. Edwin Witter, exulting in the status of lead school psycho, was visibly impressed by this sickening noise of bone and wood, and he stood up on his chair, and started to whoop excitedly and howl excitedly. Several girls started to cry and hug each other, jaws hung loosely from gawping faces too astonished to make sense, pens and books flew across the classroom, and revision was abandoned in total chaos.

[End Part Two]