An Ode to Misery
By animus

This isn't exactly the happiest tale I've ever penned. If you don't like sad stories, don't read this one.

The cavernous auditorium echoed with feedback until the sound system was brought under control by the fumbling, nervous hands of student technicians. This was their first time and they were apprehensive of the key role they were to play in the day's proceedings. The lights came on overhead, as another group started their role.

A little under five hundred students did little to fill the seats of the high building, massive in proportion with the size of the school. Years eleven and twelve students, more nervous than the would-be sound engineers backstage, waited in the wings, ready to present their final assessment pieces for the scrutiny - and probable ridicule - of the assembled body. None were more nervous than Harvey, a year eleven and the first in line to present his piece. He had chosen to write a poem as his presentation.

His English and Drama teachers agreed that he wrote well and with feeling - he did so not only because it was required to pass English, but for recreation as well. He was a young man of considerable talent, if somewhat lacking for charisma. Harvey could not speak in front of an assembled group, even two or three people posed too much of a crowd for him to recite his work with ease.

Students jostled one another with mock-bravado, apprehensive laughter passing the lips of most present. The teacher in attendance backstage shot them a stern look, though he understood their motives. Most had never spoken in front of a crowd larger than average classroom size, much less the jeering ranks of years eight and nine students amassed in the front few rows of the auditorium. Harvey clutched his book to his chest, breathing deeply as his name was announced out front. Someone laughed from behind, made yet another joke at Harvey's expense. He closed his eyes, let out his breath, and walked out onto the stage.

Harvey could feel the eyes of the crowd as surely as he could feel the heat of the multi-hued stagelights above. He felt sure he would trip as he crossed the twenty feet to the lectern. Even walking felt awkward. His collar felt tight, his shirt ill-fitting, though he knew that it was not. Setting down his book, he opened it to the marked page and took another deep breath, willing himself to look just once out into the darkness and the waiting crowd. He'd been planning this since the beginning of the year. This would be his one big triumph against THEM. Harvey's hand strayed to his pocket and cradled the comforting weight of what lay within - his version of a security blanket.

He knew what THEY thought of him, what THEY said behind his back. THEY were all so stupid, so cruel. Shapeless rabble in his mind, an image brought to sharp clarity by years of ridicule and shameful torment. Ever since he could remember THEY had brought him pain and humiliation and nothing more.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Harvey looked, barely able to make out the faces staring up at him. This was Hell, a nightmare of his own manufacture. Can't do this. Can't face THEM, their mocking, taunting white faces. In his mind the laughter echoed loud and thick, filling the huge building and dwarfing him in its enormity. He felt so small, a lone figure trembling, held transfixed by the light of a thousand burning torches above. Have to do this!

He opened his mouth to speak.

"I," he croaked. Smirking and sniggering behind THEIR hands, THEY began to laugh.

"I..." The real thing was worse than the fantasy, the chuckling, giggling scorn rising to meet him.

"I... I can't."

He turned and ran for the opposite side of the stage. Now THEY laughed outright. Howls and jeers reached his ears through the trembling hands grasping either side of his head. Shouldn't have tried, should've known. Can't do this, who am I kidding? Someone spoke his name. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Harvey? Are you okay?" Janey. One of THEM.

Harvey nodded even though he wasn't. Maybe if she thought he was okay she'd go away. She was only there because she felt sorry for him. He put his hand back in his pocket. Fingers curled around his security blanket.

Janey felt a stab of pain in her stomach as she looked at him, pale and quivering. So scared. Why couldn't they just leave him alone? Why not just let him be, just for one day. Today of all days.

"You're not, are you? It's okay." Was he crying? Oh, God, poor guy.

Harvey looked up into her face, brushed hair out of his eyes for the millionth time. Even his hair didn't seem to fit him. No tears, just wide-eyed fear. Pretty girl looking down at him. Why? Year twelve looking at him like she cared even though she couldn't.

"You don't have to listen to them you know. Just go out there and read it. It doesn't matter what they think."

THEY! Like she knew what it was like, Miss Popularity talking to him like she knew. A teacher standing behind her now talking to him, Mister Lane.

"Harvey, you alright?"

Why do people have to keep saying that? Just nod, say you're okay. Make them go away.

"It's okay, son. Everyone gets stage fright every once in awhile." Another hand on his shoulder. At least this smile wasn't false. Mister Lane, his english teacher. At least he understood. Or he thought he did. That was something.

"I'm alright," Harvey said, sounding like he meant it.

Janey and Mister Lane kneeling beside him, telling him it was okay. It wasn't okay. He was a coward. He squeezed shut his eyes.

"Hey!" Janey grabbed him by the shoulders, startling both student and teacher. "Listen to me, it's bullshit!" Eyes ernest as her voice. "You're better than them. They don't understand because they're stupid."

"She's right," said Mister Lane, picking up her thread immediately. "I've read your stuff a million times. It's good, you know it is."

Harvey didn't really hear. Head cocked to the side, looking at Janey. His hand came up to touch her face.

The girl looked steadily back. What was this, did he have a crush on her? No, something else. Understanding dawning, his face opening like a flower. Pain falling from his expression like a mask pulled from his face.

"You can do it, you know you can," she said.

"Yes."

"Then go back out there, make them listen."

"Yes."

He stood up, still clutching his book in one hand, the other back in his pocket, fingers twining around his security blanket. Walking out onto the stage and into the glare and the laughter. Voice of a teacher trying to quiet them. Didn't matter now.

Janey watched something change inside Harvey as he walked, shoulders no longer slumped, back now straight. Pride? No, not pride. Resolve.

He turned on his heel and ran back to her. Grabbing her hands in his he looked into her eyes and said quickly:

"It's for you."

Janey blinked, confused. She started to speak but he cut her off.

"You're not one of THEM, Janey. You get it."

"Of course I'm not," she said gently, misunderstanding him. "You can do it."

He shook his head.

"No. It's not that," he said ernestly. "You're the reason I can do this. I needed to know that someone cared, someone cared enough to say so." She tried to speak again, but he put a finger to her lips. "I'm not hitting on you, I'm just telling you so you'll know. This is for you." He gestured to his book, thick and dog-eared from years of being carried around, filled with the inspiration and agony of a misunderstood youth. "When it's over I want you to have this."

Without a word and before she could say anything more he strode back onto stage, hand back in his pocket in habitual nervous gesture. He stepped up to the lecturn and waited for the noise to die down. Turning and nodding once to Janey, he glared out at the crowd with the strength to do what he'd intended from the beginning. Opening the book to the designated page without looking down at it, he cleared his throat and spoke.

"Your attention please," he said, his voice low and holding a tone which brought all eyes to him. Didn't matter now. Fingers curled around his security blanket, moving it back and forth in his pocket. Dead silence now from the crowd. THEY, for once, had nothing more to say.

"I would like to dedicate this to all of you," his face was hard, mouth held in a tight, grim line. Expressionless now.

"This is for all of you," he muttered and brought his security blanket up to his mouth. Someone screamed his name.

The shot rang deafening through the speakers, shattering the atmosphere and throwing the crowd into a state of chaos. Blood coated the lecturn, the stage, even the curtain some twenty feet back.

He was gone before Janey reached him, before she threw her arms around his bloody neck and wept. Long gone before anyone read the single word written on the blood-spotted page. His final work.

Misery