Nothing

His smile frightens me.

Through the sharp speckle of light on my glasses, I see a boy, of a vulnerable fourteen years, his face pockmarked, skin a slight ebony, and a posture befitting a hundred year old. On his left cheek there are traces of yellow pus, and the light subsided, I see through those shiny marble balls.

I see hate. Suffering. Despair. Fear. Why I do not know, but what I do know is that I am dealing with an extraordinary character. His chapped lips curl into a sneer. I feel very uncomfortable at the sight of this, deeply disturbed by this sudden turn of events.

His dry coarse hands move to me, and his eyes speak to me. It tells me everything. I see his mistakes, his anger, his suffering. I know why this boy is so angry. I know the truth behind him, the reason he hates the world. Because I am his teacher. And a teacher knows all.

“ Yes, teacher? Would you like a cup of water?”

But no!... I see nothing. I am a fool to think I could understand such a complex character. I have received complaints from the other teachers and students. According to them, he dabbles in the dark arts, isolating himself in his room, plotting the deaths of many. But of course, this is all gossip. What is real is, he has tried framing others for stealing books, and most of the time, he succeeds in escaping punishment.

Just who is this boy?

His Christian name is Jonathan. He is a single child. His father is a Catholic pastor, and his mother left him at the age of three. His father, always busy with the church, is never at home. When he is, he is a total disciplinarian, and spares no expense on his education- via the cane.

But no! This is not him!

Oh… how am I to describe him? I cannot think of anything that would do him justice, but two personalities would aptly portray him.- Gollum/ Smeagol. He is like a chameleon, sometimes red with fury, or green with envy, or white like the cold Arctic. He cannot be described as one person, but many. He hates and loves the world, just as he hates and loves himself. Just like Gollum.

Gollum! Hah! Talk about bad analogies!

I laugh out loud at this point. The others around me turn at this outburst, and realising who I am talking to, swiftly turn away again, fading away into the nothingness. They see a reject, a delinquent, an outcast, a psychopath waiting to pounce. Perhaps my optimism has blinded me, but I see none of that. I see a scared boy, who wanted to be friends, until society banished him from the face of their lifestyles. I see a choice, which has yet to be made. I see a glimmer of hope, in the foreboding dark and deep recesses of his soul.

Dear, Joseph. Why, why oh why do you turn to evil? Why do you bury yourself in the sinister machinations of the occult, when you very well know that your past will forever find a way to claw its way out? Why do you insist on deviating to those god-forsaken horrors of humanity? Why do you refuse to listen to the heart-ached givings of a dear friend who loves you dearly?

“Because I hate you."

Hate me? But why? What evil have I done you?

“Nothing. That is exactly what you did, nothing. While my unfair segregation commenced, you ignored me. While the punishment of the lamb was meted, you let them torture me. While the moons and stars passed, you were in your own world. And for these and many more, I hate you, and I despise all that has come to be you."

And as mysteriously as he had come, he disappears as I sink into my chair. The dagger of realisation is not a pleasant one. It slithers in my soul, infesting my heart like maggots feeding on a rotting corpse.

I open my eyes in despair.

“Teacher? ", Jonathan asks politely , "Did you fell asleep? Are you tired? How do you feel?"

"Nothing, dear John. It's nothing. Nothing..."