English Short Story

Gone

A cold, brisk, winters wind rustled through the trees, flowing through the dull morning skies of upstate New York. The air was dry, frigid and clear of the summer's impurities leaving one to breathe the sky in its purest form. Pine branches sagged under the weight of their snow cover. Other branches resembling witches fingers became crisp and brittle in the frozen air, snapping in the wind. The trees looked dead but were simply holding their breath for summer.

As Stradlater paced through the harsh breeze alongside his football team, the snowmen scattered throughout the school courtyard seemed to be the only smiling faces. They were losers, but the crunch of their footsteps smashing against the snow on the path screamed arrogance. Crossing onto the gravel road, Stradlater and his team mates arrived at the entrance of the Cafeteria of Elkton Hills High eagerly awaiting a gush of comforting heat. The cafeteria was a habitat fit for the brave. The droning repetitions of banging noises coinciding with mindless roars present from table to table were a loud reminder of the wildlife present within. The rotten smell of ketchup emanated from the hot food line and embedded the nasal passengers of the hungry animals present within. The thin ray of light that illuminated the sorry, sad, narrow, room was all the relief there was for the students lower on the food chain inside. Darwin’s theory of ‘Survival of the fittest’ proved evident throughout the cafeteria.

The doors smashed open to a loud ruckus of frustrated teenage boys and Stradlater the leader of the pride. Noise came to a stop; fear trembled in the atmosphere as these lions entered. Stradlater’ eyes swept the cafeteria discontent with his team’s effort on the field. Each person he made eye contact with swiftly cleared from the area as they tried to avoid his wrath. The insensitive thud of each step echoed through the corridors and caused anxiety to grow within the crowd of students as they lurked towards the hot food line creating a massacre of careless debris behind them. Stradlater looked upon the blonde haired, book wormed, pale faced child. His prey was acquired. James Castle. The nerd that represented everything Stradlater thought of a typical Elkton High student, too busy buried in his school work to notice his surroundings. Stradlater snatched up ketchup from a near table then made a bee line towards him. While held from behind the team then squirted ketchup into James’s school book before pushing his worthless face into it knocking his glasses off in the process. James stood there covered in ketchup, with tears forming from his eyes and streaming down his cheeks, reaching for his bag desperately like toddler looking for his mum. Ketchup added to the whiskey stains prominent on his sweater that Stradlater knew once belonged to Holden Caulfield. He could have hurt him worse. He could hurt him bad. But he didn’t.