by
Chris Hately

--Author's Note: This short story may not mean much to people, and if that is the case then I apologise for the waste of your time. But this story holds a profound meaning for me, and I believe that elements of each character can be found in every person who decides to read this. I can only hope that you enjoy the read and come away with a better understanding of the effect a simple word can have. Have some consideration for those around you. Thank you.

Also, my thanks to those who made this possible; Teri, David Todd, Rosie Kenny, my parents and family and everyone else I can't remember at 00:25 in the morning. But my special thanks to Jessi Benn, without whom this whole piece would not have been possible. Thank you Jess.--

The Three Sisters.
by
Chris Hately

The classroom is dark, a solitary light bulb flicking on and off in the corner. The room is roughly square with a large blackboard covering the wall beside the door, which is painted green. The paint is peeling slightly, giving the door a used, almost dilapidated look. Desks are scattered into rough columns, loosely regimental. Posters proclaiming the benefits of learning and the dangers of idleness are placed intermittently along the remaining walls. Paintings made by young boys are grouped together into a bundle on a workbench on the back wall. The door opens, creaking slightly as a lone figure enters the classroom.

A tall, slender woman moves towards her desk and, after flicking the light switch up, sits behind it and pulling out a sheaf of paper she reads it. The light, now on, illuminates the woman's attractive features. She is pretty, in a naive, young way. She has a straight nose, brown eyes and brown, bobbed hair. A solitary strand of hair falls over her eyes causing her to pause and correct it. She looks up, surveying the walls, a tear in her eye. The light flickers, then goes out. The woman stands stiffly, and walks to the switch, flicking it several times. Nothing. She sighs in frustration and leaves the room, the door shutting loudly behind her. The room, now dark again, sleeps, as a sudden Autumn chill sweeps through an open window.

Chapter One-

Barnaby Williams sped down the hill, running to catch the school bus. He had short legs, and was more than a little plump. He had a round face, brown eyes and a messy clump of brown hair. His school uniform was too small for his stomach, almost bursting at the seams. His nose was crooked, broken at the age of five, as a result of falling down the stairs. That happened a lot, even these days. Accidents, bruises, broken bones. People said things, of course, but such things are always points of gossip.

The bus was in sight now. Barnaby put on an extra burst of speed to reach the gaggle of students before the bus left. He reached them as the last of the children boarded. He pulled himself up the steps, greeting the driver and jostling his way to the back of the bus. People jeered as he passed, pulling faces and calling vulgar names after him. Faces blurred as Barnaby marched to the back of the bus, to find his appointed seat, away from everyone else, but away from the bullies.

He sat, and hunched up as the laughs hit a crescendo, then died down as the bus pulled away. The heavy droll of chatter almost suffocated the boy. His eyes grew wet, and tears rolled down his face as he sobbed quietly. No one would hear, they never did, it happened every day. His eyes were closed, the jeering faces shouting horrible things at him; hey, dickhead, where's your mum, eh? Oi, Barnaby, did you kill her yourself, or was it your fat arse that did it? Oi, you little shit, look at me! Barnaby cried all the way to school, tears rolling down his plump cheeks and falling gently onto the floor.

As the bus pulled up to the school the children began to stand, packing their belongings back into their bags. Barnaby remained seated, drying his bloodshot eyes and trying to conceal his sobs. He waited until the throng had left the bus then followed, thanking the driver as he stepped off and headed towards the main building.

The boy turned as the bus pulled away. He watched as it reached the end of the road, headed back towards the bus depot. Barnaby stood there, afraid to turn around, afraid to once more enter the fray.
'Hey Barnaby.'� a voice said from behind him. Barnaby swung around to see a thin, tallish boy with a messy crop of blonde hair. The boy wore a cruel grin and was flanked by three other boys, all thick-set and tall.
'Hello Johnny.'� Barnaby whimpered, moving ever-so-slightly backwards, away from the group.
'Where's your lunch money then? Got any today or did your dad just give you another shitty little packed lunch?'�
'No, I have a packed lunch again'�'�
'Give me it then. Now.'�
'But'�'�
'Now.'�
Now. The command shook Barnaby to the core. Trembling he opened his bag and reached in to retrieve the lunch he had made himself that morning. He handed it over, his hands shaking. Johnny opened the small box and took out the sandwiches. Egg mayonnaise, left over from last night. He stared at them with disgust and flung them angrily over his shoulder. He stalked towards Barnaby and grabbed him, throwing him to the floor. Barnaby hit the floor hard, crying out in pain. He looked up in time to see Johnny's fist speeding towards him. Barnaby let out another cry.

***

Ms. Amy Kent was a small woman, only just taller than the tallest of the boys in her class. She had long, dirty blonde hair which fell down her back like a waterfall. She was sat behind her desk marking the boys' work. She paused, looked up and surveyed the room. A light bulb was gone, and the door still creaked. Damn caretaker, she thought to herself. The low rumble of children moving towards their lessons grew slowly louder. Amy looked to the clock at the back of the room. Ten minutes.

She stood and began to rearrange desks into neat rows when she heard a creaking behind her. She looked around and saw a young boy enter. His eyes were bloodshot, red, and a bruise was beginning to develop around his left eye and temple. He slouched to his desk, at the back in a corner and sat down, dejectedly. Amy's heart sank and she walked slowly over to him, a loving smile on her face.

Barnaby looked up, his eyes now a deep red. Amy crouched beside him, her eyes now level with his.
"Hey, what's your name?" The boy looked her straight in the eye,
"Barnaby, Barnaby Williams, miss..." he sobbed quietly.
"So...what happened to your eye? Are you okay, do you want to visit the nurse?" The boy shook his head and made a mumbling sound, then looked back to her,
"It's nothing, I just got...into..." His voice trailed off. Amy knew what he meant. She saddened.
"A fight?" She completed his sentence for him, in a friendly, comforting tone. He nodded slowly, as though terrified of what this action may mean. And if that show of terror could be missed, the look in his eyes could not. Amy delved deeper, "Who with?"
"Johnny Malinson" The terror was beginning to mingle with confusion now, as though this question was the last he expected, as though he'd never been asked before.
"Well, I'll have a little talk with Johnny then." The boy smiled, nervous, but relieved. It was painful to watch.

The sound of running outside. Amy looked up at the clock. Lessons were starting now; the kids would be running down the corridor, desperate to get to the classroom to be on time. She smiled one last time at Barnaby, who was rubbing his eyes. She stood and regained her composure, smoothing the creases out of her skirt, then moving to the door. She opened it, the flood of children flowing around her, each heading for their own personal desk. Amy glanced at Barnaby. His head was buried in his desk compartment, hidden from the newcomers.

She surveyed the room. She noticed how, unlike the other classes she taught, this class filled from the front right, whereas most filled from the back. Barnaby sat at the back, on the left. Amy felt a wave of pity flood over her. She looked at the class, all the smiling, innocent faces, masks, hiding such terrible malice. She looked at the photograph above the doorframe. It was of a young, pretty woman, with brown bobbed hair. Beneath the photo was a bronze plaque, which read, "In loving memory, Lily". Amy began the lesson.

***

The final bell sounded a dull ringing which echoed down the hallways. Children hurried to pack away their belongings before erupting from their classroom into the corridors and heading for the buses. Barnaby, however, did not hurry. He took his time, each movement slow and deliberate, each book perfectly placed among the others. After everyone had left, including the teacher, Mr. Delvin, Barnaby closed his bag, and left the room.

Only the misfits were left in the halls now. All the other kids were at team practices, various clubs, or heading home. He knew he'd missed the bus, but at least he was alone, and safe. He left the school at a brisk walk, thankful for the autumn breeze playing across his back, blowing his jacket out in front of him. He smiled, a feeling of detached joy flooding through him. At times like these, when he was alone, he forgot everything, and relaxed. He wrote short stories and novels in his head while he walked home, describing everything he saw in poetic detail.

Sometimes, in the mornings, he would steal his youngest sister's CD player, and listen to the one album he owned when he was alone. It was an album of piano concertos, which used to belong to his mother. Father hated it. Today one of those rare occasions. The headphones fitted awkwardly into his ears he walked down the street towards his home. Usually he would take the longer route, through the fields, but he was needed at home. So he forced himself to enjoy his final minutes alone all the more, like those last few moments with a dying friend.


The street loomed before Barnaby like some terrible apparition. His knuckles were white with terror and he felt sick to his stomach. The CD player was hidden now, stuffed at the bottom of his bag, under his books. He opened the door to his house, and stepped inside.

Chapter Two-

John Williams was a tall, hard man with dark brown hair, so dark as to be black. He was bitter, turned that way by the death of his beloved wife ten years earlier.

Mrs. Williams had been a kind woman, a school teacher at the local school. She had moved to the town to work and had met John there on her first day. He was the headmaster and the two became good friends. After a few years John finally propsed. A daughter came soon after, their first child, Juliet. She gave birth to another girl within the year after, and named her Grace. A third girl was born four years later, Anna. Finally a boy was born the year after. Tragically the boy would prove her last chirld. Complications during the birth and an infection afterwards began her decline. She died a month after Barnaby's entrance into the world.

John was stood at the foot of the staircase when Barnaby entered the house. He turned and watched the boy move to close the door. John strode over and grabbed him by the arm, dragged him into the play room and threw him onto the floor.
"Where have you been." It wasn't a question, but a statement. John's voice was cold, bitter and sharp, filled with a restrained fury.
"I...I...missed the..."Barnaby looked terrified.
"You are twenty minutes late." His voice was clipped now, every constanant pronounced, stabbing at the boy. "Well, you shall be disciplined later. Till then we have guests arriving soon. Get into your room and remain there for the remainder of the night. Make a sound and you will not leave the room until I deem it acceptable. Now go." Barnaby leapt clumsily to his feet, dragging his bag, and ran to the room next-door, slamming the door shut behind him. John followed slowly, his hand reaching into his pocket. When he withdrew it he held a key, which he used to lock his son's door. He walked away into the kitchen.

***

Barnaby lay on his bed, still wearing his school uniform. Beside him lay a picture of his mother. He glanced at it, tears filling his eyes and running down his plump cheeks. He picked it up, kissed and hugged it, then slid it under his pillow, sobbing gently so that the others wouldn't hear.

Silence. The front door opened, people entered the house, and the door closed again. The monotonous droll of speech leaked through the wall, all treble robbed from it by the wall which held Barnaby in his home-grown prison. Finally, hours later, Barnaby heard a key in the lock. The door opened and his father strode in. He carried with him a small plate, which in turn held a rasher of bacon, a boiled potato and some sliced carrot.
"Here is your supper, child." He laid the plate on the floor and marched out, closing the door hard behind him. The boy stood up and walked to the plate. He bent down to retrieve the food, and a solitary tear dropped onto the ceramic surface. He wiped his eyes, took the bacon, and took a bite, slowly sitting back down on his bed.

Barnaby awoke some time later, his pillow still damp from the previous night. He sat up and dried his face, then stood and got dressed. Tight, short jeans and a shirt too small for him, which he tucked into his trousers. There was a knock at the door. It opened, and a tall girl walked in. She had blonde hair, flowing down the sides of her face. She glanced around the room, turning her nose up as she did. Then she looked at Barnaby. Her eyes drifted over his sad frame. Juliet grinned malevolently and laughed.
"Well, don't you just look a picture!" The sarcasm dripped from her voice. She walked out laughing to herself. Barnaby sat back down on the bed, reached down under it and pulled out a book. He opened it, and began to read.

***

Juliet stalked out of the room, a sadistic grin on her face. She ran up the stairs to her room on the first floor. She threw the door open, swept in and slammed it shut. She heard her father shout from his study upstairs but she ignored him. She sat down on her bed, flinging her school books away. Her room was in severe disarray, her belongings strewn around the floor. She lay back and laughed out loud.
'Stupid bastard'� she muttered, laughing again. She reached out to find her CD player. Groping blindly she found it, hit play and closed her eyes.

***

It was Saturday. Every middle-class child in the Western world begs for a Saturday. Mondays; school, Friday; school, Sunday; Church. Saturday truly is the day of rest, when a kid can play, run around and be with his friends.

Barnaby sat down in the middle of the field, feeling the green grass between his fingers. He smiled and lay back. He could hear children playing in the park but that was far away, it didn't affect him. He hummed quietly to himself, enjoying the feeling of the sun of his face. He loved days like these, when he could just be alone, leave everything behind. Usually he'd read, but he's finished his book the previous night and the library was closed today. The librarian was nice. Somewhat of an authoritarian, but nice if you stayed on the right side of her.

Barnaby closed his eyes and day dreamed to himself. He thought about school, about his history lessons. History was his favourite lesson. He enjoyed reading about people from other countries; great heroes like Napoleon or Attila the Hun or Churchill. The great battles of old; Waterloo, the Mongol invasions, Dunkirk. Examples of extreme valour, the valour of normal men in extraordinary circumstances.

A shadow fell over Barnaby. He opened his eyes, and saw
his three sisters standing over him. The eldest, Juliet, the youngest, Anna, and the middle child, Grace. Juliet spoke first.
"What're you doing outside twerp?" She glared. Barnaby stuttered,
'No'� nothing'�.'�
'What are you doing out twerp?" Juliet said once more with menace.
'Just...just resting"
"Resting? It's Saturday? Sunday's the day of rest you idiot, not Saturday, dad says to get back in the house and do your chores."
"But I have!" Barnaby protested. He received a swift kick to the ribs for his protest.
"Shut up. You haven't done ours, have you? Now get back in the damn house before I kick you there!"
"Yeah, and stop fucking about" shouted Anna. Grace slapped her around the head, warning that if she heard more language like that she'd tell papa.
Barnaby was hoisted up by Juliet, before being pushed towards the house. As he walked away two of the girls fell about laughing. One looked after him, a tear gathering at her eye. Then she wiped it away, and chuckled awkwardly with the other two.

Barnaby felt his eyes well up, then felt tears run down his face. He cleaned Juliet's room, spending hours putting things away. Anna's room was no better. Grace, however, seemed to have tidied her room before Barnaby. Father called for the family. Dinner was ready.

Dinner was awkward. The three girls sat close together, talking and eating, John sat at the head of the table, away from the girls. He was silent. He always was. Barnaby was nowhere to be seen. He sat in his room with a small plate of leftovers. John Williams finished his dinner, stood and left the room to wash his plate. One by one the girls left and did the same till only Grace was left. She stopped, sighed, then left her plate on the workbench, food still on it. She went up to her room.

Barnaby finished his dinner last. He sat on his bed, waiting for the others to go upstairs. When all was silent he opened his door and walked silently to the kitchen. He found Grace's leftovers and quickly shovelled them into his mouth. He washed his plate and ran back to his room, closing the door as quietly as a mouse.

***

Amy Kent sat at home, the fire blazing in the hearth. She was reading a book, "Bullying in the Modern School". She felt for Barnaby. She put the book down, wiped her eyes, watched the fire till it died, then after pouring water on the ashes went to bed.

Chapter Three-

The bell rang in the hallway. At the font of the room Ms. Kent stopped, checked her watch, then dismissed the class. The children packed their belongings hurriedly into their rucksacks and satchels, then rushed from the room. Barnaby waited, packing his books with an almost obsessive desire for perfection, or the subconscious need to avoid the throng. As he stood up Ms. Kent walked over to him, a pair of books in her hands, which she held behind her back. He looked up, an expression of confusion blending with one of mild, suppressed, happiness. Why was a teacher taking any notice of him?
"Barnaby?" Amy said softly.
"Yes?" His voice shook slightly, as if he was scared of what may come.
"How've you been? You okay?" Barnaby nodded slowly, "and your bruise has gone down" She continued. It had been a week since his last fight. He never fought back though. People just walked over him. As though he took his position in life and society as a fact of life, one which could not be changed.
"Yes, thank you" His tone was warming, becoming slowly more amiable as his terror subsided.
"I have a book for you. Well, two" Amy laid the two books on the desk then carried on, "they're Animal Farm, and a book about bullies. I thought you might be interested, because I saw you reading yesterday during recess. Do you enjoy reading?"
"Yes miss, I love reading. I love hearing about people in far off countries, about how happy their lives are, and all the happy endings. But the realistic ones are good as well. When people die I get sad, and always want the people who killed them to get what they deserve. it makes me so angry. Robbing other people of..." He trailed off, his excitement dying as he once more realised his place. Amy's smile faded. She looked at him as he gazed longingly at the floor. Putting on her smile once more Amy patted the boy on the shoulder.
"I like reading as well. And I hope you enjoy those books. Anyway, you should get going, you'll need some fresh air before Mr. Delvin gets here for your maths lesson. Go on, have some fun" She smiled and stepped back to let Barnaby past. He picked up the books, placed them carefully in his bag, like some ancient treasures too delicate to touch, and walked from the room. Amy watched him out, then returned to her desk. She sat down, pulling out a sheaf of paper. She began to write.

***

The air was cool outside, a slight Autumn breeze blowing across the playground. Barnaby sat down on a grassy verge and laid his bag beside him. The grass was damp, piles of auburn and orange leaves lay all around, their bright, happy colours contrasting with the dark, grey sky. Opening the bag he took out Animal Farm and read the blurb on the back of the book. Talking animals breaking away from their masters, setting up a perfect society, the ideal of a perfect society. Then the other book caught the young boy's eye. Bullying in the Modern School. He took it out and read the blurb. It talked about the effects of bullying, the causes, and ways of fighting back. Barnaby opened it and began to read, forgetting about Animal Farm entirely.

Time passed quickly. As soon as it had begun recess ended. Barnaby barely even heard the bell. Instead he sat, reading his book, engrossed entirely by it's simple message; Bullying is wrong. Stand up to it.

Ten minutes passed before Barnaby realised he was late. He could see Mr. Delvin in the classroom, taking the register. Packing his things away Barnaby stood and hurried towards the building. As he reached the classroom door it opened. Mr. Delvin stood before him, a ruler in one hand. The man stepped forward and closed the door. Barnaby flinched as it banged shut. Then again as Mr. Delvin began to speak.
"Where have you been?" His tone was stern and accusatory.
"Reading sir. I lost track of..."
"Reading?" Mr. Delvin interupted, "reading what, may I ask?" He grabbed Barnaby's bag and opened it roughly. He took out Animal Farm and threw it to the floor, then picked out the other book and looked at it. "What is this." Barnaby attempted to answer but was cut short, "you will go to the headmaster's office. You will tell him you are an evil boy and that you were deliberatly late for my lesson because you believed it would be amusing. Let me assure you, I am not laughing. God despises naughty boys, and you, Barnaby Williams, are an evil child. Your mother would be ashamed. Now go and tell the head what I have told you to say." He slapped the boy in the head with the ruler then opened the door to the classroom. The sound of raucous laughter erupted from the children inside.

Barnaby turned and headed towards the headmaster's room, stooping to pick up Ms. Kent's book as he passed it. Tears were flowing freely down his face, dripping onto his shirt and the floor. The head's room loomed before him, a terrifying sight. He stepped up to it and knocked gently.
"Come in" was the reply, muffled through the door. Barnaby turned the handle and entered the room.

***

James Williams entered the room a half hour later. He looked calm, but fury burned in his eyes. He glanced at Barnaby, their gazes meeting for a split second. Barnaby felt a fresh rush of terror flood through him. He froze as his father strode towards the headmaster's desk.
"Mr. Williams, please, have a seat" James sat, his lips pressed tightly together. The Headmaster paused, looked at the notes on his desk then looked up again. "I'm sure you realise how important this meeting is, and I hope that together we can resolve this nagging problem before it becomes too much of an issue. Now..." he paused again, "Barnaby. Why were you late for your maths lesson with Mr. Delvin?".
"Well...sir...I was reading..."

***

Barnaby lay on the floor in his room. The meeting had been terrible. On inspection of his bag they had discovered the books he had been given by Ms. Kent. They had been confiscated and given back to her. She had been given a formal warning that it was not school policy to allow students to borrow the personal possessions of teachers, especially where that might influence their thinking. Barnaby was given detention for a week.

Things got worse when they got home. Barnaby had been beaten worse than ever before.
"What would your mother say..."
Barnaby cried for hours. Lying on his bed he wept bitterly, his gaze focused on the ceiling. The pillow was wet from his tears, his eyes a deep red. Every now and again he heard mutterings outside his door, his sisters laughing about him, his father lamenting his son's existence. Barnaby didn't sleep that night. Instead he stayed up and contemplated his future. Even at his young age he knew he could not live his life like this. He fell asleep early in the morning, only to be woken by his sisters angry calls and a kick in the chest. Another day had begun.

Chapter Four-

Amy Kent sat at her desk, the work of her young students in two piles infront of her. She sifted through the work, counting the number of pieces, making sure each child had handed theirs in. As she flicked through the papers she noticed one name from the fray; Barnaby Williams. The young teacher sighed. She opened a draw and took out a small package. She opened it. The brown paper covered two books; 'Bullying in the Modern School' and Animal Farm'. Her eyes filled with tears as she sat back in her seat, thinking to herself. She looked once more at the books on her desk, then made her decision.

Amy stood and picked up the pair of books. She strode over to the door and threw it open, letting it bang against the wall as she swept out into the hall, her fury forcing her to ignore her better judgement. She reached the door at the end of the corridor in a matter of moments, knocking hard on the door as she reached it. From inside a voice called, allowing her to enter. She turned the handle, pulled open the door and entered the small office. Closing the door behind her she readied herself for a fight.

***

The sun rose early on Saturday morning. The birds sang, the grass shone with dew and all across town children began to wake. In a large house on the outskirts one boy in particular awoke suddenly to the screams of young girls. Barnaby rolled onto his front, covering his ears to drown out the abuse. His pillow was wet and he still wore his clothes from the day before. Realising his avoiding the tempest of ridicule would only make matters worse he got up and called back to his sisters. He changed into new clothes and walked into the hallway, readying himself for the first salvo.

***

Dinner was always cooked by John Williams. Grace helped on occasion, but she never helped with anything more than aesthetics. Today, however, the girls had been given the chance to show their talent. Anna jumped eagerly at the oppotunity, but soon tired with the menial tasks and Graces orders. Juliet grunted tiredly on hearing her new-found responsibility in the kitchen and did little but complain and give orders. Grace, on the other hand, took to cooking with a passion. Giving Anna small jobs and calmly agreeing and ignoring Juliet's commands she directed the creation of the night's feast.

Eventually Anna and Juliet got bored and left the kitchen, leaving Grace to cook dinner by herself. Elsewhere in the house Barnaby finished his chores, as well as his sisters'. As usual Grace's room was spotless, tidied by grace herself, but Juliet and Anna had once again left a mess as yet unrivaled in Barnaby's experience. Barnaby came downstairs to wash his hands in the kitchen sink. He opened the door to find Grace slaving away behind the stove, her face glistening with sweat. She glanced up, looking bemused at his presence. then she smiled.

Grace couldn't remember ever having a moment alone with Barnaby. She looked at him, thinking for the first time about how she felt about the boy. Juliet hated him, she knew that. Juliet blamed him for her mother's death, and in a way so did Grace. Anna was too young to remember her mother, she was only born the year before Barnaby. She hated Barnaby simply because her eldest sister hated him. But Grace had never hated Barnaby. She tidied her room constantly so that Barnaby's life might be a little easier, but still she had never shown Barnaby any love before. Now that she looked at him again she felt a knot develop in her gut. She moved towards him and crouched infront of the young boy. Looking into his face she smiled, stood up and hugged him.

Barnaby froze. His mind reeled. His sister, Grace, was hugging him. His eyes filled with tears, soaking the girl's dress. Then he threw himself at her, hugging her close and crying openly. For the first time in his short life he felt wanted, he felt loved. Dinner burned. Later Grace would feel the wrath of her father. Juliet and Anna sat in their rooms reading, oblivious to their sister's plight. Barnaby remained awake all night, thinking about the day's events. He was loved.

***

Amy Kent came out of the headmaster's office with a smile on her face. She had demanded that something be done about the bullying in the school, something that only she appeared to be interested in. The head had disagreed and asserted his belief that all teachers did their very best to promote equal treatment in the classroom and did their best to stop bullying outside of the school environment. Amy knew he was lying and that he didn't care, but she was happy at his decision to do something, even if it was only aesthetic. It was still a beginning though, and it was a beginning she would follow up on. She strode back to her classroom, sat down, packed away her work and went home, her mind contemplating the weeks to come.

***

Detention was horrible. Barnaby sat alone in a corner of the room writing his given essay while the rest of the children around him messed around with each other and ignored the warnings of the teacher watching them. A boy walked over to Barnaby and glared at him.
'What're you in for dick-wad?'� He jeered. Barnaby ignored him, burying his head deeper into his essay, 'what're you in for?!'� the boy said, his tone becoming more and more annoyed. Again Barnaby ignored him and carried on writing. The boy asked once more, 'What are you in for?!'�. When, for a third time, Barnaby did not react the boy hit him. Barnaby fell backwards out of his chair and hit his head hard on the wall. The boy jumped on him and started hitting him in the head and chest. Barnaby cried out in pain, his face dripping with tears. Other children were gathering now, shouting, baying for blood. The teacher stood up too, after a short while, and walked over. She sighed and pulled the boy off Barnaby. Then she took them both aside and shouted at them for the rest of detention. The boy was let off easy, another detention for him. Barnaby was sent home and told not to come back until his father could promise it would not happen again.

Chapter Five-

John Williams was furious. His son was a smear on the family name and something to be removed. However, far from going into the school and offering his apologies, Mr. Williams rejected the headmaster's invitations and allowed Barnaby to stew in the house, doing the menial work that he himself had once done. The beatings had continued until, eventually, Mr. Williams' hand hurt too much to continue. Barnaby had been in his room ever since.

Barnaby lay on the grass outside his house, his eyes closed and his limbs outspread. He imagined himself somewhere far off, somewhere people didn't know him where he could live in peace. A shadow fell over him. Barnaby opened his eyes to see Grace standing over him, smiling, her soft features displaying nothing but sisterly love. She stooped down next to him.
"Hi there" she said happily.
"Hello" stuttered Barnaby, unsure how to react.
"Listen, I'm sorry I've given you a hard time. But with Juliet..." she stopped. She looked down, her expression sullen and unhappy.Then she smiled and hugged Barnaby again, "but I'm going to change that!" Barnaby smiled happily.

***

Juliet sat in her room overlooking the fields. She leaned out onto the window sill and watched Barnaby, a feeling of anger in her gut. She watched as Grace went outside and her spirit lifted. Now he would be given a beating to remember. Grace had always been soft on him, tidying her room herself, rather than throwing everything on the floor the night beforehand. Anna had learned that trick from Juliet, Grace, on the other hand, had not. But now, after the beating father had given her for Barnaby's mistake, she might give the little twat what he deserved. But the anger soon turned to fury as the eldest girl's sister stooped down and hugged him. Juliet did not even need to think about her next action. She marched downstairs, called father and explained her problem.

***

"Get out"
"But wh..."
"Get out. My daughters' reputations will not be sullied by your actions. Get out of my house. You are no daughter of mine" Grace fell backwards, then straightened up. She looked her father in the eye and spoke slowly and calmly.
"The best of intentions are always met by the foulest of devils." She looked to Juliet who smirked to herself, "mother was a kind, caring woman. Infection killed her, not Barnaby, and yet you torment him. You spout religious rhetoric, but it is you who will pay. the deepest circles of hell are reserved for the violent and the evil,

"While mother sits at the right hand of God your place in the frozen wastes beside Lucifer is already named. Goodbye father." With that she turned and made her way out of the house, her belongings filling only a small suitcase, the rest taken by Mr. Williams.
"Stupid bitch, get out!" Screamed Juliet.
"And don't come back! Bitch!" Anna recieved a slap in the face from her father.

Barnaby sat in his room. Then he prayed. Not to God, but to his mother. Father prayed to God.

Grace was getting into the taxi when she heard her name screamed from the opposite side of the road. She turned and saw a small boy sprinting towards her, a huge smile on his face and a small picture frame in his hand.
"Grace, wait!" Grace got out the car and turned fully to greet him, her arms wide open. Out of the corner of her eye she saw it speeding towards Barnaby like a bullet from a gun. She screamed.

***

The driver falls asleep at the wheel. A long night and a long drive take their toll on the simple man. He awakes in time to register his speed and the boy not ten feet from his car. Time stops. The man calls out in vain.

Screams.

Silence.

A bright light.

Chapter Six-

The wards smelled too clean; sterile and cold. Amy Kent wiped away the tears, dabbing at her red eyes. The scene played back in her head; Barnaby running across the street, the white Sedan with the sleeping driver, the scream of a young woman, then the sickening crack of bones shattering...the cold feeling of loss came again, bringing with it another terrible wave of tears. A nurse appeared, offering her condolences. Amy just sobbed into her coat, oblivious to everything around her.

Barnaby was awake, the doctor had said. He was alive, but the doctors could not say for how long. They warned this could be the last time he awoke. Now Grace sat beside the young boy, tears in her eyes. He looked calm, his whole body in a white cast. White, pure, somehow fitting.
"Grace, what's Heaven like?" the question came as a surprise to the girl. Her mind reeled. Then the images of Dante's Divine Comedy came to her.
"Well," she said softly, "it's a huge castle. All the souls live in different parts of the castle; the more holy you are the closer you are to the centre, where God lives."
"But father prays to God..."
"Dad worships a different god...he thinks he does what God wants, but he's wrong."
"Is mother in Heaven?"
"Of course. Mother is As close to God as anyone can be."
"Mother must sit next to God...she's an angel"
"Yes Barnaby. Mother sits with the other saints and the angels beside God."
"Will I go to Heaven?"
"Yes Barnaby. Mother has saved you a very special place, closer to God than any other. You'll finally meet her Barnaby. She'll be so proud of you."
"Are you proud?" Grace smiled sadly.
"Yes Barnaby, so proud. Now, sleep. I'll be here when you wake."
"Yes, I think I will sleep. Goodnight Grace."
"I love you Barnaby." Tears filled Grace's eyes as the boy's eyes closed.

One continuous tone.

A white light.

Silence.

***

Amy Kent fell to her knees and wailed. Tears rolled down her face as her head touched the floor. Grace too sobbed and moaned. The nurses did what they could, but nothing can help the immediate sorrow of those who are left behind.

***

John Williams sat at his desk, the fire burning brightly in the hearth. Juliet and Anna were gone, taken by the government. Anna was to be rehomed, Juliet, who knew. The old man downed another whiskey and looked to the fire. In it he saw the damned, the frozen wastes. Lucifer stood, frozen to his waist, his three faces chewing those most damned; Judas, Brutus and Cassius. A fourth face leered at him, it's teeth crushing, sharp. John Williams screamed as it opened, turning towards him. He saw only one escape. His final scream was cut short.

Epilogue-

The classroom is dark, a solitary light bulb flicking on and off in the corner. The room is roughly square with a large blackboard covering the wall beside the door, which is painted green. The paint is peeling slightly, giving the door a used, almost dilapidated look. Desks are scattered into rough columns, loosely regimental. Posters proclaiming the benefits of learning and the dangers of idleness are placed intermittently along the remaining walls. Paintings made by young boys are grouped together into a bundle on a workbench on the back wall. The door opens, creaking slightly as a lone figure enters the classroom.

A tall, slender woman with brown bobbed hair entered the room, her eyes pools of tears. She moved slowly to the desk at the front, and sat down slowly, putting her head in her hands. She began to cry. A sudden Autumn chill swept through the room. The woman looked up. A window was open. She stood up and walked to the window, pausing to look out on the playground outside, dark, the moon shining brightly out over the swings. Stars shone brightly, a thousand diamonds in the Vast Expanse. She began to sob again, tears rolling down her cheeks again, falling to the floor.

A creaking, behind her. She swept around, a look of hope and dread on her face. A young boy entered. He looked sad, his eyes were cast to the floor, as he slouched to his seat at the back of the room. He sat down, never once looking away from the ground, or his desk. He put his face in his hands and cried. The woman's heart lept, then sank. She walked slowly over, drying her eyes, now bloodshot and red. She wore a friendly, yet pitying smile, in an attempt to calm the newcomer, to make him feel at home. He looked up as she approached, backing away, further into the corner, looking afraid. The woman stopped, and held out her hands. The boy seemed to accept she would do him no harm and sat down again, still watching the woman.

She crouched down next to him, so that her eyes were level with his. She smiled, and put her arms around him, as he broke out into a wide grin, tears rolling down his cheeks once more. He threw his arms around the woman, hugging her tightly. She smiled and hugged the boy tight. They appeared to leave time behind, to ignore it, as though nothing in the world could, or would, ever matter. The sun began to rise. The sound of school buses arriving outside could be heard now. The woman let go, and the boy followed suit. She stood, her hand offered to the boy. He took it and stood, clutching the woman's hand like he never wanted to let go.

The woman and the boy are standing now, looking at each other, like long lost friends, or relatives. They smile broadly at one another, then walk towards the door, opening it and leaving the room. The light has stopped flickering, now shining brightly, illuminating the room in the early morning gloom. The sun is rising in the sky, inviting the new day. Children are now rushing down the halls outside to reach their classrooms before they're late, not wanting to be told off by angry teachers. Above the door is a painting, a young woman, with brown, bobbed hair, and beside her a young boy. Beneath it is a plaque reading;

"Lily and Barnaby, together again"

***

Boys enter the classroom, filing to their seats, shouting raucously to one another. The teacher enters the room. She is short, and dirty blonde hair falls down her back like a waterfall. She walks to her desk and begins the lesson, calming the class. She pauses for a moment then glances to the painting above the door. She smiles, a tear gathering at the corner of her eye. She blinks it away and continues the lesson, no sign of her emotion showing.

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