So I begin this blog for the pure purpose of rediscovering my passion for writing. I am going to have to work out the rust and cobwebs, but will enjoy it nevertheless. This first one is for [Fiction] Friday #161 with the descriptor: include a telepathic parrot in your story. I may have cheated somewhat with this and there’s a lot of fat and mistakes with tense, anyway, please tell me what you think!

Lisa swings her car through the school gates and pulls into a space marked, “Staff Only.” She glances at herself in the rear-view mirror to check that her headband is holding her dark-brown hair in place. Her over-blushed cheeks are a stark but happy reminder of the sunny weekend she has just spent with her boyfriend, Laurence. She picks up her bag and a collection of folders before pulling herself out of the car. The sun is already threatening to scorch the morning and the air shimmers above the tarmac. The smell of pollen drifts lazily through the breezeless air, carrying the scents of a thousand blossoms, as Lisa begins her usual ramble around the single-storey school.

Her thoughts, for the moment, are random and without form. She lets them drift through her mind the same way her feet drift across the schoolyard. Brief memories of a childhood summer chasing her sister through neighbour’s yards and paddling pools; the hours of gentle repose by the river and warm champagne with Laurence yesterday; the loud, chaotic energy of eight-year olds all with enthusiastic stories to tell about their weekends.

She walks into the school, the walls aflame with amateur works of art,  and makes her way towards the staff room. The caretaker, Vic, nudges her with a door as he wheels a mop bucket out of the supply cupboard. With his headphones in, he doesn’t acknowledge her apology and trudges solemnly away towards the sports hall. The characteristic machine-gun laugh of Becky Harvey, the Year 1 teacher, trills through the door as Lisa approaches the staff room and she is unsurprised, on entering, to see her twirling her hair at Jim Hodges, the Headmistress’ son currently cutting his teeth at the middle school for his PGCE.

“I can’t believe you got away with that! If that’d been me –“ Becky stopped mid-sentence and blushed furiously, her cheeks matching the red highlights of her blonde hair. Jim, either oblivious or careless to Becky’s attention, turns on Lisa, standing up from his perch on the table.

“Morning Miss. Looks like you had a good weekend.” He looked into her eyes intensely as he spoke, and then glances away with apparent disinterest. “There must be a fella involved to make a smile that big.”

The dried-in smells of coffee and dust are momentarily overwhelmed by the sharp spiciness of his aftershave as Lisa walks past him. “Aha, you’re never fully dressed without a smile, Jim.” She saw his eyebrows rise and was inwardly delighted at his silent response. Jim was harmless, Lisa thought, but had an unfortunate cocksure attitude towards women. She shuddered to think on how he might handle a parent’s evening. She flicks the kettle on, looking out of the window at the children beginning to arrive.

“Kettle’s just boiled.” Jim says, and sulks out of the staffroom.

Lisa turns and sees Becky looking at her wide-eyed and smiling. “Okay, tell me everything about your weekend.”

* * *

The children are already in a state of anarchy as Lisa walks in. They shriek and laugh and shout as they chase each other like dervishes around the tables and chairs. With a quick sweeping glance, Lisa is about to clap her hands when she catches sight of Ben trying to cut Tania’s hair with safety scissors. She shouts his name crossly, stopping him mid-cut, and marches towards him.

It’s unfortunate that Ben chose today to practice with the scissors. He doesn’t want to tell Miss Applewood, but he just likes how Tania’s hair feels and wanted to be able to put it in his pocket. But now he’s been caught and he can tell Miss Applewood’s not completely angry with him but Tania is and she uses her hand to push him in the face and it hurts but he doesn’t want to cry. Miss Applewood grabs them both by the hands and makes them apologise to one another. She hasn’t noticed the two children – a boy and a girl – standing by the parrot’s cage. It’s too late for her to intervene when the girl suddenly lets out a high pitch scream.

Lisa whips round to see a bright flash of red cut the air. Jannine, a bossy and energetic eight-year old holds her bloody hands to her face as she screams. Damian stands quietly at her side, his face and hands and clothes splashed with crimson. The teacher’s horror eases when she sees the blood coming, not from Damian, but from something in his hands: the class’ pet parrot. She kneels down by Janine and hugs her tight to her chest. Damian refuses her outstretched hands, instead just staring blankly into space.

“Richard? Go and get Miss Harvey.” Lisa watches as the boy scurries out of the classroom and down the hall. Her thoughts are suddenly stuck on a self-critical repeat. Do something do something do something do something. But she doesn’t know what to do. She wants to yell at Damian, though she doubts he would hear it. He’s autistic, and in that silent stare, the almost imperceptible moaning from the depths of his throat, she sees his mind pulling away from her. Instead of acting, she finds herself engulfed with confusion. It was the bird with whom Damian had formed such a close and healing relationship, the bird through which Lisa had suddenly felt an endearing and personal connection. So now she wondered, why? Do something do something. Why did you do it Damian? Why did you kill the parrot?

* * *

Mrs Hodges sits in her office with Damian on her knee. There is a desk fan that rotates with frustrating slowness, blowing cold blasts of air at the pair through the swampy heat. Wisps of Mrs Hodges’ grey hair dance briefly in the breeze before returning to sit on her shoulders. His groaning has stopped and his concentration is slowly returning. She has managed to clean his face and hands, but his clothes are still dark and wet with blood.

“There’s a bad man, Miss”

Mrs Hodges is caught off-guard by his unprompted talking. “The bad man won’t get you I promise. You’re safe here Damian. You’re mum’s coming to get you.” As she tells him platitudes, she finds herself considering abuse. Could his father be the bad man?

“There’s a bad man, Miss. Polly told me there’s a bad man.”

“Who’s the bad man Damian?”

“Polly told me there’s a bad man. He talks to Polly at night. Polly wants to tell Miss but Jannine tried to grab him.”

The headmistress, unmindful of what he’s saying, finds herself somewhat relieved to hear the little boy speak. Her secretary knocks on the door to say that Damian’s mother has arrived and she rushes through, her face creased with anxiety, to sweep her son of the headmistress’ knee.

* * *

Lisa has managed to calm the class with the help of Becky. Her hands are still shaking though as she holds a book open and reads to the children gathered on the carpet. For a brief moment she has considered going home, but the children seemed to have already forgotten and are – for the most part, smiling back at her. Richard and Thomas are pulling faces at each other, sat cross-legged at the back of everyone else. She wants to tell them off, but can already feel a smile growing across her own lips and knows that it would be futile. A figure in the doorway catches her eye and she turns to see the caretaker looking back at her. The blood on the floor hasn’t yet been cleaned up and is covered by a blue mass of paper towels – a clear, small, dirty footprint in the middle of one where Jannine walked over the top.

“Hey Vic, can you come back at break instead please?” Lisa says to the caretaker as he lifts his hand. A bright flash of metal twinkles as it catches the sunlight. Although she knows what it is he’s holding, she is suddenly struck with a debilitating incomprehension. What’s he going to do with that? Why does he have a gun?

And then he fires.

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