Killing in the Name of: part one.

Most of the blokes in my high school are goody-two-shoes, guys who barely have enough on their minds to get threw the next semester of school. Never have I met a guy here that had gotten detention for more then kicking the soccer ball in the hallway… so really that just left me… James Malcolm Fane, but most everyone called me dirt. No really, not only did they think I was dirt, they nicknamed me dirt as well, I guess they figured that if they thought I was dirt then why waste time thinking up a name worse then what they thought I was worth… so here I am… stuck with my entire town calling me dirt.1

There were a few folk in the town that didn’t think I was worthless, but still they called me dirt, but only because, sadly, I had grown accustom to the name. If someone were to call me James or Jimmy I probably would not react to the name at all, completely oblivious that they were calling out to me. So now I had no alternative name, even if I were to run away I would probably introduce myself as ‘Dirt’ instead of my Christian name James. 2

Sometimes I would meet a tourist or two, they came around every few months, when they would ask for help at the diner where I worked, after I helped them they would ask my name and I would tell them that “my named is Dirt…” and they would look at me, either waiting for me to tell them it was a nickname or a joke or simply that my parents were hippies or something and just wait for my last name, but I never gave it… I almost forgot I had one.3

Anyway, I went kind of far into the story, you’re probably confused like hell…. I’ll start from the beginning.4

I was born in Claire Ireland. As I grew up I didn’t know anyone, I knew we lived close to a town, but that’s about it, never met anybody and nothing ever happened out of the ordinary.5

I grew up without my Ma and my Father died when I was eleven. When he died I was sent to an orphanage in the actual town of Claire, surprisingly there were few other orphans there, maybe two dozen others. I wasn’t use too being around other people so I staid mostly to myself. In fault of never meeting anyone except my father, I was horridly not use to the sound of a chattering crowd, it almost made me go insane it hurt my ears so bad, but no matter how many times I told that to the head mistress she never let me eat in the bedroom where I slept so I wouldn’t have to hold my hands over my ears threw the entire sitting, so since she forced me to eat in the cafeteria with everyone else I would just hurry up at scarf down my food after the prayer before all the real chatter started so that after I ate my serving I could just sit there and hold my hands over my head.6

One time when I was about fifteen or so, Doc Larson came for his once a year thing and had everyone come to the small white washed room in the back of the building. I was almost the last person to go in, but when he came out to get me, I guess he saw the kids behind me that shouted on purpose, knowing that it would make me hurt; I merely winced and covered my ears. When I came into the office he had me sit on a high stool and he just looked at me, I glanced away several times, afraid I had done something wrong and that that was why he was starring at me, because he was disappointed or something, trying to figure out a way to tell me what I had done wrong, but it was quite the opposite. 7

He looked at me, his arms crossed, he cleared his throat. “I saw you out in the hall, Fane.” He used my Christian last name, resenting the nickname that the other kids had given me. “I didn’t notice before, but do you have hearing problems?” he asked. I fidgeted with my fingers.8

“N-no, sir.” I fumbled with the word, he frowned.9

“Really? Cause when I saw you outside it looked like you were sensitive to the noises around you.” He said, knowing that I was lying, and I knew he knew because I had the knowledge that I was a horrible liar.10

He nodded slowly then walked over and leaned on the table next to me. “IN THE NAME OF GOD!” he shouted extremely loud, I almost toppled onto the floor it hurt so badly, my hands were clasped over my ears and tears waited in my eyes. I don’t think he knew how bad it was going to hurt me because he hurried to grab my side and when I looked at him, a frightened and bewildered expression lay in the replacement of his usual cool and calm look. “I’m sorry, lad.” He said and patted my shoulder. I still covered my ears, afraid that another horrid sound would occur. “You know, Fane, they have hearing aids that calm the sound around you so that it would sound normal.” He said, and I listened with a great desire of the item of which he spoke of, but I pushed the thought away. The orphanage still paid for my clothes, I couldn’t pay for something like that, and there were no way blokes in tan suites handed them out at parties or I think I’d be some what of a party animal. I shook my head and hopped of the stool.11

“I feel fine, my head doesn’t hurt and I still have a limp in my left leg,” I said and looked at him, “…so if that’s all, can I go?” I said, he looked at me and for the first time in a long time I saw compassion in someone’s eyes, of course I had seen it there before, but never towards me, I saw it in parents eyes when they saw the little babes in the nursery, I even saw it there when the principle looked at the head mistress, but never at me, for some reason people found an odd reason to be repelled by me.12