The story of a murderer - Prologue

Lonely teardrops were hitting the ground of the playground. The chains of the swing squeeked with every swing the little boy made. What had he done to call this upon himself, to deserve this. He had always been a good boy. Why did no one like him? Why wasn't his mum there? 1

He looked up to see if could see the old, red car of his mother. But all he could see were other children walking hand in hand with their dad or mum. Laughing and having fun. Also he could see mrs. Graham walking towards him and the swing.2

'Is your mum late, again, sweetheart?' She asked with her soft, gentle voice as she crouched down to him. He nodded and looked with his big, green eyes, filled with tears to the older lady. He bit on his lips to prevend more tears taking his sight. They weren't worth it. 'She works really hard, doesn't she?' She asked in an attempt to comfort the ten year old boy, even though she knew it was not true. This time he shoke his head. He bit on his lips even harder to opress the upcoming anger he could feel. 'I'm sure she'll come. There must have been something that slowed her down. She wouldn't forget you. Your mum loves you, Delmar.' 3

'And what if she doesn't? If she has forgotten about me?' He snapped.4

'Don't talk such nonsense, Delmar. Why don't you come inside with me, it's freezing here. I can make you hot chocolate. You can wait 'till your mum comes, and otherwise I'll bring you home. Okay?' He didn't speak a word, but followed her with a nod.5

After the blistering cold, the normally most hated place seemed suddenly very nice. Now there were no other children, he started to realise how incredible big the building was. When the corridors were crowded, it didn't look as huge as it did that midday, when he walked behind the back of the nice, old Mrs. Graham. It would make him feel like he was walking to his own execution, but the old school had never looked so big. Doors without windows seemed to appear from nowhere - or maybe he'd just never noticed them - and made him wonder where they would lead to. Absurd ideas about cellars and coal-sheds where he could lock those mean bulliers, walked his mind. 6

He ended up in front of school's most feared door. The door to the teachersroom. He had only been there two times before. One time with a black eye, caused by Pete. The other time when he had threatened to push someone out of the window. Not one of his finest moments in his ten years of history.7

Mrs. Graham opened the door and pointed at a chair. Delmar guessed he was supposed to sit there. The teacher mumbled something about being back in a minute and then left. The arm chair he was sitting in was made of wood, with pastel green carpeting. It was ugly, really. 8

'Here you go,' Mrs. Graham smiled as she put the hot chocolate on the table in front of them. The boy thanked his old teacher politely and took a sip of his hot chocolate. About the same time a woman in her mid-twenties opened the door.9

'What are you doing here?' She yelled, quite histerical. 10

'I was waiting for you, I thought you had forgotten about me.' Delmar replied frightened.11

'On the playground, I said! Not here in this ugly, smelling room for boring people.'12

'I'm sorry, ma'am, it's my fault.' The old lady stood up and shoke the hand of the young mother. 'I'm Catherine Graham, your son's teacher.'13

'I know who you are,' Ava Gray replied blunt 14

'He was waiting outside, it was cold and he looked rather sad because you didn't show up so I -'15

'I did show up! I'm here now, can't you see..?' The woman said agrivated in her shabby, British accent. 'Delmar, let's go.' She smiled to the boy, hiding her anger she felt towards the boy. He followed her, scared of what would happen next. As they left the door he mumbeled a poor goodbye to his teacher. 16

The heels of the woman that would be his mother made noise with every step she did on the brown tiles. She seemed to be in a hurry, cause she speeded up every minute a bit more. 17

'Why did you do that?' She asked furiously to the boy as she fastened his seat belt. 18

'Auch. I did what?'19

'Why did you come with her? Scum is what they are.'20

'Mrs. Graham is nice!' He replied quite astonished by the rude comment of his mother.21

'I'm sure she smiled really polite at you. Of course she looked charming to you. And then, as soon as you're attached to them, they'll tell you I'm a bad mother. They always do.' The engine made a roaring sound and off they went.22

'She would never do that. She actually told me you loved me and that I didn't have to worry cause you're a great mum.'23

'Do not lie, Delmar. We both know how she thinks about me and people like me. Just because our tits aren't hanging on the floor like theirs, they think we can't raise a child.'24

'But she really said so!'25

'Delmar, I tell you once again, do not lie, you fuçking piece of crap.' 26

As soon as he walked into the house, a smell of scotch hit him. It was disgusting to the point it made him want to throw up. He threw his school bag and coat on the floor and sneaked upstairs to his room. 27

Unlike the rest of the house, his room with the blue walls was tidy and smelled like fresh air. As he was looking for the key to the door, he closed the window to prevend the rain from coming in. Half way their trip back to their house, he refused to call this mess his home, it had started to rain and storm. Just before he locked the door, the voice of his mother prevented him from doing so.28

'Delmar, get your ass over here.' She shouted angrily. Delmar could swear he heard himself make a cartoon-like "gulp" sound. He rushed himself downstairs, before she got the change to shout at him again.29

'Why can't you ever clean your fuçkin' mess behind your fuçkin' âss, you fuçkin' worthless pig? I almost broke my fuçkin' legs!' She shouted again, waving with a bottle of scotch melodramatic in the air and in her mouth a cigarette. Maybe if this wasn't a routine, tears would have taken his sight. But all he bothered to do was to shrug his shoulders and put his bag and coat where they belonged. 30

'What on earth is wrong with you?' She continued. 'Mind my fuçkin' stuff, you filthy dog.' She threw the umbrella he had barely touched with his schoolbag at him. It hit him on the shin-bone.