Prologue

 **This is a prologue to a book I've been writing and rewriting since grade 8. It's science-fiction, with a touch of fantasy. Sort of a anti-superhero story. The main character I originality based on myself (same initials and everything) but as the character progressed and grew I realized that he wasn't me, he was my dark side. And, although, he is a bit of a dick, I do intend to turn him around. He's always been good for unloading my inner angst hehe. But just so you know, I'm not really like this hehe.** 

             This one’s name is Mac Alcott.

             Previous teachers and administrators describe him as a good boy. His grades are decent, his temperament is calm, and his behavior is exemplary; there is no mention in his files that he has ever been in any trouble, save warnings on his continual tardiness and some absentees, which considering his clean record could be easily ignored. Some years in the files are even skipped, which reveals that he is shy and has enjoyed flying under the radar for many years. The dossier suggests that he is the type that does not like being noticed.

            Today on the other hand…

            Vice-principal Trip lowers the manila folder and stares across the desk at the teenage boy sitting calmly in a deliberately uncomfortable chair in a blandly decorated grey-walled office. The boy stares back with eyes that are sometimes blue, sometimes green, as if they had trouble deciding what colour to embrace. Mac watches Trip with curiosity waiting to see what he’ll do, like watching an animal at the zoo. He reaches up to scratch at a scrawny thin attempt at a mustache, nonchalantly, that grows in orange clashing with his brown hair.  

            Trip leans over the table glaring grimly at the boy. The bald spot on his head reflects the sunlight from the window into Mac’s eyes like an interrogation light. He folds his hands on the desk and squeezes his fingers together forcing a few knuckles snap; the man knows how to intimidate students.

            Trip sighs and pulls his dark eyebrows together. “Do you know why you are here?”

            Mac nods without hesitation, with little to no change in his blank expression.

            “Oh I see…” Trip looks down at his desk then leans back. “Well, why don’t we go over the details just for humor?”

            Trip waits for a response, but the boy leans back in the chair as if ready to listen to an old amusing story from a grandparent. A slight crease forms next to his mouth as it turns slightly upward.  

            Trip reaches for a drawer in his desk subconsciously. Inside are his ulcer pills. But the drawer is stuck. He tries not to wince in front of the boy as he struggles with the drawer and reveal his desperation but catches Mac’s eyes veer towards the sound of the drawer’s conflicted creeks. Trip quickly realizes that he needs to regain ground; having gone for the drawer has given away the integrity of his position. Somehow his ulcer and the medication had become common knowledge throughout the school.

            Mac returns his gaze. Trip scrutinizes them and expects to see an element of triumph in the boy’s dim eyes, but Mac reveals nothing. Frustration at his inability to read the student makes Trip want his pills even more but he refrains.

            “Randy has a broken hand; we have camera evidence showing the culprit was you.” Trip begins. “I also have a science teacher telling me you walked into class late and told him to, well, let’s just say you told him off rather impolitely. Between being kicked out of class and coming to the office, which I have a strong feeling you weren’t planning on doing, you meet Brendon whose nose you decided to forcibly destroy. His screams alerted a teacher but you were gone by the time she arrived. You were next spotted in the cafeteria by the hall monitor pushing a student down, whom, oh… I don’t know, was in your way or something?” Trip lifts his hand palms up and waits for Mac to respond. 

            Mac only nods his head in conformation. There is no change in his expression.  

            Trip flexes his jaw.

            “The hall monitor tries to scold you and you retort with more colourful phrases forcing him to physically escort you to the main office. By the time you are brought here, I am receiving reports left, right and center of these escapades from all over the school.” Trip beams the most dreadful scowl he can muster across the table. “I’ve never had to piece together a story so intricate in my entire life!”

            Trip waits and watches the boy looking for something–anything.

             “Have you anything to contribute, some sort of explanation?”

            Finally, the boy’s eyes divert from his scholarly superior. A moment passes as thoughts are compiled. Mac’s eyes finally return and his response is a simple shake of the head.

            Trip leans back in his chair and considers the situation:  Such sudden defiance expressed by a boy typically complacent must point to some sort of catalyst. Mac’s action were clear; an under-the-radar lad strikes out at people, many of whom have been before Trip on several occasions for misbehavior, pointed to Mac having been the target of some of their antics and finally snapped back like a cornered animal, but the story was incomplete. First, the severity of the backlash; broken bones and distribution of cusses all-round appeared more like a rampage than a sudden burst of tension. Normally, under such circumstances, there was only a fight to break up, not several. Second, Mac’s defiant, uncaring expression with a touch of enjoyment at the havoc he had caused. Usually, kids that suddenly lash out show remorse or fear. Mac reacts like everything is trivial.

            “I am giving you one month’s suspension.” Trip announces. “I’d like you to know that I have never given such a suspension in my entire career and by all rights I should be expelling you, but this has come out of the blue, and those you have physically attacked are not in my good-books, leading me to suspect they either asked for it today, or asked for it in the past. But the severity at which you brutalized them was way out of line. Get into a fight, fine, but don’t hurt them!” Trip rises slightly from his seat leaning over his desk hopefully to establish a sense of intimidation in the student. “And I kid you not little man, if you return to this institution with the same demeanor you are showing me now, you will not be given another chance.”

            Intimidation fails; Mac shows no reaction. He moves to position his chin in the heel of his hand and takes in the outcome as if he were hungrily watching a soap opera drama.  

            Trip’s patience comes to its end. He clenches his teeth, slams his fist down on the table and lays down an ultimatum, “You have three seconds to respond or get out my office before I change my mind!”

            Mac gets up and leaves the room.

            The door closes. Trip is left starring at an empty chair. He reaches down and struggles again with the stubborn draw until it gives into his demands. He retrieves the small bottle and swears in his attempts to undo the child safety lid. It gives way and he tosses a capsule into his mouth.

He flips open the file on his desk and begins turning the pages reading the lack of information within. What he reads doesn’t make sense; he has never seen something like this before in all his years in education and he can’t shake the feeling that something is terribly wrong. The boy is shy and quiet one day then goes berserk the next. What happened to the nice boy? Was he even there in the first place?

Trip begins to realize that the Mac Alcott described in the file was not the same Mac Alcott that had been sitting in his office.