Ficorpio
Chapter 1
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
First Edition
Chapter 1
1
I don’t know why this kind of thing happened to me.
On the third day of my freshman year of high school, Jax Murphy, the class bully, broke into our dorm with his crew. They kicked the door open with force. Jax swaggered in front, a cigarette dangling sloppily from his lips.
“Empty your pockets, now! And make it quick!” one of Jax’s lackeys yelled at us.
Jax’s father was a notorious local criminal. Rumor had it he once took on twenty guys single-handedly, putting three in the hospital and sending the rest running. He was a feared man. Jax had grown up under that influence, absorbing that thuggish mentality. The other guys in our dorm were broke, their money barely enough for food. If they got robbed, how would they survive?
As the dorm leader, I stood up. Even though my legs were shaking, I managed to say, “What do you think you’re doing? Aren’t you afraid of the RA?”
Jax heard this, slowly walked over to me, and shoved my shoulder like I was his prey.
“Go on, call the RA. Do it,” Jax said with a nasty grin.
Before I could say another word, my head buzzed, I lost my balance, and fell to the floor. My neck felt hot. When I touched it, my hand came away covered in blood.
But that was just the beginning. Jax hit me in the stomach with a metal pipe. I screamed, the excruciating pain bending me double like a dying insect. Jax’s friends surrounded me, kicking me in the head. The world shook before my eyes. Within a minute, I was lying on the ground, covered in blood.
“Hand over the fucking money, don’t make me waste my energy…” Jax pulled my hair and pressed my bloody face under the light so the terrified students could see me clearly.
Soon, my roommates’ resistance broke. Trembling, they handed over their allowance money.
“Damn, only sixty bucks?” one of the thugs cursed.
“My family are farmers… this is all I get for two weeks…” Skinny Billy Watson was shaking with fear. He was telling the truth; his family was really struggling.
“Fuck, why’s a poor kid even bothering with school?” The thug punched Billy. Billy covered his nose, tears streaming down his thin face onto his comforter. Sobbing sounds came from behind his fingers. Billy was broken.
“Where’s your money?” Jax leaned over and spat in my face.
“I don’t have any.” I gritted my teeth in anger, feeling completely powerless.
Jax’s gang searched my bunk and found two hundred dollars under my pillow. Jax took the money, chuckled, and kicked me in the stomach.
It hurt, but I didn’t even have the energy to cough.
“You’ve had too much soda, need some water.” Jax unbuckled his belt with a smile, and the thugs laughed wildly.
I was humiliated, but the dorm was completely silent. I suddenly realized that silence is also a voice—a voice of weakness and selfishness.
If we’d all fought back together, Jax and his crew might not have dared to be so bold. But my roommates just huddled under their blankets, shivering, praying in their hearts for them to leave quickly.
“I’ll remember you,” Jax said before slamming the door shut. He probably took his gang out for burgers and beers.
Chapter 2
All this was just the beginning of the nightmare.
2
The next morning, I went to my homeroom teacher, Mr. Miller, and told him what happened. Mr. Miller was a fat man in his forties. He listened while sipping his coffee. After I finished, he looked at me, then sent someone to fetch Jax from class.
“Jax, did you take your friends to their dorm last night to rob them?” Mr. Miller asked sternly.
“How could I!” Jax looked wronged. He defended himself in a high-pitched voice, “I was back in my dorm by nine last night, studied a bit, then went to sleep. Everyone in my room can vouch for me.”
“Evan Carter says you’re responsible for the injury on his face,” Mr. Miller said, pointing at my wound.
“Mr. Miller, I would never hit anyone! I’ve never been in a fight my whole life. You can ask my dad or anyone who knows me.” Jax stomped his foot in feigned anxiety, putting on an Oscar-worthy performance.
Just like that, all of Jax’s roommates were called in. They were all his lackeys and testified in unison, saying he went to bed early and never left the dorm.
Mr. Miller gave me a complicated look, suspicion in his eyes. I said, “Everyone in my dorm had their money stolen. Call them in, let’s have a confrontation.”
The first one to enter the office was Billy. He shuffled in, shoulders hunched, trembling.
“Did Jax Murphy come to your dorm and rob you last night?” Mr. Miller asked.
Billy glanced at me with a pleading look, then at Jax. Jax was staring straight at him, his face expressionless but his eyes holding a vicious glint.
Billy lowered his head and fell into a long silence.
“Speak!” Mr. Miller grew impatient and banged his desk.
“N-no…” Billy answered hurriedly.
I felt like I’d fallen into an icy pit. I never imagined someone could be so weak.
“Then what happened to your face?” Mr. Miller asked Billy.
“I fell in the shower.”
Just like that, Mr. Miller waved his hand, dismissing everyone. The whole morning was wasted. Mr. Miller looked very unhappy and scolded me, telling me to focus on my studies and stop causing trouble.
At lunch in the cafeteria, since all our money was gone, the guys from my dorm could only afford the cheapest bag of chips, trying to fill their stomachs with water. Billy and the others stayed away from me as if I were bad luck.
I bought a bag of chips and was heading back to the dorm when two students suddenly grabbed my arms from behind and dragged me to the empty lot behind the cafeteria. Jax and his gang were waiting there with malicious looks. I struggled desperately. Jax rushed up and punched me. My lip split and started bleeding instantly.
“He dared to snitch. Beat him dead!”
I don’t remember how many punches and kicks I took. I just felt my body was like a kite with a broken string, drifting here and there, finally ending up in a stinking dumpster. Dirty plastic bags, leftover food, flies buzzing around me…
After Jax and his group left, it started to rain.
I really wanted to get up, but I tried several times and couldn’t even lift my arms.
Suddenly, a white umbrella appeared over my head, and I felt someone grab my arm. Using the support, I sat up, wiped the blood from my face, and saw a clean, concerned face. It was a girl from my class, Luna Moore.
Chapter 3
“Are you okay?” she asked timidly.
“I’m… fine.” I moved my hand away. I smelled terrible and didn’t want to get her involved.
“Let me take you to the school nurse,” Luna said, helping me up without any sign of disgust. Her hair was wet and stuck to her fair face.
I don’t know why, but I suddenly started crying. I tried my best to hold back the tears, but they just flowed uncontrollably.
Wild animals don’t cry when they’re hurt. Only when they return to their warm dens and have their companions lick their wounds does their vulnerability show.
3
From then on, every day was hell.
Jax and his friends bullied me relentlessly: pouring glue on my desk, throwing my comforter in the toilet. Every time I returned from break, they’d rob me of any money I had. Beatings became commonplace.
What was more terrifying was the change I noticed in myself.
It was like I had a terrible disease. Whenever I saw Jax and the others, my body would start shaking, my hands and feet would go weak, and I could barely breathe. I knew I had lost the courage to resist. Fear, like cancer, had seeped into every pore.
I felt like a dog, passively accepting whatever happened.
Fortunately, there was a sliver of light. Every time Luna saw them bullying me, she would look at me with concern. A few times, she even tried to stand up for me, but other girls pulled her back.
I deliberately kept my distance, not wanting to implicate her. I knew Jax’s twisted nature. If I became friends with Luna, he’d definitely target her to destroy what was left of my dignity. So every time we passed in the hall and she tried to say hello, I’d turn away without a word. But a warm feeling would well up inside because I knew she cared.
Everything changed on that rainy night. After evening study hall, I was walking back to the dorm. The downpour was torrential, the wind howled with lightning and thunder. My umbrella blew inside out. Some girls on the path screamed. As I went to grab my umbrella, a loud clap of thunder, like a bomb, made passersby cover their ears. I looked up at the sky and seemed to see a dragon of lightning twisting in the dark clouds.
The next moment, I felt like I was falling into a bottomless abyss. I screamed and collapsed.
There was commotion around me, someone shouting, “Evan Carter got struck! Evan Carter got struck by lightning! Somebody help!”
“Struck” – it’s local slang for being hit by lightning. My eyelids grew heavy, and the world slowly faded into chaos.
When I woke up, it was already afternoon. I asked the doctor how long I’d been out. He gave me an exaggerated number: four days.
“You’re incredibly lucky. Most people don’t survive a direct strike. It’s a miracle you’re unharmed,” a nurse said with a smile as she changed my IV.
“Lucky…” I smiled bitterly. Just then, the door opened, and my haggard-looking parents walked in.
Mom had brought a bunch of home-cooked food. She touched my head pityingly and asked if school was too stressful, why had I lost so much weight.
My parents are simple, hardworking people. My dad’s been a mechanic his whole life; my mom works odd jobs—cleaning offices, washing dishes. They worked tirelessly to put me through school. We never had much money, but I never felt deprived. I remember as a kid, I envied the neighbor’s toy cars and begged my dad to buy me one. But his paycheck was already spent, so he went to his workshop and built me a little car out of scrap parts. It was ugly, black, and the wheels fell off if you pushed it too hard. It was my birthday. I happily opened the box, but seeing this thing, I burst into tears. I smashed the car and called my dad a liar. But he didn’t get angry, just tried to calm me down. My mom, feeling hurt, went to work a late shift mending clothes for a tailor. The next morning, she’d bought a real toy car and placed it by my pillow.
When the morning sun hit my face, I saw the car I’d longed for and jumped for joy. My mother smiled gently at me, hiding her hand, pricked by the sewing needle, behind her back.
“School’s not hard,” I said, my eyes reddening.
“Honestly, son, we don’t care if you get into a top college. As long as you’re happy, that’s enough,” my usually quiet father added, comforting me.
“I know. I like school,” I said, drinking the soup from the bowl and smiling at them.