Stronger

The bus doors opened with a hiss and children poured out onto the grey wet pavement. Zachery stepped out just as the bus doors closed again, he struggled to button up his worn blazer. He couldn’t wait to start Year 8 and finally get a new school uniform. A cold breeze whistled past him as he peered down the dimly lit road and saw barren trees lining his path ahead like scarecrows. Looking at an alleyway to his right, he gazed into the darkness and a chill crawled up his spine. 

He tightened his grip around the straps of his backpack and his tattered black shoes hit the pavement with a splash as he hastened his pace. Zachery shivered as muddy rainwater seeped into his socks, and his mind whisked him away. He bit into the crisp exterior of a fish, its soft flaky interior provided an excellent contrast, and a savoury toasted smell filled his nostrils. A thick woollen hood framed his face and his button-like eyes reflected the smokey fire outside his igloo. Zachery put his hands forward as if he was warming them. He rubbed his cold, wet hands together and grinned. 

He sighed as he approached the main entrance of a grey building that reached high into the clouds. Zachery stood in the rain, looked at the buzzer on the wall, then clenched his fists and walked away. The rain pelted him as he walked back to the door. He stared at the buzzer again and he walked away. He continued to pace like this for some time. Finally, he abruptly pressed on number fifty-eight. There was a long beep as the door unlocked. His small hand touched the lifeless door and with all his weight behind him, he pushed. 

Used cigarette filters littered the floor and a middle-aged lady looked up at him. She closed her eyes, brought her hand toward her mouth, and then exhaled a wave of offensive particulates towards Zachery. He coughed as he fumbled through the zips of his backpack. Eventually, he found a blue tube which he shook, then brought to his mouth. It worked quickly, and he was once again grateful for the oxygen in the air. “He isn’t in a good mood Zee, I heard shouting again,” said the lady in a hoarse voice. Zachery nodded, said nothing, and walked toward the metal double doors, which would take him up to where he least wanted to be. There was a musty smell as Zachery waited in front of the lift doors. He pressed an upward-facing arrow on the silver panel in front of him. There was a patch of dampness that covered part of the wall and carpet. Zachery wretched and backed to the opposite side of the waiting area. An aged lift came to a clattering stop on the ground floor. 

Zachery stood on the crack that separated the lift from the floor. He stared down into the dark depths beneath the building. With a sharp inhale, he began clearing his throat until he felt a mucoid ball form in his mouth. The corners of his mouth spread wider, reaching towards his ears as he thought about what he was going to do next. He let the phlegm dangle from his mouth. It stretched and stretched and stretched then snapped. The phlegm hurtled into the gap and towards the unknown. Zachery relished these moments in between the strange corridor and the misery that awaited him upstairs. With a frown, he stepped into the elevator and pressed on floor five. The lift doors remained open for a few seconds, urging him to leave. Yet, Zachery could only watch as the doors shut and, with a rumbling jolt, the lift began moving. 

Fifty-eight. Rusted golden numbers sat in the centre of the wooden door. Zachery wondered if maybe the letters were just painted gold. Could gold ever rust? He shrugged and knocked on the door, which was opened by a fair-haired young man. His grey tracksuit was almost a blur as he zipped back inside. Zachery didn’t recognise the man but cautiously entered the flat. He walked through a messy corridor and peered into a room on the left. The fair-haired man and three other men were sitting around a TV screen. A young woman was sitting on the lap of an older-looking man. They lined up rows of chalk-like powder on the table alongside a rolled-up note. Zachery could smell the faint oily remains of McDonald’s fries and perhaps even a Big Mac. 

“Zee! Look at the floor. It’s all damp now! I swear, if someone slips...” the young woman said. Zachery stood at the entrance to the room, dripping from his time in the rain. She still had the misshapen purple splodge around her eye and a dark red mark on her upper lip. 

The older man turned to look at Zachery. “You’ll wipe it up, Zee. Won’t you?” He had a calm tone, yet during the following silence, there was a palpable air of tension in the room. The young woman looked away. Zachery nodded. He could hear his heartbeat singing to him, a fast-paced song fuelled with lyrics about running away. His eyes settled on the front door, but he wouldn’t run today, just like every day. He could never run. Zachery walked toward his room. 

“Zee! I told you to wipe the floor!” yelled the older man. The young woman rose and stood at the doorway. 

“He’s just getting out of the wet clothes. He’ll be back, okay?” she said. 

A tortuous vein appeared on the older man’s forehead. He stood up. “If I said wipe something up, he better wipe it up. I didn’t ask him to do it, I was telling him.” He held her arm tightly in his grip. 

Zachery quickly closed his door. He’d seen this movie before and he knew it didn’t end well. Not for him, but more often, not for his mum. The shouting had begun. Sometimes it was about him, sometimes it was about nothing at all, yet always he felt like he was to blame. This time, it was louder than usual. He leaned against the wall and sank to his knees, then wrapped himself in his arms. He rocked back and forth. Reaching under his bed, he grabbed a comic he was reading. He flicked to a page with a bookmark and gazed at a superhero with an S on his top flying through the sky. 

Zachery tried to block out the sound of the arguing by humming tunelessly to himself. He always wondered, what if he was bigger? What if he could do something more? What if he was like Superman? There was a crashing noise in the living room, followed by a thumping noise and a young woman’s screams. Zachery rocked harder and put his hands over his ears. He returned his attention to the comic. 

Superman flew past a girl. She was standing on top of a building, worryingly close to the edge of the roof. Zachery didn’t really know why she was standing there, but he understood that she, too, just wanted to escape. Superman landed gently and put a hand on her shoulder. Zachery touched his own shoulder. He could feel warm droplets as they slid along the sides of his lips. 

“You’re much stronger than you think you are, trust me.”  

Superman hugged the girl, and Zachery held himself tightly. The words resonated within him, pulsating through his mind and shattering his fears. He was stronger. He could do something. The noise in the flat seemed to have settled. Zachery opened his closet, his lips now had a very slight bluish hue. He removed his cold wet clothes and looked for a particular t-shirt. A t-shirt with a red and yellow S at its centre. He was ready. Zachery took a deep breath in followed by a long exhale. Each time he inhaled, courage entered his lungs. With each exhale, his fear reduced. He opened the door. Puffing out his chest, he walked toward the living room. 

There was a knock. 

One of the younger men walked through the corridor and opened the door. Outside stood a man and woman, behind them was the lady from downstairs. They wore black hats with a chequered black-and-white pattern around the rim and a shiny silver badge in the centre. “Hello Sir, my name is PC Paul Marland” He turned to show a number written on his shoulder, “1376, as you can see, I’m with the Met Police. We’ve had a call, just some concerns. People could hear shouting. Is everything okay?” The young man at the door was silent and didn’t move. 

“You bitch! You called the police!” said a man from inside the flat, a woman cried out and the sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed through the corridor.

“Requesting Delta Victor Uniform for a 12D on Balmoral Road.” said the police officer into his walkie-talkie as he ran into the flat. 

The rest of the events were a blur. More police officers filled the flat and arrested the four men. A female police officer sat with Zachery’s mum, who was crying, and another spoke to the lady from downstairs. They took Zachery into the kitchen and put a blanket around him. They gave him a mug of hot chocolate. He should have felt safe wrapped up in the warm blanket, but something inside told him that he’ll never feel safe again. 

He watched from the kitchen as the lady from downstairs talked in her hoarse voice about what she had witnessed over the past few years. She seemed to lose strength in her legs. The police officer helped keep her upright and tried to comfort her. She turned to Zachery, tears flowing from her eyes. “Sorry, Zee. I was too scared to do anything. If only I had called the police sooner. I’m so, so sorry.” 

In reality, Zachery didn’t know what she should or shouldn’t have done. Nobody else seemed to have wanted to help him, yet, this lady had. And so, he knew what he had to do. He walked over to her and placed her icy nicotine-stained hand in between both of his. Looking past her eyes and into her soul, he said, “You’re much stronger than you think you are, trust me.”