The Voice of Karma

It is time, the Voice says. It sounds pleased. Fashionably late. Perfect.

You enter the schoolyard. Your heart races. Sweat drenches your body. Never the calmest of people, the situation sets your nerves on edge. This is a bad idea.

Trust, the Voice of Karma whispers. You feel the Voice reverberate through your very soul. You would think that you would have become accustomed to the Voice’s presence after three weeks. But could one ever truly become accustomed to hearing voices?

You hear the pitter – patter of padded feet scampering from the direction of the parking lot. Bullet’s short, stumpy frame appears, his tongue hanging out his mouth like the last shreds of your courage. Three weeks ago you would never have dared go anywhere near the unpredictable guard dog, but a lot had changed since then.

He wants a treat, the Voice says. Give one to him. You pull a piece of jerky out your pocked and toss it. It lands a meter away from Bullet, and he gobbles it up like a vacuum cleaner. The Voice loves it when you feed Bullet. These days you carry around dog treats like they were trading cards. The Voice suggested you spice them up with preservatives from Dad’s surgery. It loves dogs.

You don’t understand why the Voice told you to get here almost an hour later than intended, but you have no reason to question. The Voice has guided you multiple times already. Although the opposite is true too.

Go to the hall. You gulp, tasting bile in the back of your throat. Your palms begin to sweat. For some reason, you recall the Eminem song, 8th Mile. You have no reason to be afraid. Pain is part of life. You can never avoid it. But if you don’t take this opportunity now, your life will be so much more difficult. The Voice speaks with certainty.

You try to calm down as you enter the corridor to the hall. Walter stands at the entrance, a cigarette in his mouth, eyes glued to his phone. He ignores you. Worst security ever.

You plod through the dimly lit pathway, past the cafeteria and the middle grade change rooms. At night, the play ground looks like the darkness after death - silent and foreboding, its mystery unfathomable. 

Girls sit near the stairs. You can’t recognise them, but they recognise you. You hear a few gasps and laughter. Someone exclaims, “Is he crazy?!”

You can see people now. You feel the urge to run and hide. Chris could be anywhere. You can’t make out faces yet, but this would end quickly if he was there. He’s still inside, the Voice murmurs. He waited for you long enough.

You recognise others as you head to the hall, chatting outside while the dance rages within. One of the figures heads toward you at a run. You clench your fists, stomach churning. This is it. Here we go. 

No, the Voice cautions. It’s Zane. It says the name with familiarity, as though it has known Zane for eternity. Perhaps the Voice does know Zane. It seems to know everything you do, and often things you don’t.

“You’re insane, man!” Zane exclaims. He looks ridiculous. He wears a business suit, complete with tie and dress shoes. The dress code is casual. His hair is slicked back with gel thick enough to support a crane, and he wears dark red sunglasses. “I thought you weren’t coming. Why the hell would you come, man? He’s gonna kill you.” His voice fluctuates between the boy he had been and the man he was becoming. A hallmark of adolescence.

Ignore him. Head to the hall. You shrug past Zane, probably your only true friend in the entire school. If you don’t act now, this will only get worse. The Voice of Karma sounds so certain. You feel chills. 

Zane tags along. He has been speaking the whole time, but you haven’t been listening. “He nearly choked me to death. Made me give him my phone. Looked through my messages. He’s gone bonkers, man. You need to get the hell out of here right now!” 

You step into the courtyard. The crowd is larger here as pupils throng in groups of musical bliss, bodies waving about like flags in the wind. Bruno Mars blares in the background. Good music. His latest album. Chris once cracked your Bruno Mars album and called you a fag. You feel anger writhe inside you for a second, then fear as you realise what you are about to do. 

No, the Voice commands. Leave the fear. Hold onto the anger. Always hold onto the anger. Always. It will help you. It’s not the first time the Voice tells you this.

You glance to the left. All the doors to the hall are open. Lights of dazzling brightness and colour sparkle within the hall and cast rainbow reflections upon the paved courtyard. Nobody notices your presence.

“Are you even listening?” Zane asks. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? This dude ain’t playing.”

You hear Chris’ voice in your head this time. You tell anyone and I’ll come back and slit your throat.

You were never the popular one. In fact, the exact opposite. You are the odd one out. Your weight problem makes you the butt of many jokes. Apparently, being overweight is some sort of ticket to let others pick on you.

You were fine in your elementary years. You got along with everyone. Even Teachers liked you. But as you got older, jokes and ridicule you began to surface. It was in the form of laughter and insults, mostly from fellow pupils, but sometimes teachers and coaches as well.

When you began middle school, you were already not well regarded. This caused you to stay away from others, making you more awkward and unapproachable. You sought companionship with others as socially inept as yourself, people like Zane and Liam and Darius. But none of them attracted as much attention from Chris as you.

There were other bullies in school, but Chris was your bully. Some would insult and tease. But only Chris had escalated to violence. It was subtle things at first. Tripping you on the school grounds, punching you on your shoulder, stepping on your toes in class – nothing you couldn’t handle without a good night’s sleep and the comforts of home.

Then it got worse. He would punch you in the abdomen, twist your arm so hard you felt like crying, slap you on the back of your head when the teachers weren’t looking – an endless list. You thought that someone would help you. But teachers never saw anything, and other pupils either enjoyed it or allowed it to happen. Even the good ones.

A month ago, while walking to the school library, in the very corridors you had just passed, Chris had kicked your legs out from under you. You hadn’t seen him. You fell down gracelessly, and he walked by with his friends, Byron and Kel. You recall them laughing. It was an everyday norm for them, and unfortunately, for you too.

You couldn't walk right that night. In the morning, Dad had come to your room. You weren’t ready for school. You told him you had hurt your leg. Dad had a look and took you down to his surgery. There were no broken bones but you had sprained an ankle ligament. He asked how you got hurt. And for some inexplicable reason, you told him the truth.

It was the worst idea ever. Dad called the school. He was livid. You actually felt sorry for Chris. Dad went to school that very day. 

Zane texted you later that night. Chris had been called to the office, along with Byron and Kel. He had demanded Chris be suspended. Chris’ grandfather was called in. There was talking, arguing, and eventually some sort of discussion. Apparently there was no evidence that Chris had done anything to you. He claimed to not have touched you. Byron and Kel backed him.

Three days later you returned to school. You were barely through the gates before they found you. 

Chris accused you of lying. He swore that he hadn’t done anything. You could see in his eyes that he actually believed it. The incident was quite innocuous to him. You tried to explain to him that this time it wasn’t. You had really gotten hurt. 

Chris rammed his knee into your groin. You crumbled to the floor, eyes watering, gasping for breath. That’s when he showed you the knife. 

You saw a deathly glint in his eyes. It was one of those butterfly knives. A Philipino. You had once wanted one for yourself.

“I’ve had enough of you, you fat piece of shit!” You never could understand the hatred in his eyes. His disdain for you was all - consuming. “I didn’t do anything to you! You’re scum! You do it all to yourself!” He kicked you in the abdomen. You were breathless. “Keep your mouth shut about this! You tell anyone and I’ll come back and slit your throat.” You recall the horror in Byron’s eyes. This was unexpected, even from Chris.

You don’t know how long you lay upon the dirt. You were shaken. Tears stung your eyes. Strange. Had Chris finally, after all these years, made you cry? 

Get up, the Voice of Karma had said. You looked around, attempting to identify the source of the Voice. You can only hear me for now. You felt the Voice inside your head, not only heard it. 

That first day you had tried to ignore the Voice. You thought you were just jumpy from your ordeal. But it didn’t go away.

It told you how to avoid Chris. That entire first day, although you had been in the same room with him, you were always just out of reach. The instructions from the Voice were often mundane and unpredictable, but after several days, you were having zero encounters with him.

And so the Voice protected you. You could see that the bully was frustrated that he couldn’t get his hands on you. He amused himself by abusing Zane and others too afraid to stand up to him. Yet from the way his eyes met yours on several occasions, you knew that he wanted your pain.

The Voice suggested you smile each time he saw you. And so you did. It drove Chris insane. No matter how hard he tried, he could never get to you. 

The Voice was always advising. In class, there was still the occasional slap or punch, the random threat or two, but nothing satisfactory enough. Chris wanted you alone, but with the Voice aiding you, he could never create the opportunity.

Then, this morning, you had made a mistake. It was ninth period. The day was almost done, but you were too hungry to wait till you got home. You bit into a sandwich that you had stashed in your desk. A day old, but it should have been fine. Chris grabbed the sandwich out of your hand. That in itself was not new, so you weren’t surprised when he started eating it himself.

His face scrunched up, and he spat the sandwich out. He threw it at you. “This tastes like shit! Did your bitch of a mother make that for you?”

Anger brimmed within. He had never insulted your mother before. The Voice spoke. You didn’t even think to consider the words leaving your mouth. “At least I have a mother.”

The laughter died. It was jarring how quiet a room could become in the space of a moment. Chris looked completely taken aback. Not in a thousand years could you imagine such vicious words. His mother had left him.

It felt like the silence would last forever. Yet only moments passed before Chris’ face reddened. His fists clenched, hate and anger burning within his eyes.

“Take your seat, Nichols,” Mr. Burnley said in his quiet voice. The History teacher had broken the spell. There were murmurs. Heads turned to Mr Burnley. “Silence. We have a lot of work to get through today and I won’t have you delaying the class any further.”

Mrs. Baxter surprised your class with a pop quiz during last period. It was not the best way to end the day. You ran through the quiz as quick as you could. When you finished, she allowed you to leave. Chris was nowhere near done. Until he was, Baxter would keep him there, probably till bell’s end. You practically ran all the way home.

You knew you would not be going to the dance that night. Chris would find you. He’d be waiting. Then an hour after the dance had begun, you heard the Voice. It’s time to go. It’s time for Karma. It’s time to end your suffering.

And against your better judgement, here you are, heading into the dance hall. The Voice bursts with anticipation.

Chris stands at one of the entrances into the hall. Byron and Kel are with him, along with a few other kids. 

You must do as I say. This will hurt. But it will be over soon. Chris’ eyes lock on you like the barrel of a gun. His expression changes. The rage you had seen earlier that day returns in a flash.

Run through the teachers’ lobby. You know the way. Chris hesitates when he sees you begin running alongside the hall. An apparent dead end.

You hear Chris yell your name along with several colourful expletives you’ve never heard before. You gasp with each breath, more from terror than fatigue.

You burst through the lobby. You catch a glimpse of strobe lights and dancing pupils. You fling yourself through the exit at the opposite end. Chill night air pecks your face. During the day, the strip of lawn joining the main entrance and staff parking was out of bounds. You doubt it’s patrolled tonight.

You dodge the few parked cars just as Chris hurtles through the door, a beast in pursuit of prey. The Voice is silent, offering you no further directions. Are you abandoned?

You run as fast as you can. Chris swears at you in a tirade of unstoppable curses. You catch a glimpse of the main entrance and Walter lounging with his phone. Is this your salvation? Has the Voice led you to Walter? You almost cry.

Ten meters away and clear of the parking lot, Chris smashes into you. You fly to the ground like a sack of wheat. You land on your elbow, the skin ripping free. Chris is on top of you in an instant. You can’t hear what he says as he repeatedly drives his fists into your face. Lights dazzle before your eyes. You feel a strange dissociation as your head repeatedly hits the ground and rebounds back up, only to be slammed by Chris again and again as though he were bouncing a basketball. 

You lose track of time. Pain blurs your vision. It takes a few moments before you realise he has stopped. You see the knife glint like the eyes of a hunting tiger in Chris’ hand. His eyes were frenzied. Voices screaming in the distance. Others approaching. Too late to save you.

 “I’m going to slit your fuckin’ throat.”

The knife never reaches you. You blink in confusion. Chris is gone.

Screaming drives the muddiness from your mind. You manage to wobble into a sitting position. You see shapes around you. You make out Kel and Byron. Zane is there too, along with several others. They look traumatised. A few are shouting at someone behind you. 

You turn toward the screaming. Chris lies on the ground. Upon him is Bullet, body bristling like a rabid wolverine as the bulldog tears into him with unrivalled ferocity. The Voice chuckles. Dogs are loyal to those that keep their bellies full. Comprehension dawns upon you. The Voice made you befriend the dog. The Voice told you to mix in those ‘preservatives.’

Chris stops moving. Bullet turns to face you. The bulldog’s face is dripping with blood. You hear Walter shouting. The watchdog scurries away into the darkness. The security guard kneels beside Chris. 

“Oh shit! Oh Jesus Christ! Oh shit!” he exclaims, examining Chris’ motionless form. He places his hands on his head, sporting a look of disbelief. “Holy shit! Someone call an ambulance! Someone call one of the teachers! Holy shit!”

You lumber to your feet, swaying from the hammering you had just received. You somehow stay on your feet. Nausea washes over you like a tidal wave, and you empty your stomach. You reflexively await the laughter that should follow, but none comes.

“On my God!” Walter wails. He repeatedly pushes down on Chris’ chest. You don’t have much medical knowledge, but a chill runs down your spine on seeing the gaping hole in Chris’ throat. The knife is still clenched in his hand. “Oh my God! Help! Someone help!”

It’s changing!. The Voice sounds exuberant. It vibrates with ecstasy. You feel a tremor all around you, as though the very universe itself is transforming. The chaos around you is distant now. In your mind, you see the Voice. A man. He looks so familiar. Its changing! I’ve done it! I’ve changed things!

You can no longer hold yourself upright. You slide to your knees. You are free! I am free! We are free! The world spins around you. You know with certainty that you are losing consciousness. You see Zane above you. His lips move but you can’t hear him.

You don’t know if it is the trauma or the significance of this moment that causes the galaxy above to tremble. In your mind you see the Voice again. That all too familiar face stares back, a reflection in a mirror. The future has changed. Darkness swallows you.