Øski never asked for anything, maybe that is why he was given everything, Ms. Sloggenfield once said about him.
It goes back to childhood, because it always does, doesn`t it?
When Øski was a little kid in the playground full of other kids roaming around like hyperactive lizards in a candystore of flies, crickets and hot sand, he would be the squirrel sitting in the shadow of the great oak, studying a pinecone.
Some of the other boys would approach him with their jars of captured bumblebees. He would try to free the poor little creatures by taking the jar and open it. Though he never made it that far. The bumblebee hunters already knew of the irrational ways of the freak under the tree and they would tease him with their humming glass prisons, sometimes filling the jar with sand or water. Even disgusting yellow lizard pee.
Drowning the small, beautiful flying dots of cotton right in front of Øski. Torturing him.
When he was a schoolboy wearing the same uniform as everyone else, they would all march to the beat of whoever was in charge of the stupid drum at that certain level, but Øski had his own beat.
The others grew to become hyenas. In their eyes, he was still the same odd squirrel who never said much. His gestures and behaviour differed. He was never any good in sports and he had little interest in the social activities outside the classroom, even inside the classroom he would rather be gazing out the window, instead of following Ms. Sloggenfields English class. Although he never failed the tests, that part was easy to him, in contradiction to everything else.
When asked a question in front of the class he would be awakened from his daydreaming and stutter out an answer nobody understood. The class would burst into laughter, prey on his weakness, ignoring Ms. Sloggenfields diplomatic reply.
He would stare into his desk without daring to look up, watching the subtle texture of the respatex plate turn into a storm of tortured pride as he himself burned up from inside out, until he ran crying out of the classroom making the hyenas victorious. Cursing his lack of ability to handle the monsters as he banged his head agains the walls of the restroom until there was nothing left but physical pain and utter humiliation.
Øski found the hyenas barbaric and he wanted no part of their infantile game anymore. Their bullying made him turn himself into the fireing squad, embracing his martyrdom.
When the ambulance came to pick him up, wounded on the floor, bleeding from the shots, was the turning point. That was the best day of his life. When he embraced the darkness and traveled inwards. Discovered the eternal language carved on the pathways of his soul.
Ing wæs ærest mid East-Denum
gesewen secgum.Oþ he siþþan east
ofer wæg gewat; wæn æfter ran.
þus heardingas þonne hæleđ nemndun.