He tested the tip of the syringe. The dark green liquid inside spurted out with a satisfying squish. After securing the needle so he wouldn’t get accidentally stung, he packed it up and set of towards school.
The corridor was full of expectant smiles and sniggering. At the end of the passage stood four tall, broad-shouldered figures. And the trap was set.
No insults were exchanged, not ever normal words. He ran towards them, his face a mask of pain, hate determination. He felt the bruises of the other days stinging where they had not completely healed. His cracked rib had also not had enough time to recover, but he jumped anyway.
What came next, he expected.
A punch caught him full in the stomach while he was still in the air, but the syringe was in his hand, the needle free.
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