The Lost Boys

It was early spring in an east midlands town; the sky was the mirror
of this slab with a frown, billowing clouds grey, granite, concrete and
slate. The clash of two titan seasons. The death and harshness that
comes with a grouchy old winter trying to fend off the colour and new
birth of a subordinate and upstart spring. In the playground of the
eleven to thirteen year olds the conscious hibernation had now come to
an end, their new hormones could now be unleashed, winter had stifled
long enough the creative force of the cruellest age group known to man,
their tempers frayed, harnessed for too long, their vision frustrated,
a lust for blood could now be satiated. Within the wired cages Chinese
burns, unprotected money taken and British Bulldog alleviated partially
the strain of their harboured fury. Their pocked skin and scuffed
uniforms matched a blandness of this grimy industrial nowhere, in
twenty years these boys would be men in stations of different rank and
status, some would look back at these days and shudder at the heinous
crimes committed in days yet to pass, some would conveniently forget
and take no responsibility for these bleak acts, whilst others would
remember and care not a jot what happened to the lost boys that were
unfortunate to come to school at the wrong time on the wrong day.



Four figures appeared like an April rainbow at the entrance
to main Foyer to the school, three were not of this place; they shone
like Peacock feathers amongst dead leaves, a man and two?were they
boys? In the cage Hyenas padded restlessly, sniffing the air at this
new unfamiliar scent. A headmaster smiled and shook the hand of man,
who then kneeled kissed the foreheads of the two?were they Princes from
another land? Snorts of derision hissed within the cage, but a gallery
of eyes remained locked, mesmerised at this show of light. The man
smiled gave one final wave and departed in a make of car that even the
most earnest of joy riders within the cage could not identify.




Yes they were boys, each holding a hand of a grinning headmaster, they
were being brought closer to their destiny and this is when they did
the first dreadful thing, they skipped lightly on their sandaled toes.
Their hair was golden long, lush and sleek maybe perfumed? They giggled
joyously, you don't giggle if you are a boy in an east midlands town,
you don't skip unless you have a death wish, but maybe this could all
be forgotten and forgiven if you could desist from all other acts of
unnatural behaviour. It was a pity these boys could not have been
ferried in on dark winters day, the pack's senses would have been
dulled by the cold, lethargic they may not have not noticed or took
interest in Charles and Frederic, it would have given these boys time
to adapt, to soil their uniforms and scrape their hair.



Their lashes were long, and their skin as pristine as their
uniforms, polished brown leather satchels hung proudly from their
shoulders, excitement etched their polished porcelain doll faces,
cherries for cheeks flushed with the excitement of this new cold day.
In the cage the carnivores began to stalk, salivating at the thought of
their hunger being satisfied.


And this was when the boys did that fatal thing; they kissed
each other full on the lips in amongst their fond embrace. Their fate
was sealed, they held hands as they pranced like dressage colts into a
playground cage, the headmaster bade them farewell with a tender
wave.


He had presented the cage unknowingly, with new meat, fresh
prey.


And this is how boys get lost in east midlands towns.