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[TheLameSauce]

Here is a couple paragraphs of a story idea I've started working on. As it is only the first couple paragraphs I am more curious as to whether it gains your attention. Whether you would want to read more.

`Lorne ran his finger along the mortar trenches connecting the bricks that formed the south exterior wall of Lewis Elementary School, pacing the wall's length as he did. He liked the way it felt, randomly textured against his fingertip like tiny hills and valleys. Occasionally, flecks of the material would break off and lose themselves in the dirt below as he followed the trails upward above his head and downward parallel to his knees. It was warm for a fall afternoon. The sun shone with subtle persistence through a light smattering of cloud and fell cozily on Lorne's face. Combined with the relative quiet of the school's southern region, the weather had a calm and relaxed effect. It was pleasant.

"Well, if it isn't Lauren."

All pleasantries evaporated as Tyler lilted the name. Ben and Greg chuckled mindlessly from behind his shoulders. The joke couldn't be funny anymore. It had been repeated relentlessly throughout the school days. The first couple times Lorne had even tried to correct them, repeated his name with its intended single syllable pronunciation. This just made them laugh more. Tyler shielded his face with his hand, and squinted the hazel from his eyes.

"What are you doing out here, Lauren? Cheerleading practice?" More involuntary snickering burst forth from Tyler's companions. Ben and Greg edged closer, standing side by side with Tyler.

"I'm waiting for my brother. He should be out soon." They were up to something; he could see it kindling in their eyes. Lorne stretched his head and peered into the glass window of the south door. Jackson's class had been dismissed; some of his classmates were wandering the hall. But, Jackson was nowhere to be seen. He was probably still in the classroom discussing his behavior with Mrs. Walliams. Jackson was far more comfortable than Lorne in front of his peers. He told jokes and stories, played games during recess and had friends. And occasionally, Jackson would talk himself into trouble. Something Lorne's reticent predisposition managed to avoid, from his teachers anyway.

"Oh, that's cute. Does he cheerlead too?" Tyler advanced on Lorne. He stood inches from him, chest to chest, smiling with faux friendliness. "Why don't you show us some of the cheers you've been working on?"

Lorne eased his left foot back a few inches before it abutted the brick resistance of the wall behind him. He wasn't a small kid; he was roughly the same size as Tyler and Ben and had a good twenty pounds on Greg. But, he was alone. His only real hope was that Jackson and his teacher would emerge before Tyler and his cronies continued with whatever they had planned.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Tyler. Just leave me alone." Lorne turned, he stepped toward the door. If he could make inside they would leave him alone. There would be witnesses, teachers would hear. They probably wouldn't even follow him in. Lorne felt Tyler's hand grab his shoulder. He felt his fingers sink underneath his collar bone and drag him back.

"Where are you going? You were going to give us a cheer." The blood behind Lorne's ears pulsed and burned away the edges of his vision. He was feeling desperate. He shifted his weight toward Tyler, put his hands under Tyler's right armpit and pushed. Almost immediately, there was a blunt pain in the gentle area beneath his ribcage. The air was pushed from his lungs in a strangled gasp. Lorne fell to his knees, his stomach seized and his mouth flopped ineffectively as his body tried to breathe again. Ben's sucker punch frenzied Lorne's instincts; sent them spinning into a blind survival mode. The world around him receded and he sat on his knees choking with no one.

"Oh, you made him cry, Ben."

Their voices sounded muffled, removed even. Lorne was crying. He could feel the warmth streaming down his cheeks.

[TheLameSauce]

maybe if i give you more, i'll get more?

Their voices sounded muffled, removed even. Lorne was crying. He could feel the warmth streaming down his cheeks. He felt so weak, so very worthless. Suddenly, oxygen flooded into Lorne's lungs again. He began to suck in the air greedily. He wanted to stand up to them. He wanted to fill his now functioning respiratory system with the miasmic atmosphere surrounding him and spit the blood from his bitten tongue in their faces. He wanted to fling the awful, loathing words he had been bottling up at his tormentors and watch them rip the flesh from their bones. He wanted them to not only know he was strong, but that he was better than them. He wanted to make them fear him. But, he knew he wouldn't.

He would sit there quietly sniffling until they decided he'd had enough and left him alone. Then he would look back on these events while he lay in bed that night, and he would hate himself for being so pathetic. What could he do? He wasn't the confrontational type. He wasn't meant for these situations. Maybe if his parents had given him a better name, like Jackson's, things would be different. Maybe then sadists like Tyler wouldn't feel the need to torment him.

Lorne Welke was by all accounts an admirable man. He flew planes in a war, started his own roofing business and raised two daughters by himself. Lorne's mother was an endless supply of enamoring Grandpa Welke stories, each starring a man of unmatched resolve and character up until the day he died. Lorne had never met his namesake, but it was hard not to feel proud of him. It should have been an honor to be named for such an unequivocally great man. Unfortunately for Lorne Welke's grandson, it was a curse.

"Ben, you should apologize." Tyler reprimanded his friend with heavy straight faced disapproval. Ben deadpanned his contrition in return.

"I'm sorry I hurt you, Lauren."

This exchange sent their joke to a new level of hysteria. Ben and Tyler laughed hardy belly laughs that Greg backed with high pitch squealing. Lorne couldn't even look at them. He stared intensely at the ground, wishing they would leave. Eventually their ill-gotten elation died down.

"Come on, Lorne. I barely hit you. You don't have to lay there like you're dead." Lorne didn't respond; he was doing his best to separate himself from the situation. He was escaping internally, deep within his interior shell. He was almost gone.

It was unnerving watching Lorne. He rocked himself back and forth on his knee caps, humming steadily, thick mucus rich strands of saliva stretching from his lips to the school yard soil. His eyes were open but blank, a ghost town with the lanterns still burning.

Tyler was losing his comfort level with the situation. Unease crept from his stomach and into his throat. He corralled his friends, pushing them away from Lorne's fetal, pendulating body. Ben followed readily, but Greg resisted continuing to stare at the display with sick interest.

"Greg, come on. Let's go." Tyler's voice, still veiled in confidence, broke the fixation. Greg jogged to catch up with his friends, tossing a last glance at Lorne just before he met them. There may have even been an undertone of concern painted beneath the colors of his face. But if there was, it was fleeting. They disappeared into the woods behind the school, moving onto better things.

It was a few minutes before Lorne came back to reality. He slid through the darkness, as if in a tube slide, until he hit the cool brightness of the water beneath. Tranquility returned to the south of the school. Birds whistled and soft breezes rustled tree branches. Lorne wiped his sleeve across his face, drying his mouth. This was Jackson's fault.

If he didn't need to be the center of attention, none of this would have happened. Lorne wouldn't have had to wait for him. They would be half way home, and he never would have run into Tyler and the anguish he caused. Lorne stood and brushed the dirt, twigs and leaves from his clothes with infuriated flails. Squeezing the handle until his knuckles ached; he flung the south door open and marched into the school building.

Mrs. Walliams was locking her room as Lorne entered. Her classroom was closest to the building's entrance and she was startled by the child's sudden emerge. Her keys jangled melodiously as she collected herself and pushed them into her purse.

"Geez, Lorne. You scared me."

Mrs. Walliams was one of the younger teachers on staff; recently married to a husband no one on campus had ever seen. She had ample raven hair that she kept tied off in a pony tail, save one lock that fell from the center of her hairline and curled above her left eyebrow. Her skin was an easy brown shade, like coffee with a good portion of milk added. She had a friendly smile, and intelligent green eyes that tended to gloss over with boredom in her downtime at work. She ate healthily and maintained an enviable figure.

By most standards, she was a very attractive woman. Lorne's blossoming hormones made her almost intolerable to be around. Her direct eye contact threatened something inside him, speaking to her was a daunting labor. He grew shallow of breath and lost track of his focus. He stared at her with dense enamor.

"What is it, Lorne? I'm about to go home." She didn't speak rudely, just with the rushed air of a young lady with something more exciting awaiting her. It was Friday after all.

"Uh, did Jackson leave already?" Lorne felt like an inarticulate idiot awkwardly holding onto his opening filler for far too long. He was flustered and slightly confused.

"Who?" Mrs. Walliams furrowed her well trimmed eyebrows. "There's no one in there. School's been out for thirty minutes."

The conversation was not going as smoothly as Lorne needed it to and he wanted to evacuate it immediately. His eyes danced around the hall looking for his brother.

"So he left by himself?" Lorne asked the question more rhetorically than anything else, each word getting its own dramatic spacing.

"Lorne, are you okay?" Mrs. Walliams lowered herself so she could look Lorne directly in the face. Lorne could smell her breath, it was sweet and minty. She took notice of something that concerned her, and her eyes sparkled with compassion. "Have you been crying?"

"No, I'm fine. Have a good weekend, Mrs. Walliams." Lorne panicked. He retreated impetuously barely hearing her wish him his own good weekend. When he was outside the building, his pace quickened and he ran across the schoolyard toward his home. He was a sad boy. Mrs. Walliams was sure, even without any direct proof, that he was being bullied. But, he was also a sweet boy and she felt sorry for him. On Monday, she would talk to Lorne's teacher; see if she couldn't help make the boy's life a little easier. With that resolution, she bustled to her car.