Your name is Abraham. You're in a young offenders home like everyone else. You're relatively young, well-off, charismatic, and tough. Although things in your dorm are pretty quiet, your cousin Boaby is having a tougher time. He's in another wing altogether, miles away from where you are, but news of his troubles have reached you all the same.
Specifically, there's a evil lanky bastard with a love for blondes named Garry who struts around making everyone's life hell. He's good friends with Iain, a little fat bastard with a thing for thigh-high boots.
But although you hear they're doing some pretty awful things, it's far enough away from you not to bother intervening. Stories reach you about Garry kicking a pasty kid named Pete out of his bed altogether, but still you do nothing. Even Boaby is starting to feel the heat, but your families had an old feud and some wounds run deep.
Then another one of Garry's cronies, a short, merciless wanker named Jimmy comes to your wing. Not only that, but while you're in the shower, he sneaks into your dorm and takes an enormous shit, right on your pillow. This, of course, is unacceptable. You decide to act.
Being of questionable constitution, Iain wilts in the face of your anger. Garry, though, proves more obstinate. The fight goes on for a long time, but with help from Boaby and a few other distant cousins from other wings, you get the better of him.
Relative calm seems to have been restored and everyone else in the institution thinks more of you. But what to do with Jimmy? He's still causing trouble and, of course, there was the turd incident. With adrenaline still pumping from the fight with Garry, you decide to go to extremities with Jimmy. You bodge together a home-made gun, go to Jimmy's bed and shoot him in the leg. He screams; three days later you come back and shoot him in the other one.
No one has ever seen anything like it before. You've gone from being known as tough to absolutely fucking mental. Your name rings out across the institution – even those in charge of the place are afraid of you. You're the fucking daddy now.
Garry seems reticent for the whole affair; he becomes withdrawn, goofy almost (although he continues to excel in tech classes). Iain too seems sorry and goes back to the kitchen (he still likes his boots though). Finally there's Jimmy who's crippled, but gets so good at tech that he one day builds new robotic legs. A shame, really, that these days the bank is on his case for bad debts.
All should be right and peaceful but now you're at the top, the power has gone to your head. You start roughing up virtually every kid in your dorm, with the exception of Ciaran who sleeps on the bunk above you.
You run around the entire institution, letting it be known that if people don't agree with your thinking, they're in trouble. Meanwhile, the authorities largely turn a blind eye to your racist bullying.
So life continues until one day you hear about a kid named Victor in a new wing altogether. The poor bastard seems to be going schizophrenic: your friend on one hand; talking smack about you on the other. You decide to track him down.
On finding Victor you discover that he is actually suffering from split personality disorder. To help chase away the demons, you move into his bed. That doesn't help, so you try to beat it out of him. Nothing. Things get worse and on more than one occasion, you try to rape it out of him.
Strangely, for all this show of force, you still can't get rid of these dark thoughts of his – in fact they're getting stronger. If it wasn't for the good side of his character, you might get your gun, but instead head back to your dorm, brew a poison to try and medicate the problem. It has horrific side affects, but still doesn't change Victor's personality.
Eventually, you write him off as lost and head back to your own wing despondent. Your reputation has been tarnished by the whole thing and it's better to cut ties. Victor, though defiant, is left terribly scarred by the whole experience.
Yet, no sooner have you returned to your bed when you hear that another kid in Victor's dorm, Charles, is starting to become similarly confused. You can't stand the thought of this: having been humiliated by Victor's disobedience, it makes you feel sick. But you can't go round and treat Charles the same way as you did his room mate – the authorities may turn a blind eye occasionally, but everyone has their breaking point.
Instead you decide to try and let Charles cure himself. In order to keep distance from the ugliness of his inner turmoil, you simply leave notes on his bed, egging him on. Deep in the grip of madness, Charles starts self-harming in a most horrid way, tearing at his skin and arms, biting himself... He pleads with you for a knife to speed it up – your gun even. But you give him little other than encouragement. Poor Charles, in his desperation, sneaks out to the shed and steals a load of farming equipment, which he uses to maim, torture and ruin his own body.
Someone of your reputation should step in and help. You have the power. You have the money. You even have a gun. But you don't – instead you sit back and make it worse.
Somewhere in the recesses of your being you know your story won't end with happy redemption, but you're past caring. You can barely remember what happened with Garry and how popular you were. Your thirst to dominate life is insatiable and if anyone even looks at you the wrong way, you stare back and pat your gun.
Your name is Abraham. And you're an utter c***.
