The first one.

Late May, 1996

The student, the one he’d been shadowing for years, was two school years ahead of him but a year younger. Pierre-Martin hated the kid because they had the same father, a father who had chosen another woman and abandoned his mother and him. For years, Pierre-Martin focused on wishing Marc Dubois harm, so much so that he unconsciously squeezed his backpack, snapping a pencil.

Pierre-Martin knew Marc, the kid, had no awareness of him or their shared family history. He was getting close to working up the nerve to do something about that kid’s privilege. Pierre-Marin had no qualms about torturing and killing animals. He had even set a few on fire just to watch them run around in panic until they crumbled to the ground, writhing in pain before dying. The idea of burning down the house while Marc and his parents slept was a recurring daydream. He had a list of materials ready, and it would make for a glorious end of the semester.

Everything about Marc irritated Pierre-Martin, from jumping two school years to his effeminate ways and self-effacing manner. That kid jumped at loud noises like he was expecting a bomb to fall on him at any time. What bothered Pierre-Martin most was Marc’s constant observation of everything and everyone. His jaw clenched, his heart pounded in his chest as a dark shadow enveloped him.

Pierre-Martin was so caught up in his hatred of Marc that he didn’t see the school bully fix on him. It wasn’t the first time, but Pierre-Martin allowed the bully to push him around, hit him and steal his money. Not that he feared this overgrown teen, but he was trying to keep attention off of himself. He preferred lurking, hiding in plain sight. 

This time proved no different. The bully sucker punched him in the stomach, then landed another blow off his right temple. Pierre-Martin was dizzy from the attack but was keeping to his plan of passing for a regular student, averse to violence.

Marc was there, witnessing this act of violence, and stepped up, walking between Pierre-Martin and Ben, the bully. He raised his arms, hands open, yelling at Ben to stop. Marc recited the rules of non-violence of the school, and that he would report him to the principal. A big fist smashed into his midsection, and Marc crumbled to the floor of the hallway, other students watching on. Some were cheering on the bully, most were indifferent, and a few stood, frozen in place, unsure of how to react.

Now, Ben, the bully, raises his arms like a boxer who won a match, showing off his supremacy. He boasted about taking on two students, that no one could match him. Pierre-Martin watches, wanting to gouge out the bully’s eyes, bite off an ear, or stab him in the throat with a pen—he does nothing. 

Something is unravelling in Pierre-Martin’s mind. He feels like Ben has touched his prize, and for that, he would pay. Three days pass, and Pierre-Martin has planned his revenge. 

Placing an opened but full pack of cigarettes laced with rat poison on the seat of Ben’s bicycle, Pierre-Martin looks on from his hiding place behind some bushes. He sees Ben walk up to the bike, pick up the pack of cigarettes, look around to see if anyone is watching, take a cigarette, pull out matches from his backpack and light it. He straddles his bike and heads home. Ben is soon feeling lightheaded but keeps smoking the free cigarette.

Ben doesn’t notice he’s being followed by Pierre-Martin, who is curious to see the full effect of the poison.