A Thousand Cuts by Simon Lelic Page A

he’s doing is picking up his pen. He holds it up. Everyone can see it now. They can see it but that doesn’t explain it. What they’re seeing is Samuel Szajkowski, this weird little bloke with his fluffy little beard, standing in the staffroom, holding up a day-old turd.
    It was in his case, I say. He found it in his case.
    Because if I hadn’t said that I don’t know what the others would have done. Ran out screaming, half of them. Samuel’s not taking any notice though, he’s just staring at this thing in his hand. For some reason I think he’s going to drop it on me. Throw it to me to catch. I don’t know why. He doesn’t and he wouldn’t have but when someone’s standing over you, his fist around a great big turd, you don’t want to take any chances, do you?
    We watch him, the rest of us. Or I do, Vicky does, Chrissie Hobbs does. Matilda and George, they turn away. They don’t want to see it. The rest of us don’t want to see it either but, like I said before, your attention’s kind of drawn to it.
    Chrissie, she’s the first to respond. Here, she says. Let me get something.
    And Vicky’s saying, don’t touch it, Samuel, put it down.
    It was in his case, I say again. Someone put it in his case.
    And Samuel, he doesn’t say a word.
    He was almost lucky. The people who were there, they were nice people, kind people. I wouldn’t call them Samuel’s friends. Samuel didn’t really have any friends, except Maggie, although some friend Maggie turned out to be. They weren’t his friends but they would have helped him. To clean things up. To sort out his case. They would have helped.
    He was almost lucky but then Terence walks in.
    I call him Terence. I refuse to call him TJ. I call him TJ to his face because I don’t want to make a fuss. It’s important to him so I say let him have his little nickname. He might not be so keen on it if he knew what some of the kids say it stands for. Tosser Jones, they say. I hear them and I pretend I don’t. Toss Jism. That’s why they call him TJ. He thinks it’s because they all like him. He thinks I like him too. I don’t but what can you do? I work with him. I have to get on with him. It would be awkward for the others if I didn’t.
    You’ve met Terence, right? So you’ve got a fair idea about how he might react. When Terence walks in, Samuel’s still standing where he’s standing, still holding this thing in his hand. Chrissie is in the kitchen. She’s got a carrier bag and the washing-up bowl and she doesn’t know which one to bring. I’ve moved away by now so I’m with the others, on the opposite side of the table. We turn to look at Terence and he sees the expressions on our faces and then the lot of us turn around again to look at Samuel.
    Poor bugger.
    Poor bugger: what am I talking about? He’s a murderer. I keep having to remind myself. He was a murderer. He shot three children. He killed a teacher, an innocent woman. And I’m feeling sorry for the bloke. This psycho nutcase maniac. I’m acting like he deserved compassion.
    What’s that?
    Well, I suppose that doesn’t surprise me. If he hadn’t done what he did, he might even have deserved it. The sympathy. These people you’ve talked to showing him pity. But not now.
    Terence told everyone. The teachers, yes, but the teachers were always going to hear about it. Terence told the kids. He’s friendly with some of them, too friendly if you ask me. He wants to be one of the lads, you know, just a mate, which is not what he’s here for, is it? It took him a moment or two to understand, to realise what was going on, because all of us started gabbling at once. But after that he thought it was hilarious. It was like he wished he’d thought of it himself. So he tells his little buddies and his buddies spread the word and in six or seven minutes the story’s all over the school. For Donovan it was the perfect result. I mean, no one would have been able to prove it was Donovan but it was, of