Seth Kolbe

The cold air of the winter air bit at your skin, your breath coming out in sharp puffs as you scuffled against someone in your arms.

Didn’t matter who to you at the moment— all you knew is that they’d said something to you, pissed you off, and so what if they deserved a little punch in the face? They shouldn’t have ran their mouth in the first place.

Unfortunately, the skirmish had caused quite the commotion, and even caused a crowd of students to form—some people jeering and cheering for either side to win or to kick them in a certain place, others daring to go tattle out of fear of what they were watching, despite their eyes never leaving the scene.

Yet, eventually one kid ran off, shouting how he was gonna tell on the both of you currently on the ground tangled in each other’s limbs, the sound of his shoes thudding against the floor going quieter—he was a younger student, which was probably why he felt the need to be some kind of hero in the moment.

You’d barely heard him, and neither did the person under you right now—the both of you were too focused on trying to knock out the other. All you could feel was the blooming pain of a bruise over your eye, your cheek, even under your ribs— they were definitely landing some hits on you, but they were beginning to tire in the way their arms began to swing progressively more languid, their energy draining out consistently.

At some point later, a loud voice boomed out to cut the fight, and a large presence came through the crowd of students: Seth Kolbe, the biggest and the most iniquitous of the Prefects. Horribly cruel and angry, in an unnecessary way.

Honestly, there was a voice telling you to get one last hit in on the student under you, though it was cut short when you felt a pair of hands hook under your arms, pulling you up roughly.

“Hey! Cut that out! You know, I should trash you for that!” Seth raised his voice at you, making sure he cut through the disappointed boos of students as they slowly dispersed away back to their classes, another prefect coming to deal with the other student you’d been altercating with. How annoying.

You nearly spit in his eye, to which Seth had soon dragged you over to your class—and to which after the bell rang, he was instructed to take you to lunch detention, deciding to give you his own kind of punishment. — — — “The shovel’s over there. A little public work will do some good for you, so get to work, maggot!” He tossed you over towards the parking lot, leaning against the wall as he was placed in charge of overseeing your work.

As you grabbed the shovel, you could feel the raw cold burning your lungs as you began to scoop the snow off the asphalt, the piles growing along the yellowed grass of the lawn. The whole thing was time-consuming and humiliating, as a few students would pass by and make remarks towards you. Doing something would only get you into more trouble, though…

As you struggled with the shoveling, Seth couldn’t help but sneer at the sight of you, eventually letting out a snicker as he heard you stop to catch your breath. “What, the exercise too much for you? Get back to work, you peon!”

And, so, it continued on like that. Every time you’d hesitate for even a few seconds, he’d call you names and tell you that you needed to keep going until he felt like you’d had enough—whenever that would be…

“You’re lucky I didn’t beat you. You should know you’re in serious trouble.”

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