the other side of square

They looked at him with the most awkward of impressions. And one can see the embarrassment stuck in the lonely eyes of the poor pimpled boy who was at that time trying to rub the dust off his glasses of unparalleled thickness. After cleaning his spectacles, he took his books and went away, brushing off the jeering stares directed against him.
He never knew how he would survive in an environment where the only ones he could count on were the books carefully placed in the confines of his backpack. College life, as it seems is far more cruel than high school life. Well, at the very least there were no (required) school dances in the university he is enrolled at.
He was baptized Israel Santino Moreno. To everybody else he was simply the classmate with the correctly answered homeworks and the near-perfect examinations. He never flinched upon hearing the constant name calling and the unconsolidated jabbering he was accustomed to. What he despised so vehemently was the indifference. No one even dared to sit next to him, for fear of contacting the same disease the upperclassman have associated him with: "Lack of Attention Disorder" or "LoAD" for short.



So he killed everybody with his .05 technical pen. Then he bathed in the swellness of the crimson pool he has created. Oh joy.