Damien

And then his butt was in the seat, his eyes up at the front of the room.  Ms. Grisleyford was glaring at him.  She must have heard about the recent flatulation of Damien on York’s beautiful little baby face.  He didn’t expect sympathy from her though.  Maybe she smelled blood, maybe food, like a honey-wine wafting off of him and his vulnerability.  The prickliness that had started in the hallway now advanced into areas only his mom had really experienced before.  He couldn’t move. There were, he knew, various twines that kept his hands and feet down, his eyes forward.  His body wouldn’t be any help to him in this unreliable state.  He had to appear normal, but all he could think of was that Damien, and all of his hulking mass was about to come down and sit next to him.