A dull yellow schoolbus rumbles to a halt and out comes a sole student – Mitchell Green. Without looking back, Mitchell begins his short walk home – no more than a mile. He feels the bus rumble away behind him, the vibrations pulsing through the road up through his sneakers and body. A forward swing of his foot and Mitchell senses loose laces. Before his foot falls, he does, stumbling forward with arms outstreched to catch him. Shaking off the sudden stunning, a sight catches his gaze – a coin. Picking it and himself up, he examines it closely, knowing no recognition on either face. Thinking little of it, he sticks it in his pocket and continues on, thankful his hands are just stinging and not bleeding.
The remainder of his day – his evening, really – passes smoothly, and Mitchell is content. His mother promptly made his dinner and he was allowed to play video games much later than usual. Anything to put off going to bed, Mitchell knew. But, eventually, he grew tired, hardly able to keep his eyes open any longer, despite the dread bubbling up within him of returning to school tomorrow.
“Can you just leave me alone, please,” Mitchell begged futilely, closing his eyes, bracing. He was on the morning bus, and what he’d been dreading was now here. Futilely he thought, for any other day that he’d implored his bully for peace he was met with mockery and pain. But, to his surprise, pain did not come. Confused, he opened his eyes, and saw his bully Grayson for once minding his own business, seeming almost downtrodden. Mitchells relief wins out over any possible concern for Grayson, and he thinks little of him again.
The school day winds down and Mitchell finds himself once again walking home after once more being dropped off by the dull yellow bus. This time, however, he perceives a change in the vibrations, fear overcomes him, and he does turn around. To his horror, Grayson had slunk off the bus behind him. “I don’t know what you did earlier, but now you’re going to pay.”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything,” Mitchell stammers and backs away slowly. But each of his own tenuous steps backward are mirrored by Grayson maintaining the distance between them, ready to pounce should Mitchell flee. “Please, stop!” He begged, backing away again, but this time, to his surprise, unaccompanied: Grayson was frozen in his tracks.
Confused and feeling cautiously emboldened, Mitchell strides toward his now terrified looking bully. “What are you doing?” He asks.
“I can’t move,” Grayson croaks through clenched teeth.
“Okay?” Mitchell says, giving him a bizarre look and turning his back, relieved to be returning home unpursued. But, as he was about to round a corner, he turns around, and to his utter confusion, he could still see Grayson now small and far away, completely unmoved. “Go away! Go home!” He shouts, channeling his hands around his mouth. And as soon as he says this, he says Grayson burst away running as fast as possible in the opposite direction.
As he enters his home, he empties his coat pockets of phone, AirPods, wallet, and keys – and, to his sudden recollection – the unfamiliar coin. Everything clicked. He could hardly sleep.
The next day, Mitchell burned with revenge. “Carry my backpack,” he commanded, and Grayson complied. “Make a fool of yourself,” Mitchell tossed out on a whim. Followed by an uproar of laughter, Grayson marched to the front of the class, grabbed a whiteboard marker, and wrote “I bully others to make myself feel better.” “Something else, even more embarrassing” Mitchell gasped between squeals of joy. And then, the classroom fell silent in disbelieving shock as Grayson pulled down his pants and wet himself. “Cry.”
Grayson was not in school for the next day, nor the next, nor the rest of the week, and with each passing day Mitchell’s lust boiled ever stronger. Friday, instead of getting off at his stop, he remained on the bus.
Knocking on the door, Mitchell waited a few moments. Then, the door opened, revealing Grayson’s father. “Oh, hello, Mitchell! Let me get Grayson for you.” And Mitchell waited again until Grayson’s father returned. “I’m sorry, he’s not feeling well right now, he’ll talk to you la–“
“Let me in.” Grayson’s father stepped aside, and Mitchell entered.
“Is he gone?” Mitchell hears from the stairs above him, following its source. “Dad?” The voice calls again.
Mitchell pushes open a door, and command or no, Grayson freezes, pale as a ghost. Recovering, Grayson makes to rush past him, but is quickly halted. “Enough of that, halt.” Mitchell says, relishing his power and withdrawing the coin from his pocket. “This is your doom,” he says, brandishing the coin. “Be a good person for the rest of your life. This coin will hold you to it. That is all, at ease.” Grayson collapses. “Forget I was ever here,” he hears Mitchell say to his father on his way out.
Years pass, and Mitchell has long since tossed the coin as far as he could slingshot it into the Pacific Ocean. He recalls the coin nearly as a dream, has trouble deciding if it were ever real.
More years pass, and doom finally unfolds. Mitchell, at a chance, encounters Grayson and recognizes him instantly – he hadn’t seen him since that fateful date. All the memories come back in an instant, Mitchell no longer deluding himself to hiding them in a haze of dreams. A coiled knot of anxiety Grayson appears. “You must release me,” is all he says.
“I cannot. The coin belongs to the sea now.” But even as he says this, he trips, or is tripped, rather, and finds himself once more right back at the beginning face to face with the same unplaceable coin. Grayson lunges, but Mitchell, too close and too quick, snatches it. Grayson tackles him, knocking the breath out of Mitchell, clawing for the coin, but Mitchell recovers just enough, wheezing, “halt!”
Minutes pass, the two boys, now men, facing each other, one forced to, the other contemplating. People throng around them, paying them no mind. “I release you,” Mitchell finally decides. The coin fades, and Grayson passes.
The AM Intrigue 
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