Friend.

A short story taking place in the shoes of a bullied adolescent and their way out.

Parents say that we overreact to bullies. My dad would say, “You’re going to be a man someday, so stop acting like a damn girl.” My mom would shake her head and ask my dad if I should be in a karate class to pick up on some type of self-defense s**t.  Self-defense doesn’t fix this. It could never fix this.

The award that hung on my dusty shelf sat and mocked me. “Most likeable” was the title I received in the fifth grade award ceremony for those poor, adolescent children that were shipped off into the sea of middle school. I had a lot of friends back then. Had.

 

Middle school was when everyone’s bodies started freaking out. Girls would develop chests and a newfound sense of entitlement. Boys grew sparse mustaches and underarm hair, and not to mention a fucked up sense of humor. All of my “friends” turned on me the minute I didn’t mature as quickly as they did. As if I was telling Mother Nature to put a hold on my puberty. They were upset. They were all going through a confusing time earlier than I was and to them, it was unfair. They removed the “most likeable” title and replaced it with “f*g”. I was now identified as the outcast to these ruthless teenagers and I’d done nothing wrong. Nothing.

 

The next few years were bad, but eleventh grade made the past seem like a cakewalk. Hell on Earth was what I encountered everyday. I hadn’t had a normal conversation with someone since my old friend, Rhyse, started a rumor that I had a sex change in the sixth grade. I was a freak in their eyes and no convincing, no kind of explanation to them was enough. Their brains did not seem to comprehend the truth well. All they seemed to understand is a jumble of false lies spun by one another. The web becomes more elaborate, but the funny thing about webs is that a spider is always lurking around somewhere. Somewhere.

 

Another day, another dick kicking the back of my chair taking jabs at me. 

“You wanna die kid? You tired of being a f*g? You can go to hell where you belong.” 

If I tried to reply, I would get a beating after school. It was either endure it now, or endure it later. I stared forward and breathed in deeply, letting it out as steadily as I let it in. 

“You think that’s gonna get the gay out of you? Think again a*****e.” 

I couldn't even understand how they made sense of what bullshit came out of their mouths. It’s like they just took words and put them together in attempts to prove themselves the superior. I was completely over it. Completely.

 

Suicide was always on my mind. The book “The Complete Manual of Suicide” was a real page-turner. I imagined my body swaying in the doorframe with a noose around my neck. I imagined blood seeping from a fresh, life-threatening cut. I imagined blue pills falling down my throat, one after another, and the florescent orange bottle hitting the floor after I began to seize or whatever reaction I took to it. I imagined the cold steel of the barrel pressed on my temple and the feeling of my finger applying pressure to the trigger. And it would all be over. But why should they win? The feeling of anger and hate that they instilled in me was so maddening that I would pace back and forth thinking of ways to end it. Ways to end the loud, obscene noise. It had to be soon, I was so tired of it all. If I heard the word “f*g” one more time, I would surely explode. Surely.

 

It was a Monday; the morning seemed still and chilly as the winter set in. Snow fell settling into the frozen lawns and looked beautiful against the light sky. I walked to school with it in my backpack just incase today was the day. Upon opening the double doors, I walked to my locker as per usual. No one said a word. No f*g, no gay, no moron, just the usual chatter of people walking to and from class. The day went on without a word from anyone. I took it as a sign from God, or some other higher power that this wasn’t the way. There was something more and it would all pass. Maybe I would be all right. Maybe.

 

I must have been blinded by hope. On my way home I ran into a barrier that blocked all of the patience I’d had and held onto for so long.  Five guys stood in front of me with bats, rocks, anything they could really find in hopes to bludgeon my head in and possibly beat whatever made me the way I am, out of me. The noise got louder and grew with every movement they made. It became immensely unbearable. Immensely.

 

“Did you have a good day?”

“It was okay.”

“Well, we’re gonna have to change that, now aren’t we, f*g?”

 

I looked at my backpack that was hanging off one shoulder. I slowly reached in and clutched the handle. This was the first feeling of safety and comfort I’d felt in years. I’d found a friend.

 

“What are you doing f****t? You think you can just stand there and-“

 

Bang.

 

One down. Blood seeped into the snow making a beautiful contrast of scarlet and white.  I smirked as he was laid limp and lifeless face down in front of all the others. Four of the boys stood, mouth agape as I held my friend up high, at perfect eyelevel with them.

 

“…What- what have you done…?”

 

Bang.

 

Bang.

 

Bang.

 

Bang.

 

A few people stood marveling over the masterpiece we’d just created. Some cried, some fell to their knees in appreciation. Some ran. All wished they could undo whatever I’d just done.

 

 

I looked at my friend. Shaking in my hand, it had just stood up for me. The only friend to help me when my back was against the wall was now my partner in crime. Tears rolled down my cheek as I looked at what we’d done together. We’d stopped the torment. We’d stopped the fear. We’d stopped the pain.

 

“Thank you.”

 

I lifted my friend to my temple, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath.

 

Bang.

 

The quiet was finally so beautiful. Finally. 

Author's Note

This is one of my first short stories. I understand if some people don't exactly like it due to the nature of the story, but bullying is never pretty. I felt like had I masked bullying with some hopeful, cheery story, the full effect wouldn't have come across.