TNP2-31 "No Longer A Game"

TNP2-31 "No Longer A Game"

A Chapter by dw817

I was walking on the sidewalk and heard a sound behind me. It was the bullies from school and they were hell bent on running me down, driving on the sidewalk in their vehicle at least 40-MPH !


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© December 2014 Written by David Wicker
Please do not reprint without permission

* * *

Rated: TEEN

How would it end ? How could it ?

Susan stirred in my hands again, "David, I can sort of understand why you tolerated it with the girls, but with the guys ? That's despicable what they did !"

"Yes, it is. But if I didn't go along with them, it could've gotten a lot worse for me. A lot worse. You can see that right ?"

She sighed, "Yes, sadly, I do. The only way to stop it was to remove yourself from the area - but completely - change schools maybe ?"

"Something like that."

The voice continued,

"The High School I was going to was very violent though compared to Middle School, and in a way, I remember being protected by him as I was an obvious investment to him now. Someone wanted to get into a bad fight with me in the hall one time and he showed up to fight them for me telling me to scram. I ran away. I knew I couldn't speak with him, but I wanted to thank him for standing up for me.

It was not uncommon to see really bad fights break out though, both inside and outside classes, and sometimes they involved knives ! I was GRATEFUL to just be getting Swirlies ! You could get killed at this school !

This encouraged me more to NEVER be outside during recess and always be in the library, even on days I knew I wasn't getting Swirlies. I considered getting a GED to get out of the madness.

I had to wonder what happened to the girls though, because in a way I missed them. I started to realize what they did might be fun now, and I kind of craved their company because of what they did, in a weirdly romantic way.

Because despite how cruel it was, it was sincere contact, they held my hand when they did their kooky things, and that meant the world to me. I would've done anything for that kind of gentle hand-holding again from Elementary.

I terribly missed that, and it brings tears to my eyes today to think about ... very serious ... A good part of the depression I've had for years is missing the hand-holding from that one girl.

But it was just the guys now, and it was business as usual, obviously the only holding I got at that point was being mashed hard against the porcelain, no affection there.

I knew for certain they were making a little business out of it, arriving one time and seeing the guy that spoke angrily to me earlier, take a 10-dollar bill out of the hands of everyone standing around watching me. There had to have been 7 altogether.

One of which was a girl paying admittance to see me Swirled, possibly someone from my Middle School, but I remembered I wasn't supposed to say anything or probably get KILLED so I let it go.

I also wondered if there was any way I could make any cash at this myself as I had rarely seen so much money floating around, but something in me said SHUT UP, you wanna DIE ?

So I cleared it from my head. My stupid Swirlies became a weekly event every Wednesday after lunch and it was something everyone looked forward to bringing their money, crowding in the boys' room, and brought cameras to take pictures.

And the money taker fellow, I never did know his name, did protect me. Someone offered to take my picture before the event. I nodded silently, knowing I was never to speak in their presence, and as he was getting ready to do so, he stepped in my way and put his hand over the lens saying loudly, "No face shots !"

He made that very clear to everyone there, saying he would break their camera if anyone did. I think they were almost as afraid of him as I was. The next week week with more people crowding in, he started to keep his hand on top of my head steering me where to walk, where to turn, where to stop, and where to kneel. I was really afraid of getting hurt again so I let him walk me wherever he wanted.

I'm pretty sure at some point I fell asleep while they were doing it one day, possibly lulled to sleep by the rush of the sound of water. And they did long Swirlies now, well over 5-minutes, but I really had no sense of time while I was in there listening to the flush. However, it was all show and probably looked great on film to show their buddies at their wild parties.

I'm certain everyone believed it was a bargain to see for that price.

Eventually this was all left behind as I got my GED and entered college. I was signing up for classes some when an unknown girl yelled at me in a rude voice, "Swirlie Boy !" but nothing ever came out of it and I didn't see her again, and I never received another one to this day, guy or girl. And I'm pretty old now, out of college.

You might also ask, why I was such a candidate for them to torment ? Well, I was really bright. My Dad taught me to read Dr. Seuss at the age of 1. I was reading entire teen-readers before the age of 6 as other classmates of mine were struggling with easy readers, and it showed. When the teacher asked me to read out loud back in 2nd grade, I read EFFECTIVELY.

That is, I read with emphasis, which was entirely unknown to everyone else in class at the time. I stood out. I aced my homework. I had a computer (T.R.S. 80) and NO-ONE had a computer back then, I had no television, and I had way over-sized glasses being near-sighted to the point of blindness.

I rarely went outside during recess and spent all my time in the library. There was a lot to hate and ridicule about me.

I also remember raising my hand to answer every question any teacher ever had, and oddly enough they would call on me even though other hands showed. I think it was because I was such an eloquent speaker even if the class wasn't Reading, and the teachers liked that. Such a nice well-behaved young man.

I think at times it made me smug, and it showed.

* * *

I also didn't know how to talk back when someone insulted me after class for being such a know-it-all all the time so I'd usually just nod my head looking right at them staring without moving, and hope they'd leave. I remember they'd get really mad then and threaten to get in a fight me with me after school.

The few few real fights I was in, I always lost, and I mean LOST where everyone wondered why they showed up to watch it at all just to see some kid get knocked on the ground and not get back up at all. It wasn't fun to kick a kid on the ground who didn't even defend himself with a crowd watching.

So quite soon, when someone said they were going to fight me after school, they rarely did and a bunch of people watching just grabbed my arm with him leading the way, going back inside the school bathroom stall for an extended Swirlie, usually with camera flash. Maybe my staring at them angrily was a direct invitation for them to do that to me, I don't know. I could've been mad.

But getting a Swirlie usually takes the fight and anger right out of you, it's relaxing and that's hard to explain. They tended to play fair, there was the strong and always overwhelming sense of being "put in my place." by me being stuffed down there at the bottom of a dirty toilet. That never faded in my head.

I mean, after all, it's where everyone's bare bottoms go, guys or girls. By being continuously placed there week after week for several years now, finally starting to get a bit of chest hair, it eventually takes its toll and humbles you and makes you a pretty passive and quiet fellow, pliable and possibly still gullible and naive in many ways.

Despite their cruelty, I showed respect to them afterwards, I really didn't have a choice at that point. The main thing they said in both Middle and High School was, "DON'T raise your hand in class anymore !" and I knew they could do worse, easily. My Swirlies were always in a clean bowl. That could change. Easily.

But there was another consideration. While others would call their treatment to me cruel, it was never bad enough for me to tell the principal or a teacher, all though school I could've, just once. And that would've ended the cycle right there and then. Why didn't I tell someone back in 2nd grade ? I ask myself that often.

And the answer is the same. Shame, embarassment, humiliation, and the fear of being found out for doing something so despicable and for so long. So I let them continue to do it each week and they reinforced in me each time, "This is where you belong." I actually remember hearing that spoken a few times out loud by the one holding my head in High-School. He said it like a question though and always waited for me to nod agreeing as I was down there.

I think they knew that. They knew their limit and I think if they did do something truly scandalous involving a Swirlie, I'd tattle on them. Since they were mostly clean, I think they enjoyed that freedom they had and my tolerance of being pushed down there weekly without complaint or the insults they spoke as I was there.

And for them, it must be an incredible feeling of power and domination to tell someone, considerably brighter than you, to stand down so they looked halfway intelligent themselves in class.

It was also during High School I realized I could hate or learn to live with Swirlies. So I started thinking of them as relaxing and tranquil, my own weekly spa. Watching the water be sucked down the bottom can be hypnotic and when your head is placed in such a small confined area, it is not unlike a private waterfall for your own enjoyment. A kind of natural white-noise generator.

I just wished they weren't so nasty and smell so terrible inside as most of them did. I almost always coughed, trying to catch my breath, and that was really loud on your ears in such a small space.

I finally got used to the guys locating me in the library. Two words, always, "Let's go." nothing else. If I didn't go, they gave me hell, realizing hurting me physically didn't make much of a difference in public, instead they would mark up my schoolwork and books with marks-a-lots they carried in plain sight, eventually changing from BLACK to PINK, brandishing them in their fingers like weapons.

That to me was much worse than getting beat up. How would I explain pink marking up my homework or books ?

Then the voice was silent.

Susan spoke in the quiet, "So now they were making a profit from having not just kids from the school you went to - but ADULTS ? That's criminal what they were doing to you !"

"Yes. But how would you stop it ?"

"I'd report them to the police, someone, something ! Not just keep quiet all these years !"

I looked down at her, "Okay, let's say you did just that. Reported them. It would stop for a-while but then there would be serious repercussions from others. Likely involving knives or guns. I know I refused to go with them one Wednesday and on the way home they tried to run me over in a car. Literally !"

"I was walking on the sidewalk and heard a sound behind me. It was the guys from the bathroom and they were hell bent on running me down, driving on the sidewalk in their vehicle at least 40-MPH. I darted into the bushes as they roared past bouncing their car back onto the road."

"And they yelled to me out the window, THINK ABOUT IT, POINDEXTER !"


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