In seventh grade, there was this boy in my class. For his age, he was quite short. He stayed to himself and rarely interacted with others. He always ate his lunch alone, sitting on a bench near the playground's edge, staring into space. It was as if he was in his own little world, where nothing else mattered. During the time I knew him, I never saw him smile.
He'd be called a variety of derogatory names that affected him deeply. His tormentors seemed enraged because he never reacted to indicated how much it pained him.
They were unstoppable. Mean. Outside of school, he stepped in front of a car and halted in the center of the road, as if expecting it to hit him. Only inches away from his torso, the motorist came to a halt. He remained motionless until the driver asked if he was all right. He walked away slowly, his head fell low.
Nobody chose him for team sports in PE, and when he was the only one standing, everyone mocked him and branded him a loser. He hung his head and sat down in the far corner of the gym, his face hidden under his fists.
They tortured him in the locker rooms, referring to him as a "homo, faggot, and perv." It wasn't long before word spread across the school that this youngster was a 'homo,' and everyone began calling him derogatory names.
He was thrown fruit from behind, and he had no idea who it was. It smacked him in the back of the skull, knocking him out. With tears in his eyes he tried to stand up but they came at him again and knocked his books out of his hands making him tumble down again. People made fun of him. He sgot up, grabbed his books, and sprinted outside till he could no longer run.He ended himself wandering for ten miles without knowing where he was headed, simply following a road. But it didn't matter to him if he perished on that day.
Despite this, he did not retaliate. Alternatively, you can inform anyone. Alternatively, you can whine. He didn't show up for school the next week. Someone spread the rumor that he had killed himself. Everyone was giggling. Nobody bothered to call to see if he was okay. He was completely forgotten. Nobody gave a damn.
What they didn't know was that his stepfather had injured him so seriously that he had to spend three days in the hospital. I'm too unwell to go to school. When he returned to school, he never told anyone about what had transpired. Everyone was disappointed to learn that he was still alive. And then he was advised to go kill himself. "This time, do it right."
He was still suffering from the effects of what his stepfather had done to him. He let out a yelp as they pushed him against the lockers at school or tried to shove his head through the door. The pain, however, was not caused by what they had done to him.
He was acting strangely one day after PE. He stood in front of everyone, his head hung low. As if his entire universe was about to fall apart. He was shivering. He was startled by the odd silence in the room. Everyone saw his body at that point. His back, legs, and arms were all covered with black and blue welts. His eyes were welling up with tears, and he was visibly ashamed of his appearance.
The rain stung like a swarm of bees.
They didn't touch his clothes, insult him, or attack him this time; instead, they left him alone.
That boy is a friend.
He never shared the abuse from his step dad out of fear. Now you can't believe he's the same small boy who went through all that.