Dear Mortals,
Hey. This isn't a chapter exactly, though I will give you guys something to read. You see, I entered a writing contest but didn't win, and I want to know why exactly so I can improve in the future. Seeing as my piece was not displayed, I feel like I can safely copy the article and paste it here. If you guys have any tips for me, that would be a big help. :)
Here we go...
The Victim:
His world was full of hurt.
Hurt when he was pushed down, hurt when people taunted him constantly- or at least one in particular did it constantly. Hurt when everyone around him turned a blind eye and left him there bleeding on the ground.
Yes, it hurt so much, hurt so bad. But the things that hurt most was the fact that no one seemed to care. No one was there to catch him when he fell, to sooth him when he wanted to cry.
No one.
Things were tough at home. With the new baby, his mother just didn't seem to have time for him any more, and his father was scrambling to find work ever since he'd lost his job.
As the eldest of five siblings, it should be his responsibility to be in charge. To be the one to look up to, he reasoned.
Honestly, though? There wasn't much to look at.
His family had been forced to move to a cheap apartment building because the couldn't afford their old home, and he was constantly getting tormented at school. Other kids, cool kids, normal kids- they didn't have to deal with any of that.
He was pathetic.
He wanted to tell somebody what was happening, to have somebody to rely on, but who was there to listen? The teachers all loved the bully, and none of the students would do anything, they were all too scared. His family had enough to worry about without him weighing down on all their troubles.
So whenever he came home, he did his best to avoid them. To shut them out. To try and go about on his business like he didn't scream himself awake every night, like he wasn't full of fear every moment at school, like he didn't glance behind his back because he was so scared that he would be targeted.
One night during dinner, his mother looked up from his baby brother long enough to ask, "By the way, darling, how are things at school?"
He faked a smile and said, "Fine."
It was a lie.
She believed him.
And that hurt, too.
The Bystander:
He felt like a horrible person.
Everyday when he was at school, he acted normal. Nonchalant. All smiles, hi-fives, laughter. Like he didn't notice anything wrong, didn't notice what happened once the teachers left the room.
No, he would not be another target.
The most horrible thing?
Sometimes it was easy to forget it even happened. Sometimes he just saw the happy, carefree students milling about, as he chatted with his friends and laughed when they horsed around.
But sometimes, it was all too clear.
A student tripped.
A student shoved against the wall.
A student crying, while the bullies laughed and had their fun, during which everyone else looked somewhere else and tried to pretend they didn't see anything.
When that happened, he always felt guilt swirl inside him. His sister had been bullied, too. Teased mercilessly until she'd snapped. He could still picture the scene in his mind- walking home from school and finding her there on the kitchen floor, the police, the late night talks with his parents, and that horrible word, suicide...
That incident had torn his whole family apart. Now his mother lived in a state of depression, while his father had become entirely too overbearing with rules.
And it was all his sister's fault.
If she'd acted differently, gone with the crowd instead of standing out so much with her weird, neon clothes style and pink skirts, maybe what happened wouldn't have happened.
No, he wouldn't be like that. Wouldn't take the cowards way out. He'd stick it out and act like everybody else and he wouldn't let the chance to help some kid he didn't even know stop him….
So when a bully pinned a boy to the wall and demanded money, he averted his eyes and pulled his hoodie tighter around his head.
Learn from your sister's mistakes, he told himself. Don't be like that boy, don't be one of them, destined to be a bully's punching bag for all of high school...
Avoiding the victim's cries, one of his last views of the poor boy were of his eyes, wide and pleading, begging someone to help him.
How much times had his sister looked like that?
He turned and ran.
The Bully:
His father was always away. At first, that didn't seem to bother him so much. He had his mother, after all. And as babyish as that sounded, it was good for him, because his mother always cared. His mother was always the cheerful one, the reliable one, the one that had time for him when no one else did.
And now she was dead.
A car accident, they said. Someone's ride had ditched them and she had volunteered to drive them home. To reach their house she had taken a road past a popular pub, and the other person in the opposing car had been drunk.
People sent their condolences, but he shoved them away. Sorry didn't fix anything. Sympathetic smiles wouldn't bring his mother back.
The problem was that she'd been too optimistic. Too cheerful. Always believing there could be a better place for everyone in this world.
Well, look where her beliefs had gotten her, he thought bitterly. She'd left them. She'd left him.
The only light in his life had been vanquished… and his desire to be nice had disappeared, too.
He started picking fights. He had always been tall for his age, so he used that. Later, when he was caught, he blamed it on the other person. He'd always been a good kid before, so a lot of teachers believed him. He started acting tough, acting like nothing in the world could scare him.
And why not smoke while he was at it? What did he have left to lose?
Everytime he bullied, everytime he threw out an insult or settled something with his fists, it gave him a thrill. He knew his mother would disapprove of what he was doing, but who cared? She'd been kind. Too nice.
Well, he wouldn't make the same mistake. He'd show the world what he was made of! He definitely didn't care that his father's behaviour was worse now. Nope, didn't affect him at all. Not even when a month passed without a glimpse of the old man.
Though...why? Why was his father acting that way? Why did he have to deal with it? Why did his mother have to die? Why? Why? Why?
Why couldn't somebody answer him?
The Outcome:
In the end, they continued on. Each one of them having their own separate reasons for behaving like they have. All three living a life of unhappiness without a solution to solve it- and they aren't the only ones.
This story may be coming to a close, but many stories haven't. Many stories aren't even stories at all, because those stories are real. Caused by actions that they might not be able to control...
Because one action leads to another. And another leads to more. Multiplying and spreading out. Expanding, continuing…
Thus is the ripple effect of bullying.
End.
Sincerely,
jayan0706
P.S. I feel like I don't say this enough, so I'll go ahead and say this now. Thank you guys so much for taking the time to read my story when there are millions of other ones out there- it means the world to me. You guys are so awesome.