Reverie

Does it make you feel?

TW: Bullying.

                               𝗛𝗲𝘆 𝘆𝗼𝘂,

        Yes, you. Who just got dropped by your well dressed guardians in their fancy vehicle.  Their affectionate touches and goodbyes ended as you grudgingly drags your bag on your seat with a bilious scowl painting your young face.

             𝗜 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗮 𝗳𝗲𝘄 𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂.

       How does it make you feel seeing pain on other's eyes when the blow you have afflicted made them collapse? The mocking sneer of callous words you taunt hitting harder than your fists can ever provide, the proud look on your visage, smiling down on them as they cry out in futile sobs while everybody else watch like mere audience on a play. Laughs echoing on the room. Did violence make you feel?

                 𝗗𝗶𝗱 𝗶𝘁 𝗺𝗮𝗱𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗽𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗳𝘂𝗹?

        Did you perceived that as superiority whilst you picked on the quietest ones?  The people who keep on themselves with bright daydreaming eyes, shy and timid behaviors are easy target for you. Did it feed your dead eye stare as their own burns in fear, shame and agony instead the look of wonder as they stare out the window or the exhilarating twinkle in their orbs as they read a book?
   
           𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗼𝘂𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲?

       Perhaps, the cheer like laughter, the inaction of the educator made you feel that–  the entertainment of the audience twists your thoughts that you're giving a performance, you're in a throne, the main character in a show, highest in the food chain. You see yourself as a ferocious lion.

       𝙃𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙠 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙚𝙨?

Head bow down when they saw you with your parents in tow, hearing their sweet goodbyes and their jolly talk to the teacher.  Jittery twitches of their form, cold sweat already forming with lump on their throat. Flinching as you throw your bag in the desk, they can't even bare to peer at you, in those malicious almond eyes you own.

                        W̶h̶y̶ a̶m̶ I̶ s̶o̶ w̶e̶a̶k̶?̶

The feeling of a prey caught in a corner reminded them of why they protested on attending ever again– tears and pleading didn't work as they were left with trembling knees in front of their personal hell– a theatre and they're force to be a cast on.

              P̶l̶e̶a̶s̶e̶,̶ p̶l̶e̶a̶s̶e̶,̶ h̶e̶l̶p̶ m̶e̶ o̶u̶t̶ o̶f̶    
              h̶e̶r̶e̶–̶  ̶   C̶a̶n̶ a̶n̶y̶o̶n̶e̶ h̶e̶l̶p̶ m̶e̶?̶!̶

     The vile jeering of your face will be printed in the back of their minds as occuring nightmare, a tormentor– another monster that took shell in human form in years to come.

                W̶h̶a̶t̶ d̶i̶d̶ I̶ e̶v̶e̶r̶ d̶o̶ t̶o̶ y̶o̶u̶?̶

       And as they grew older, they'll reminisce the way you'll act like a leader of a lion pact but they'll see you now of what you were really are– a vulture, not even a leader. Just a mere animal ravenously digging on carrion or corpses of leftovers of real predators. Your power is merely fake. You don't have control nor hold to the so called weaklings because you . . are the weak.

                  𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙮
                  𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚.