Kizzy: A Short Story

On the 113 double-decker bus to Marble Arch, Kizzy, was slumped on the worn, orange and navy seat three rows from the back, her threadbare, denim shoulder-bag resting protectively on her lap. She tapped her black-polished fingers against it in irritation. With good reason. Behind her, on the long back seat were five youths sprawled on the upholstery, laughing raucously and being just plain inconsiderate.

The other passengers on the top deck of the bus clasped their lips together, pretending the teens didn't exist as they tried not to draw attention to themselves. Through fear, no doubt. Even from a bunch of sixteen year olds.

They were just kids.

Only, kids who were probably armed with kitchen knives and a very bad attitude, taking offense if you so much as glanced their way.

Kizzy's fists clenched and her shoulders hunched over as their donkey cries got even louder.

The buzzing, thumping of music from a set of one of their headphones could be heard even from three rows down. If she concentrated enough, she could just make out the words. Some explicit rap 'music'.

She gazed glumly out the window at the grey, dull buildings, cloaked in winter fog and thawing snow.

Only four more stops and she'd be able to leave.

A thwup sound like a soggy dart through a tube met her ears. She realized what it was before she felt the pea-sized ball of tissue and spit hit her dark, frizzy curls and glue itself there. Then came the thunderous guffaws of the teenagers.

This was her life. The norm. It came with the territory for unpopular, misunderstood, geeky, overweight or just plain odd people like her. She'd accepted this kind of cruelty her whole life. Everyday was the same cycle of torment and bullying.

But today was different.

Today was the day, when something inside of her would snap.

She swung round, resisting the urge to peel the disgusting thing from her tangled locks and fixed her dark-brown, Romanian eyes on them.

She was met with three boys and two girls all more or less her age. To say she'd seen them around school was an understatement. They'd spent many hours of their shitty waste-of-space lives, victimizing her. She knew every one of them very well.

Ty, the black boy with the large diamond stud in his left ear was the first to notice her looking their way.

“What you looking at, you fat, ugly bitch?”

The two girls giggled.

Jess, the blonde girl's bare, fake-tanned leg was hooked across his lap. “Frizzy wants you, Ty,” she squawked and the two girls squealed into a fit of giggles.

Kizzy's dark brown eyes turned as hard as onyx.

Ty sucked on his tongue, making an annoying smacking pop.

The two white boys, Jason the brunette and Chris, the dusty blonde who donned the buzzing headphones, sat up straighter when Kizzy didn't respond and continued to glare at them.

A young mother with a little red-headed daughter who was sat across from Kizzy, eyed her with anxious eyes. Kizzy's gaze flickered in her direction and then back at the youths.

“Are you deaf?!” Ty growled. “I asked you what the fuck you were looking at!?”

Kizzy spotted the straw that had been used as the spitball shooter in his right hand. She gazed down at it and back at him with a venomous expression on her round, tanned face. “Are you going to apologize for that?” she questioned in a low, poisonous voice. It was the first time she'd ever spoken to them directly.