Invincible

There are 121 reasons why this story isn't for you, but I'll tell it, anyway.

Do you like violence?

Do you like the power that flows through you at the height of rage, when your vision turns dark, and all you see is the fire of your anger?

No?

Well, at the beginning, physically hurting people was unthinkable for me. I carried an air of passiveness. I was quiet, reserved. I stuck to my own business. The only friends I had were those in study circles, and that's all the interaction I got after class hours.

There was college. Experiencing any amount of culture shock was part of the freshman experience, and I've had my share of that with the first term schedule—classes began at 9AM, ended at 7PM, with a two-hour break in between. You didn't get that in high school. However, I plodded on, thinking that I'd eventually adjust to the pressures of college life.

That included, of course, peer pressure.

Before the term ended, we had to attend a weekend seminar on leadership, which was required as we were enrolled in political science. Most of the block was comprised of boys; girls took up such a small percent that not one of them showed up for the seminar. Perhaps their cautious parents discouraged them. Why send their daughters to a den of teenage boys?

That's all cool. If I had a daughter, I wouldn't send her, either.

Despite being shepherded by two professors, the block could hardly be contained. There's this kid named Laurence: seventeen years old, likes to proclaim himself as alpha male.

It was Saturday night, straight from first seminar day, when Laurence prodded the block of twenty boys to a sneaky session of drinking.

"Sir Torres and Sir Gonzalvo could care less," he persuaded. "If I know, they'd done the same thing when they were our age."

The boys snickered.

It was 10PM when everyone trickled out of their beds to the basement of the private home rented by the school. The boys achingly practiced their stealth so the professors, who were at the second floor, wouldn't catch any noise.

Five of us shared a room. Three had already left, fancying themselves as shadows, but the fourth boy, Ralph, tapped on my shoulder before he rushed out the door.

"Hey, let's go," he whispered sharply.

I had my back towards him.

"No," I replied groggily.

"You sure? If the guys see that you're missing, you're gonna get a lot of flak in the morning."

I shifted a little. "I don't care."

A scoff emerged from Ralph. "I think you'd be sorrier missing out on the guys than breaking the rules."

I refused to answer, and when Ralph heard nothing more from me, he slipped out the door.

I drifted off to sleep.

Commotion woke me up. I checked the time on my phone: It was almost 2AM.

I heard angry shouts.

I bolted up, suddenly alert. The shouts were followed by the sound of things tumbling to the floor. It seemed that Laurence and the rest had been caught red-handed.

And they were putting up quite a fight.

I decided to stay where I was. The commotion didn't stop. I froze and thought for a minute. What if our professors fell into danger? Nineteen boys outnumbered them. Should I call the school, even at this hour? We were given an emergency number should calamity befall us.