STOP

The world had never felt so small, yet so unbearably loud. The whispers, the snickers, the jeers—all of them clawed at his skin like invisible thorns. He walked the school halls with his head down, his red hair blazing like a target. It didn't matter if he ignored them; the taunts and laughter found him like he had a flashing sign over his head, marking him as an outsider.

"Hey, Red!" someone shouted, a sneer in their voice. He felt something hit his shoulder, a paper ball bouncing off him, harmless but humiliating. He kept walking, his fists clenched, feeling his own pulse drumming in his ears. His heart felt heavy, weighed down with each cruel word, each sneer that stuck to him like mud. He just wanted it to stop. He just wanted—

"STOP!"

The shout tore from his throat, surprising even him. But what surprised him more was the sudden silence that followed.

The hallway was still. Students were frozen mid-laughter, mouths open, hands mid-gesture. The paper ball lay suspended in the air beside him, caught in mid-fall. He blinked, his heart pounding in confusion. Was this real?

He waved his hand in front of a bully's face. Nothing. He poked one kid in the arm. No response. It was like someone had pressed pause on the world, leaving only him to move and breathe and wonder.

After a moment, he whispered, almost afraid, "Go."

And suddenly, life surged back into motion. The hallway filled with sound, and the paper ball finished its fall, bouncing to the floor.

His heart raced. He had no idea how, but he knew it was real—he could stop time.

That night, lying in his small bed at the orphanage, he stared at the ceiling, his mind racing. This power—this strange, impossible power—could be his chance to escape the cruelty that had haunted him for so long. He could freeze everyone, slip away, never come back.

But as he thought about it, he realized that wasn't what he wanted. The problem wasn't him, it was the people who seemed determined to make his life miserable. Maybe, just maybe, he could use his power to change things. Not for revenge, but to help.

He started small. The next day, he watched as a smaller kid was shoved to the ground by the same bullies who tormented him. Without thinking, he shouted, "Stop!" and the world froze. He gently lifted the kid back onto his feet and moved the bullies' backpacks onto a nearby bench so they wouldn't trip him again. Then, whispering "Go," he watched as the kid stumbled, confused but safe, while the bullies turned around, wondering how their bags had moved.

Days turned into weeks, and he started to feel like a ghost, a silent protector. He didn't need thanks or recognition; he just wanted to stop the suffering he knew too well. He would freeze time to help classmates retrieve lost items, give courage to kids hiding from bullies, and even prevent fights before they started.

But one day, he noticed a girl crying in the library, her face buried in her hands. He wanted to help, but he knew time couldn't fix a broken heart. He wanted to sit with her, tell her she wasn't alone, but the words caught in his throat. Still, he found himself whispering, "Stop." The world stilled, the air grew quiet, and he sat beside her, watching her for a moment before he gently put a tissue on the table and slipped away.

When he resumed time, he watched as she noticed the tissue, blinking in confusion before a small, grateful smile crossed her face.

The power didn't solve everything; he still felt the sting of isolation, the weight of being different. But now, he was different in a way that mattered, in a way that helped others, that made a difference. He was no longer just a target, the red-haired orphan everyone picked on. He was a protector, a friend, a silent force that could make the world just a little bit kinder.

And sometimes, when the weight of loneliness felt too heavy to bear, he'd find a quiet spot, close his eyes, and whisper, "Stop." In that quiet, frozen world, he found a strange peace. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough.

Because even in a world that had treated him with nothing but cruelty, he had the power to choose kindness.