Boys Nobody Ever Writes Stories About

Anderson

Everyone hated him, and when I say they hated him, I mean they wanted to claw at their throats until words stopped spewing out of the corners of his chapped lips. He had simple looks. Eyes that were a shade too brown that resembled the dirt you step on early at dawn. Shaggy hair that never seemed possible to tame with his thin fingers. He was just a little bit too loud for when he walked into the classroom, students would rustle the words "annoying" and "gross" like wildfire spreading on a dusty evening. Limping to his desk, he would toss his damaged and shredded, brown bag onto the desk with the sound of a thud as it landed so brutally. Minutes would pass and he never ceased a moment where he could grieve about society and how everyone operates with an impulse of fear. You would just hear seconds later, the teacher would slam her book down and shriek at him for never paying attention in class. She would point at the door and tell him that this is the reason why his parents never show up for their conferences.

But I remember one day, they showed up outside of school to pick him up. Hiding behind a curtain of bushes, I paused to sneak a glimpse at how such a broken boy came to be. There he was, trying to stand up as firm as possible as his father kept on beating him. Over and over again, bruises were forming but he didn't even flinch. I watched as he bit his lip to stop himself from screaming on impulse, but there was a stream of crimson escaping his purple lips. His father took a swing of his beer and when he finished, he slammed it against his son's arm. "SEE BOY? THIS is why your MOTHER of yours doesn't come by anymore. THIS is why she left ME for that god damn, son of a bitch. It's all because of you. 

- { not everybody gets a happy ending. his was on a blood-stained rug with a gun in his right hand }