The Rose of My Eye

I snapped. (About damn time too)

The air was knocked out of me when my back came in contact with the lockers, I slid to the floor in pain. Laughter echoed in the hallways as I slid to the floor in pain. Then nothing. I felt nothing.

No I don't mean that I'm dead, I mean I literally felt nothing. No pain. Nothing. Not even the coolness of the lockers. I felt the back of my head and my hand came back bloody, but that didn't stop them. They continued to brutally attack me.

“Hey demon, put up a fight will you?” One of my assailant sneered.

Did I mention most of my school's population are extreme Christians? Not saying I have anything against Christians, but the ones at my school literally thought I was a demon (hence the name, spawn of Satan) when they first met me. One of their attempts to get rid of me was even dousing me in holy water in hopes of seeing me disintegrate or something.

To my relief, I felt no pain even though I clearly saw the assailant's foot make contact with my stomach. No gag reflex, no flinch, no nothing. I pushed myself to my feet, wiping the corner of my mouth as I glared at them. They seemed taken aback from my sudden glaring, just a minute ago I was groaning and moaning in pain. Taking that opportunity, I ran out of the school and back home. Not even bothering to open the front door, I went right away to my garden.

I looked into the bird fountain to see my reflection, it was much worse than all the other results of the bullying. Normally — as in the first four or five months — the result of the attack would be bruises and a nasty black eye. Now it escalated, my face streamed with blood, tainting my blonde hair. All because of my eye.

Something finally snapped in me, all this was because of my eye — my horrible black coloured eye — in fact, I'm quite fond of my ruby red eye. It's pretty and reminded me of roses.

I tore my gaze away from the fountain and went to the tool shed. There I went through my gardening tools until I found the two items I was looking for, my two serrated butterfly knives. What can I say? I find weird stuff in my tool shed. I first found them when I first started middle school, my sixth or seventh grade, and I remembered seeing all these cool compilations with the said knives. So I tried them out.

And I was a natural at it.

Unhitching the safety bar that keeps it closed, I did a few simple double rollovers and aerials before closing it again and put it in my pocket. With the other knife, I did one of my favourite tricks, a zen rollover. Blade glistening in the setting sun rays, I brought it up to my right eye. “Good bye, thing that ruined my life.”

“Rosaline?! What have you done to yourself?!” My mother shrieked.

I giggled in response, skipping around the kitchen table. “Hehe doesn't think look better than my dreadful black eye?”

My mother looked terrified, I supposed having a rose bleeding from your eye wasn't the best thing to surprise your mother with. But hey, I don't even consider her my mother. I saw her reach for a kitchen knife and pointed it at me. “Don't come any closer!” She warned.

“Mother, I don't like your eye.

Should I make your eye pretty?”