Mirrors

Too Much

Chapter Eleven:

Too much

The constant cursing, and the repetitive teasing; they led me down to a way of thinking I’ve never known before. This incident took place for too many times where there was no significant point in time this ocean world could show me what happened. Throughout three years of elementary school, I’ve gone through too much.

I found myself swimming in my watery grave again. I sank deeper and deeper as my negativity rose higher and higher. When too many people call you something, you eventually start to believe them. When those kids called me a whore, I felt so unclean. When they told me I was too weak, I couldn’t raise a finger to defend myself. I couldn’t stand my ground. And no one wanted to help me. Those memories came rushing towards me; the voices had gotten louder and louder. The water began to move, creating a current that surrounded me. I was trapped in the eye of a whirlpool without a place to turn.

Jeering and chanting shot at me from every angle. I began seeing the phantoms of my classmates from elementary school. They circled around me, laughing at my pathetic state. They threw out insults, even when a teacher was right behind them. The teacher didn’t care; she found amusement from it. These doll-like kids glared at me with their red, glowing eyes. I attempted to scold them, but all that came out of my mouth was a squeak.

The whirlpool pulled my hair, making my eyes squint. It was like a hurricane, pushing my body in different places. The children kept snickering. One them came forward, bending over to look down upon me.

“Why do you keep hanging out with guys all the time?” she asked. “You’re so loud and unlady-like. Why can’t you be more like us?”

“Yeah!” another screamed in agreement. “Why can’t you be a girl?”

“Are you a lesbian or something?”

I shook my head. Of course I’m not.

“Well, why do you like hanging out with guys then?” the girl challenged. “So you could sleep with them later?”

I shook my head again, vigorously.

“You’re a lesbian, then! Ew! I don’t wanna be around you! You’re gross! You’re nothing to us. You’re so pathetic.”

“But—but—”

“Shut up!” a little boy muttered. “Don’t ever talk back to us.”

I crouched down, holding my knees closer to my chest. My head hid behind my thighs. I began praying for God’s help. It had been about four years since I had prayed to an entity that I questioned whether existed or not. It didn’t have to be some deity I was asking help for; I was asking this ocean world to forgive me. This was my death, my world; why must it torture me?

I recalled one day during lunchtime in the cafeteria, the principal’s son—Jordan—came up to me. Without a single greeting, he attacked me. He clenched his fists and punched me on the stomach without warning. Then, he took my lunch box. He sneered, showing off as his friends cheered him on. I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t just let him walk all over me. I stood up, ran to him while he walked away. With his back turned, I jumped on him. I threw punches on his head while he laid down on the paved courtyard. Everyone saw me do it. But I didn’t care. Anger filled up inside me; no one could treat me like an animal. But there, I acted like one without a control of my mind. I just did what my instincts told me, and it told me to hurt someone.

I stopped when I heard the principal came screaming at the top of her lungs. She came up to me with her meaty hands, and slapped me across the face. I fell off of Jordan’s back, dumbfounded at the least. She placed her hands on Jordan’s armpits and lifted him to his feet. Jordan sobbed as loud as he could, making it seem more dramatic than it really was. He just wanted me in trouble. He got what he wanted; I was suspended for a week.

My parents were disappointed, but they knew I had a good reason why I did what I did. They bolted through the principal’s office, trying to defend me.

That was when everyone found out that I had a temper.

After that, everyone in my grade would taunt me just to get me angry. They called me names, they stole my belongings, and they spread rumors about me. My temper got a hold of me; I couldn’t think my actions through. I chased boys to their hearts’ content, I back-sassed girls who needed to be taught a lesson, the largest boys tried picking on me but I wouldn’t back down, and so on and so forth. Everyone called me a monster—unwanted. No one wanted to be around me for fear that I’d strike a blow at their heads. But I wouldn’t do that, unless you made me mad.

That was when the boys made a new game: get Irene mad enough that she’ll chase you. Those boys thought it was some type of tagging game. To me, I just wanted to slap them. I couldn’t punch them. No. That’d be too far.

From out of nowhere, the phantom of Jaren and Oliver came through the whirlpool. They were ten and nine years old. They should be seventeen and sixteen.

“You know what?” Oliver began, folding his arms together. “Everyone was right about you. You’re a monster.”

“Why would you hurt that poor boy,” Jaren added.

“What has Jordan ever done to you?” Oliver asked.

“No!” I screamed. “Go away! Go away! You aren’t real at all!”

My anger rose again, boiling the ocean. I forced the ocean to move towards the ghosts, slamming them away from me. I had made a strong, hot current that made them fly out in different directions. They vanished in a cloud of boiling bubbles.  The whirlpool began to die down, revealing the floating objects around me. I calmed down as soon as the whirlpool disappeared. I was alone again.