Ugly is Beautiful By: Audrey B. Holley

Chapter 1

The impact of her shove bangs me into a locker. I am fed up with her bull crap. I want to fight back, just rip out her hair until she suffers of baldness, and throttle her throat with my hands. I want to rupture her, give her a taste of the whippings she thrusts upon me.

"Come on Whoosy!" She screams into my face, wrenching me up by my shirt. Her vicious stare begins to sink in, and an emotion of trepidation claws its way to the surface of my heart. I am afraid that if she stares long enough into my swollen eyes, I'll go blind. As her clasp on my shirt tightens, she presses her knuckles into my chest. I try to knee her in the stomach, but before I can do so, she whops me in the forehead, creating an ache that pounds deep into my skull.

"You're such an ugly thing. Why bother showing up to school? It isn't like you're going to get noticed...ever." She says, speaking loud enough for the surrounding crowd to hear. Two girls that are standing behind her giggle.

Why are people just watching? Why wont anyone help me? Oh, that's right, I'm a nobody, but then again, if I were a nobody, this wouldn't be happening. I'd be in my own little corner of school, away from the attention. She recurrences the deed of clouting me again, but this time much harder. I gasp at the aggressive wound she forms on my cheek. Roughly, she tugs my hair out of my face and smirks.

"Yeah, you're ugly alright." She gibes, and bashes me to the ground. I scowl up at the pugnacious girl, desiring so badly to kick her, bring her down, do something, but I know it will be no use. I am a weakling, not nearly as powerful as her, so I just remain down; a defenseless victim. Abruptly, she lunges down at me.

She isn't finished with me yet, this is only the beginning of her everyday beatings.

While I make an attempt to crawl away, her fingers reach out to me, wrapping themselves around my naked ankle and twisting. I swallow a scream, forcing it to stay within. My heart pulses with pain  persistent at each beat. She drags my small body beneath hers, and positions herself so that she's sitting on my chest. Her knees lay themselves on my arms, pinning them to the cold, hard floor. She swings her fist at my face. Explosions in my head bounce my brain out of its place. She belts me incessantly. Every ring on each of her fingers leave giant bruises, cuts, and ugly markings on my face.

She once said she wore them just for me.

Her jagged nails scrape against my body, nearly damaging my skin, tantalizing my soul, and withdrawing numerous red marks in the outline of forming red scratches. I wriggle under the weight of her body. Screams develop in me.

What was meaning to be a terrified shriek, ends up sounding like a poor whimper.

But no one hears. They're all too absorbed in the nasty, violent fight, that they don't bother to listen to the sound of my voice calling frantically for assistance. I try once more, screaming is the only option I have available.

Again and again, her hands and fists come at me, allowing atrocious discomfort to nip at my trampled figure. I feel myself zoning in and out of consciousness.

I moan.

Blurs of voices clump together into some foreign language. My body slips into a limp state, and the hurting pain morphs into an unfelt feeling of detachment.

This is it, I am being beaten alive.

One arm somehow manages to escape from her knee. With great effort, I raise my hand and drive her face hard away from me.

But I fail despondently.

Her attention brakes away from my pocked face, and snaps outrageously at my wrist. Cracking sounds echo throughout the suddenly hushed air.