Chapter 1:
"Life goes on. People walk, talk, and breathe. Why does society control us?"
As a 12 year old boy, I am not use to socializing with other boys. I am usually that one that hangs out with the girls, or hangs out with minimum of boys. Usually I get bullied for hanging out with girls. I don't complain I just "Hate It."
Continuing on. This story has no sort of "Story-line." Basically events that I think in my head that I hate.
Chapter 2:
"We're painting it red to fit right in."
As I walk towards the bathroom. I noticed a strange familiar figure. I don't want to mention names, but yes this boy does go to my school.
Just for the story were going to call him Brady. Stepping in to just wash my hands, he notices my arm.
With a fast reaction I turn and just smile.
Brady says "Why cut yourself." Than he grabs the arm that has the cuts on them. He than goes into my pocket to reach a small blade. "I want you to cut my arm, let's see if you will do it to my face."
I than start to look in the other direction. Considering I would, but can't. All my life I been living in darkness, crept through the hallways, and visualize drama through my eyes. But why does this have to be the day I am confronted by a person about "Cutting."
I than shrug my arm out of Brady's grip. He drops the blade and leaves a note in my hand. And smiles.
This note says "Your secrets blown."
Crying as I usually do. He than looks at me. Kneels down and says "I am not going to blow your secret. Don't worry. Even though I may not socialize with you, but I see the way people treat you. You think I may not notice, but I do. Remember you cared for. Also, don't let anyone bring you down."
I get up and look down at all my scars. On my legs, ankles, and some parts of my belly.
Brady leaves.
I noticed I didn't read the note entirely.
The rest said "Stay Strong, throw every sharp item you have away."
