It's Too Late (Septiplier)

2.

~Jack~

I walked into class late, everyone who dared to look did. They laughed and teased me as I walked past. Some held their nose and others just looked plain disgusted. The teacher said nothing as the rude remarks continued. From I heard, the teachers are paid by none other than Mark Fischbach, just so they can get away with all the shit they do.

I sink into my chair in the back of the classroom. I stare out the window and wish I could crawl in a hole and die. Never having to worry about my problems again because all I can do is run away from them.

I sat through the lesson think about how much better it would be if I was gone from this world. No one cares. No one loves me. Everyone wants me dead anyway. Then I felt something hit me. I look down to see a spit ball stuck to my sweatshirt. I look down and don't make a big deal out of it.

Another spitball hit the back of me once I turned back towards the window. I don't dare look back to see who is doing that. I don't want to know, but they want me to. Then finally a giant ball of paper was flung at my head. I still didn't turn around, I barely even noticed that it hit me. I wasn't fazed by their shenanigans in the classroom. This always happens.

I don't know how long it was until the bell rang. I wasn't paying attention to time, but to life. Mine to be exact. When the bell did ring however, I left the classroom slowly. I wanted to skip out on the herd of people in the hallways.

However someone met me out in the hallways after class. Well, multiple people. It was Mark, James, Matt, and Milo. And they weren't happy.

"Shit-head, why didn't you respond to our little messages. We had some VERY important thing to tell you," James said between his teeth. I said nothing and made sure my hands were out of sight because they're shaking again.

I didn't say anything to them. I didn't stand up for myself. I didn't scream once his fist connected with my jaw. I didn't say anything.

He swung his arm back and swung at me with full force. It connected with my jaw and I could feel it swell. My small body was knocked backwards from the impact. I fell to the floor and was leaning against the lockers. Then Matt and Milo approached. They kicked me in the stomach in synch and I could feel my stomach lurch, threatening to let out stomach acid. They left after that.

Mark was the only one that didn't do anything to me. Not normal behavior for him. Normally he lets himself take part in my torture, but today he just stood there and watched.

 I let them play with me like a ragdoll. Limp, lifeless. I was putty. They could bend me and shape me any way they want. I didn't refuse because I couldn't.

I got up. Everyone was in lunch now. I didn't want anything to eat. I went to the bathroom again. I held my stomach as I stumbled into a stall. I locked the door and kneeled down over the bowl. My body heaved most coming up empty. Eventually, stomach acid rose from my empty stomach, burning my esophagus. I sat there for a minute leaning on the nasty toilet before I got up and cleaned my face. In the process, I checked out my stomach and jaw. Sure enough, bruises started to form. Blue started to crawl up my jaw, covering some of the faded handprint.

I sighed at my appearance. They are right, I am ugly.

I shook my head and walked out of the bathroom. I walked down the hallway and I passed the lunchroom. I looked in through the window and I saw everyone happy. Happy without me. They were laughing and joking around with one another. Something I could never do as I have no one to laugh with, to cry with. I am alone, singled out as an individual in the world full of dependent people.

With that thought I decide not to torture myself any longer by looking in on a jar of happiness and fun. A jar that will never open for me. I am leave but not before I see a familiar, yet sad looking face.

It was Mark. He was sitting with his friends, but he wasn't paying any attention to them. He was looking straight at me. I then turned and left.

He probably wasn't looking at the loser he beats up and looks sad about it. He was probably just was absent minded or day dreaming about who knows what. Probably girls, because even I know he's fucked almost all of them by now. I mean I only know that because the girls at this school flaunt it like they would jewelry.

 I sigh and shake my head trying to clear the thought from my head. For some reason, that thought really discourages me. I then continue my walk to the art room. It's almost completely abandoned. No one ever comes here besides me. That's quite sad, yet I love this place because I can forget my problems or put them into art. Most of the room is filled with my art.

Drawings: pencil, ink, portraits and feelings. Paintings: acrylic, oil, fear and sorrow. There are sketches littered in this room. Paint droppings on the tile floor. Paintings and drawings lined the walls and the place smelled of the oil based paints. There were the art supplies that were stuffed in cabinets, brushes that were in buckets. I felt more at home here than I did where I lived.

I opened up the cabinet and searched for my drawing pencils. I was making a ruckus as I scavenged for my pencils. Eventually, I found them and sat on the lonely stool in the middle of the room and placed a fresh canvas on the easel in front of me. I started to sketch out a man falling through darkness with tears falling from his eyes as he fell. I started to sing a song that fit my life quite well. (song up top)

~Mark~

I see that kid we always pick on. I think his name is Jack. He was looking in through the window to the lunchroom. He looked quite sad and I felt bad for him. He never is in lunch, he never talks to anyone. Does he eat? Does he have friends?

He met my gaze and his eyes look almost dead. Like they aren't able to do anything but cry, and his mouth is always sagging, like he can never smile. He then turns and leaves. I am bored here so I thought I might go after him.

I get up and Milo asks,

"Where are you going?"

"To the bathroom," I simply state. I get up and leave, I don't know where he went. I then heard loud noises coming from down the hall. I make my way down there and peek in, only to see Jack sitting on a lone stool in front of an easel drawing a picture. The room looks like an art room, based on the beautiful paintings and drawings that line the room. It also looks like the room hasn't been used by a class in a long time. I wonder if all these paintings and drawings are his.

I then hear an angelic song echo from the room. It was coming from him. His voice was beautiful. I have barely heard him talk, let alone sing. I was getting lost in his voice and the song. It was a sad song and I couldn't help imagine that he was singing this song about himself. And I could help but picture myself as the man who calls out :

Everyone gather around for a show
Watch as this man disappears as we know
Do me a favor and try to ignore
As you watch him fall through a bleeding trapdoor

I covered my mouth as he finished the song. I didn't know that's how he felt. He never shows any emotion when we tease him and-and beat him. How could I have been so blind? I was hurting someone emotionally and physically. I can't do this to him anymore but I don't know if I can tell my friends to stop.