For hours now I've been trapped in the school's bathrooms, trapped and not wanting to find an escape, the overpowering smell of urine consumes the cubicle I'm currently locked in. The females in my year appear worse than the devil himself, all of them liars and thieves. Deceivers. Nobody warned me of the sheer brutality they would show for the few extra dollars I held in hands that seem almost microscopic to the pain that has been labelled to me the previous day. The girls had been my friends throughout the time I'd spent in this school, the whole day and a half before the abuse yesterday started. Over a mere four dollars started the hate for the girls, the school and my life. I'd had this before in the few places id gone, but none quite as treacherous as this. It sounds stupid really, to have placed such a high level of trust in women I'd known for such a short time. But realistically it's all just part of the plan for people with demons living just below the surface of the skin.
So easy to talk to, such a bladed tongue. I wasn't prepared for the outcome of betrayal. Left alone, beaten, bruised and adding a water feature to the school the gushed blood from so many places on my flesh that even the doctors turned me away. In a small town like this there wasn't enough money in helping me for anyone. Not even the two who had birthed me were never quite happy enough with the outcome of their disappointment they were forced to name Daughter. The house was never clean, the food was always more then I deserved and the floor would never quite be clean from another empty bottle of whiskey. They'd both lived this way so long that faking sober came almost naturally to them, the only thing they stopped trying to hide was the yellowing of their teeth and the redness of the eyes that were used to aim the belt which lashed my arm day by day. The feelings of being lost flood me every minute of my existence, like a leech. Ever consuming of the happiness that lives in normal people, men and woman I walk past in the street. They never have the parasite, never showing such bruises and always showing a level of trust to one another. No one notices as my figure hides in the shadows or how I flinch at someone's hand when they go to scratch the itch above their left temple.
Hatred is a corruption. It devours everyone at some point in their lives, and after it's had a taste it spits you back out with the feeling of wanting to be digested completely. But the feeling of hate can never stop itself from coming back for another taste, the brother of Anger bares itself upon us constantly. Aiming himself at new people very few hours, everyone from the abusing parents I have no choice to deal with through all the way to girls at school who make it a requirement to hide myself away in a cubical to escape whatever violence awaits me if I leave.
Pain turns lives into deaths. Through todays culture it's normal to walk through a courtyard and see mere children with scars covering their arms and legs, each being riddled with a level of depression more intense than any human should be required to live through. Like a disease lurking below the surface of our flesh, infecting the people closest to us. Nobody is held close enough for me to start a plague through. But if someone was to try, the sickness would likely spread through their veins. Slowly at first, quickly picking up the pace towards their heart where it'll suckle like an infant until your spirit is dry of happiness and the feeling of helplessness sinks in to the core of your body. The pain lives in everyone, waiting to be awakened. And for me, it has kicking away at my inside.
The pain in my chest intensifies as I emerge from the bathrooms, tripped the second I walk through the door. No body stops to pick my body from the floor, instead a few stop to put a kick in sneakily as they walk by. This isn't new. The hatred grows with each lash of the belt the second I walk through the door of my home. Anger. Hate. Fear. All feelings I'm used to, but why? What do I earn out of this? Only more of each trying and succeeding to individually over run my life, a mix of emotions that I shouldn't have to sit through. The smell of smoke, the marks I can feel tinting my skin red and the busted spirit I live with push me. Slowly in the beginning, picking up speed as the cliff comes up to meet my broken shoes which nearly don't encase my feet.
I'm being pushed over the edge with every second of every day, the rough ground a hundred meters below comes up to meet my body without hesitation. And I put up with the feeling of slipping on the edge every day, nobody deserves this. Nobody except those who inflict it upon others.
And today I change it from a metaphor, today the rocks impale me with a force I could have never prepared for. And it is the most satisfying feeling ever to know it's the last pain I'll ever be made to feel.
me5@F
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Welcome To Real
Short StoryA series of dark stories exploring the feeling of depression in a teenagers head while portraying previous pains in different situations.