Free Bird

One Week Left

  I get called down to Mr. Bickers office during History class, and I am not looking forward to it, because I already know what's going to happen when I sit down in that big comfy black chair...
"Neveah, please. Tell me what happened to you. You can't tell me it wasn't nothing. One of our school's freshman girls found your unconscious body sprawled out on the bathroom floor with a busted lip, nose, bruised stomach and bleeding eye." He replayed the gruesome image into both of our minds, just to fuck with me and try to get me to talk. Well ya know what, I'm smarter than him, and I won't give in and I refuse to play this game, because the last time I played it, the results weren't pretty.

-Flashback-
"It was Erica! Erica hit me." I cry as I reveal the name of my bully to my 6th grade teacher
That was the worst mistake I made. The next day on the bus, Erica came and sat next to me. I automatically knew, this wasn't going to be good.
"So, little baby wants to be a cry baby too huh?" Erica asks in a baby voice, "do you know what I do with cry babies?"
I found out within seconds. I was pulled out of the bus seat and onto the floor. I was then jumped on like a trampoline for the remainder of the 10 minute bus ride. But she wasn't done with me, she kicked me in the face five times before walking off the bus. Nobody stopped, nobody helped, and I layed on the floor of the bus, until someone at the bus barn found me.
-end-

So instead I just sat there, not saying a single word, Graduation is only a week away and then I will never have to see these people ever again. I purposely applied to schools out in L.A. and I ended up getting a full scholarship. To be away from this place, to not be called NOT every single day of my life, but to be known as Neveah Olivia Tanner, the greatest artist/ song writer of this shitty ass generation. Silly I know, but it's the only good thing I have left in my life and I plan on holding on to it and pursuing it until hell freezes over and pigs have wings and can fly themselves to the slaughter house.
"Look, there is nothing you can say or do to get me to talk and tell you what happened that day. I am graduating in a week, I'm out of this place... in a week, then I'm gone, out of here, never coming back. So whatever happens in the next week, happens," I don't wait to be dismissed, I grab my bag and stand up, but before I walk out I look him straight in the eye, those green eyes that always hold so much concern for me, and say, "Thank you for caring about me all these years, but I never wanted your pity, never wanted any of the pity I received. But nonetheless, it was nice to know that someone actually cared. Now, third period is about to start, and I'm not going to miss art class."

I walk down the long hallway, ignoring all the looks and side comments and giggles. I walk past all of it, down the hall and to the left. I open the door and smile as I walk through. I go to my usual seat in the front and grab my sketch book. I open it up to my new piece I have been working on. I ignore the rest of the world while I blend in all shades of grey and black. When the bell rings I sigh, I look at my finished piece...me. Abused, bruised, and standing tall in L.A.  

(Mr. Bickers is in picture)