"Ready for the next part, Brandon?"
"Yep."
Now, I pace the floor, thinking of a next event. I usually have a story for each grade, so let's think back to then. First grade...
Oh yeah, how'd I forget this one...
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"Alright, line up for lunch and recess."
I grabbed my Scooby-Doo lunchbox and lined up. Of course we had to wait a bit because someone threw up. The boy in front if me turned around.
"Hm you don't look too heavy. I'm strong, let me try and pick you up." It sounded like a stupid idea.
"No... that's dumb." But you know, my opinion doesn't matter. He picked me up, and I kicked and kicked as everyone turned around to see what's happening. I hated him from that day on.
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At recess we decided to play tag. Other kids were jump roping or playing kickball. Some just talked and played with their friends.
It was only me and a small group of kids playing tag. I had to catch Rocco.
I ran and ran and I almost caught him. We ran onto the blacktop, and someone threw a jump rope right after he ran past. I slipped and fell face-first, and I blacked out for a couple minutes. My knee was swollen and hurt badly, but according to the nurse, an ice pack was sufficient. I cried, but my cries mean nothing to anybody. I was never mean to anybody. I thought maybe nobody liked me.
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So that's me at around 6/7 years old. Eh, the young days... All problems start out at a young age, right? I would think so.
YOU ARE READING
What's Life?
Non-FictionSo this may sound like some sort of cliche bullying story, but I promise you: It's much more than that. This is about Krystal. She is fourteen, and she has a story to share: HER Story * * * I go by the years because that's how life goes by. School y...
