Run by: Patronus_Prophet
Judged by: Patronus_Prophet
Catagory: Teen Fiction
Inclusions: Single chapter, minimum of two pages, "I'm not Legolas"
I’ve been dreading this day all summer.
The entire break I have been anxious as to what will come out of today.
Never before have I ever felt so terrified of something so small, so insignificant. The terror has been running through my veins since the moment I first awoke; and I know for sure that it won’t stop coursing through me for the rest of the year. After that, I cannot say.
School has always been near the top of my list of fears. And for many good reasons.
The first being the work. Infinite piles of books with countless questions that are unnecessary to life outside of school. Honestly teachers, nobody cares whether I know Pythagoras Theorem or not. It eats away at all my time and does nothing for me but build stress and anxiety as to whether I will complete it or not before the ridiculously set due date.
The second reason is my parents criticism. No matter what mark I get, they will always be there to shun me and say I could’ve done better. Nothing is good enough for them, “if you only get it right, you’re wasting time,” is their most favourable quote and I hear it every time they see my report marks of only an A; not an A++ as they supposedly used to get.
The final, and most largely contributing factor, is bullying. Every school has a bully, every school has a victim. No matter what grade, if it’s private or public, if it’s co-ed or not, if it caters borders or only day students, it does not matter. Every school will always, always, always have a bully. And with a bully comes a victim. It’s a packaged deal, really.
At any other school bullies are just there for petty name calling and the occasional punch up. But at my school, they are a force to be reckoned with. Even the teachers tremble in their sight. They only ever leave small strikes on the victim at one time, but those strikes build up until it is physically and emotionally impossible for the victim to continue to fight against the bully.
So many of their victims have left the school.
So many couldn't carry on.
So many tried, and lost.
By this point in my rambling you are probably growing curious as to who the current victim of these bullies is. That victim, plagued and picked on, is me.
I am the luckless one to get constant harassment aimed at me; and it is aimed at one fragment of my being in particular.
My appearance.
It is the most stereotypical thing there is to be bullied about, and it is why I am targeted.
I will never wholly understand why it is so amusing to Joey, the conveniently stereotypically correct buff bully, to continuously trouble me about something that has absolutely nothing to do with him.
********
“Hey Legolas!” Joey calls out to me as I round the corner and walk through the school gates.
“I’m not Legolas,” I mutter with a jaded tone, but his elusive attack continues on.
“Sure you are!” sounds Tom; contributing to Joey’s argument against me. “You’ve got long blonde hair, and pointy ears!”
“Just like an elf!” Joey gasps between laughter.
These two are the dynamic duo. Nobody can get past them, and nobody has the guts to try.
So today, on an impulse I have decided that I will be that nobody.
I lunge forward; wrapping my hands around Joey’s neck and screaming. Tom does nothing but watch as we fall to the ground. I kick and scream and rake my nails down his face as he tries to push me off of him.
People all around stop what they’re doing and watch as I, the quiet nerd boy, bring down the school’s biggest bully. Honestly, I didn’t expect to tackle him so easily. But luck was on my side and I caught him off guard.
Teachers exit the buildings and try to take in what’s happening. The whole schoolyard is filled with noise. Chants, cheers and screams.
The students cheering us on have begun to build a barricade around us; blocking the teachers from getting in to stop us fighting. Yet another reason the bullying is so bad here; the teachers can't stop it.
I continue to kick at Joey until I eventually get him in a spot that stops him from fending me off. He keels over and lies on his side in a ball, groaning, as I give him one last kick in the leg and stand up.
Teachers come rushing towards Joey; concern etched across all of their faces, though a few have streaks of humour lining them. Everybody is so focused on the boy lying on the ground, that they don’t notice me run straight out of the gates and away from the school.
Not one person comes after me. And I don’t expect them to.
Because I’m still, even after all of that, nothing more than the victim of Joey.
No one cares for the victim.
It could have been me lying crippled on the ground, and Joey who had stormed out, and everybody would have followed him. If our current situations were reversed, and Joey had been the one to physically attack me, he would have the upper hand; the teachers would believe him, thinking he had a right to jump on me, or that it was best he left.
It always works that way.
The bully wins.
The victim is a nobody.
A nothing.
Insignificant.
That is why I have escaped so freely. And that is why tomorrow, when I show my face at school, I will be in a lot of trouble.
But the trouble won’t be from the teachers. That would be too easy.
The trouble will be from Joey and Tom.
Because nobodies don’t challenge the bully.
