When I was a kid, about 12 years old, I dreamt that angels flew into my room during the night. They whispered things to me; promises. They asked me who I wanted killed. I was only throwing a tantrum at the time, so I told them it was my mother. The next day, I woke up to the most frightening thing ever. Her body was nailed to the wall across from my bed; her arms were spread, and her chest was torn open. Her guts and bones were falling out, and her intestines were already touching the ground. Blood was painted on the walls, making the shape of wings that expand from her back. On the ceiling, the words "Maxwell's Angel" were smeared violently. My name is Maxwell Jones.
Ever since then, these angels have been visiting me every night...they kept asking me who I wanted to have dead. I told them 'no one.' The sight had been too traumatizing; I never actually wanted my mom to die. At school, since everybody had heard about my mom's death, they just stopped talking to me. Even the teachers gave up; they couldn't help but feel pity. The angels started threatening me, but with calm voices. Their whispers began to feel more and more menacing; they grew louder each night. Then came high school when I could barely sleep. It was especially hard, due to procrastinating while working on school projects and then having to sleep later at night. They crowded around me. They flew around me until I went insane. My dad doesn't bother taking me to a psychiatrist, or even a normal therapist. "It's just a waste of time," he scowls.
It was pretty hard, but I had graduated from high school alive. In sophomore year, though, people found out I had to wear concealer in order to cover up my baggy eyes. They started calling me "gay" and "fag" and pretty much everything horrible. Bullying got worse every year after that. Halfway through junior year, Tammy Fredrickson, one of the most popular girls, told a group of jocks that if they tortured me as much as possible, she'd sleep with all of them for the next few months. So, with just those words, they came straight to my house during the night at 3am. My dad was at his girlfriend's house, so I had been left alone with the angels. That is, until the guys arrived.
They broke the window of our front door, unlocking it from the inside. They charged in, and found my room. They saw that I had been awake, huddled in my bed and shaking from the insanity of the angels' chatters. They took notice of my eyes, now without makeup covering the dark circles. Jimmy was their top guy; he was hot to all the girls, even the ones who weren't into his type. He was the best football player, and very flirty with the hottest girls in school. Overall, they loved his tan skin, dark brown hair, and of course, his large muscles. But most people don't know about his dark side. He grinned wildly in my presence. "Aww, what's the matter, Max? You're so scared of us that you can't sleep?" He and the rest of the guys start cracking up evilly. I shook my head. "No...please, not now--"
Jimmy dragged me out of the house and onto the street. "Yo, Doug. Hand me the bag," he requests a fellow jock. A ginger haired boy with similar build to Jimmy smiled and tossed a linen bag to him. He opened up the bag and pulled out lipstick. 'What the hell is he trying to pull...?' I pondered to myself.
He removed the cap and smeared it all over my mouth. "You're a stupid cunt, Maxwell!" he screamed at my face. "You're an ugly little fag, you know that? You're always bitching out on everything!"
Jimmy then punched me in the eye. I groaned and tried to shield it, but I was too late. He repeatedly smacked my face, leaving bruises and cuts. "You want makeup?! I'll give you a makeover!" He punched my lips so much, I was bleeding badly. Even a few guys tried pulling him away saying "Dude, that's enough! You got him, now let's go!"
"I'm not done yet!" he chuckles. He begins hitting my head onto the pavement. I scream with every hit; it hurts so much. I couldn't stand the pain. "S-stop!! Please!!"
