The Stories of the Sufferers

BackCrack

Dureti walked out of Target with her new school supplies. She bought notebooks, folders, and a backpack for her upcoming tenth-grade class. School opens a month from now. Dureti hoped she got everything she needed, for she had forgotten her supply list back home.

When she reached her house, she packed her supplies. Her school was a tad bit distinct from the rest in the Twin Cities; it started earlier by three weeks during August. After she finished, she placed the backpack at the edge of her bedroom. It was to remain neglected until school starts.

One month later, Dureti dressed in her clothes chosen beforehand: a blue long-sleeved midi dress with a gray hijab. Afterward, she slathered lotion on her caramel skin and applied Vaseline to her full lips. She put on her backpack, announced good-bye to her parents, and strolled to the end of the block. There, she waited for the bus to arrive. Brick townhomes lined up across the street, and more children left their homes. A mix of fear and excitement aroused in her chest. Fear of school and meeting new people. Excitement for seeing her old friends again.

Dureti barely had a social life outside school since she was hardly allowed to leave her home. She must rely on her school friends for in-real-life entertainment. She felt genuinely appreciative for all of them.

Dureti sat in the window seat and set down her backpack on the side. It was an unpopular brand but was styled as a Jansport bag. The pockets were multiple, and its base color was white with infinite red dots; some were larger than the other. The colors of the red dots were either scarlet or wine. It seemed like the creators carelessly splattered a red paint onto the backpack. That vivid.

She anticipated for her friend to come along at the next stop, and when she did, they both chatted for the remainder of the ride.

Dureti bounded off the bus. The dread and eagerness had not abandoned her. She strode to the front door, feeling a bizarre heaviness on her back. Her backpack was not that heavy when she left the house. Maybe, her friend slipped something into it. They often exchanged the deed. Dismissing the discomfort, she proceeded her way to school with her heart pacing apace.

Dureti reached the cafeteria with a big smile spread on her face. She greeted her friends, and they all carried on discussing their summer. Many of her friends also had no outside-of-school social life. They were a part of the East-African culture and had like-minded, second-generation parents.

When breakfast ended, Dureti put on her backpack, and she sensed it was even heavier. It seemed as if with each step she took, its weight marginally increased. This issue was lamentable, for she had to climb the stairs to reach her first-hour class. Dureti grunted at the burden but persisted with going up. She thought she may as well investigate the matter shortly.

But as she ascended, the weight became unbearable. Her back bent over slightly. She attempted to take it off but failed at doing so. Dureti postponed this case as she did not want to hold back the other students. She only had six steps waiting for her anyways.

Dureti almost fell backward quite a few times on her way. She arrived at the top with a puff, moved to the side of the stairwell (with considerable effort), and tried to shrug off her backpack. That did not work. She then clasped the handles and endeavored to discard it. It would not budge.

Dureti trudged to her class--which was luckily nearby--and sought help. Even then, she had to clutch onto the walls to refrain from toppling. When she set a foot at her final destination, she shouted for help, for she was frantic the backpack was stuck and she would have to slice off her sleeves.

The class also made an effort to assist her; however, it was unsuccessful. Dureti was slowly falling backward at this point. Her backpack was hanging out, enjoying the anguish and humiliation. Dureti was crying/yelling/ohmygodsomebodyhelpme! right now. The teacher phoned the ambulance and assured her help was coming. Her back was flat out horizontal; her arms were raised up in the air.

Dureti let out a yelp each time the bag lowered. Her back was in undeniable pain, and she feared what would happen if she reached the ground. Dureti's short, vertical legs were held in place supernaturally. Terrible news.

Meanwhile, the students had given up hoisting her back up pointlessly and turned to prayer. The room was utterly chaotic. The noise was deflecting on all four corners of the room. Dureti's back was in a one-hundred and twenty-degree angle.

The merciless backpack loved every second of the scene. It got off on Dureti's fear fervently. The bag dipped her even more, earning another delicious scream from her. Dureti felt her skin stretching far too much, and her bones cried for help. Her head was nearly at level with her ankles.

The skin stretched farther.
A ripple burst from her midriff.
The skin disunited like the way Moses parted the Red Sea.
Blood rushed out.
Dureti screamed.
Head met ankles.
Bones cracked.
Backpack relished.
Blood spurted as if it was a waterfall.
Dureti's wide eyes widened.

Snap.
Dureti's body completely snapped in half.
Gasp.
The students blinked at the mess.
Gore.
Dureti coated the white backpack with more blood.
Her body was in an unconventional position; her head laying flat on the floor, and her toes contacting the top of her head right before it.
Now the red spots were terribly myriad.
The backpack rid the DNA, teleported back to Target, created a new tag, and snuggled on the hanger in the front of the row.
Fresh blood reeked at Target.

This one is dedicated to Duraye. The poor girl told me she didn't want to die in the story😂
And holy shit! This is the first story I made with no swearing! Fuck yeah!
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