I get up from my tiny locker and throw my leather bag strap over my shoulder, only to get thrown back down again. I gasp in shock and slide down the side of the plastic lockers in pain. My side aches even more as he throws his rubbery boots into my stomach repetitively.
I wince in pain and tears roll in continuous rivers down my pale face. The salt in my tears stings my grazed cheeks and it makes me only cringe a little more.
I have been bullied my whole life I imagine; again, I can't remember. Rosa tells me I have never been 'one of the populars' and I have never really read into what she meant by that. Then when I hit high school, I figured out what she meant by that. I am constantly bashed and thrown out of the way in the school corridors. I have even found myself to be bullied in places like the mall and my favourite coffee shop.
"Don't get in my way, fatass!" he demands as he leaves and spits in my knotted hair.
I sob with my head rested on the brick wall behind me until I hear the distinct footsteps of Aunty Rosa. I tune into her presence and concentrate on the sound of her calm and controlled breathing.
Either she always knows when I am in pain, trouble or am completely helpless. Or someone is telling her and just standing back, watching me being bullied without even the slightest bit of sympathy.
She reaches my curled up, helpless body and I turn my head around to focus on her shoes. They are colourful, like her personality.
She nods at me as if to say, 'not again' and I reply with another nod to reassure her that I am okay.
YOU ARE READING
Disembodied Voices
Horror12:46am Sunday The colliding of metal poles awakes me on an early just turned Sunday morning. It never misses an opportunity to watch my poor soul snap out of my pale, startled skin. I can't remember when this all started to haunt me because I have...
