[5] The eyes are the reflection of who we are. The eyes are lens; the mind is the camera. Some things in life are found not by searching deeper, but by seeing clearer. The only way to truly see in most blurring situations is to close our physical eyes and see with the eyes of our mind. For the physical eyes are blind to the knowledge of the unknown.
Life is awesome when you have a sniper and an awesome nickname like GeneralDemolisher007 in Call of Duty. You could take down bad guys and rivals with a nice scope and a good aim. But, when you are faced with problems that can't be solved by a good headshot, life becomes not so much a bed of roses. Precisely, if you are one tasked with a mission to deal with the damage done to your reputation within a given time limit.
One inexorable pestering obstacle that stood in the way of my glorious transition were bullies. Yes. They were like gremlins, only bigger and meaner. God knows I was tempted one too many times to burn the whole school down to get rid of them.
They never forget your mistakes and their successful pranks were their badge of honor. They were mostly Rule-breakers, so getting into trouble was more their religion. Most teachers detested them but donned ignorance. For the past had thought a few brave ones about the wisdom of cowardice—and the cost of replacing broken windscreens and missing tires.
Students with working brains either kept their distance or made allies with them.
For a Misfit, making an ally of a Rule-breaker meant enslaving yourself for the sake of protection. You became that favorite chew toy that no dog wanted to share with another. In retrospect, that was the best way to keep other rule-breakers off your back. But not so much of a good plan, for one nesting dreams of having a girlfriend and ruling the school someday.
It was a warm beautiful Wednesday morning. One of those special days, that the air seemed to be in agreement with your skin and spirit. Not a special kind of hero moment—just a peaceful one. I wasn't just living it; I was basking in it. It was evident in the smile beaming on my young handsome face.
Well, most of the smile had to do with what Sam told me. He had overheard Daniella telling a couple of new friends that I was her crush. Boy, was I happier than a kid with two new limited-edition sneakers.
"How did you do it?" asked Musa.
"You have to understand. It is all about the swag—" I bragged on, like a nominated blockbuster producer on the night of the academy awards. "—there is no girl that Andrew can't get. Try me." I prayed an inaudible prayer that they believed me and shut up. The last thing I needed was a dare to talk to another girl.
"Wow. So you are going to ask her out?" Sam queried—obviously delighted at the prospect of live romance.
"I don't know. I have my eyes on a few people." Wow. That was a Big Fat Lie from a skinny kid with baseball bats for biceps. But, I couldn't tell my disciples that I was afraid.
"She is a beautiful girl that likes you. What are you still looking for?" Sam pointed out.
"I don't know. It's hard to be with one girl when you are a player." Boy, was I dropping it hot that day like a layer on chemical feed.
I feigned a straight face as they both chanted my name —masking the Gangnam style dance going on in my head.
The worship went on for minutes. When I was barely holding unto to my straight face, Cyrus walked in.
Cyrus was a special kind of bully. He wasn't much of a Rule-breaker than he was a nerd. Most teachers adored him and saw him as a perfect example of a good student. He didn't pick on other students, just me. He earned the love and respect of the Rule-breakers by being the secret prank mastermind. Winning the hearts of ladies with a perfect curved jaw, pink lips, and a heartwarming smile.
Most importantly, he was in Aaron's crew—people who ranked so high that the school looked beneath them.
"Andrew, my dear friend," Cyrus cried out as his mischievous eyes fell on me. His friends laughed; aware of the next thing that was going to happen. "I have been looking for you all day."
My heart race. My moment was surely over. The warmness I felt lost to the melancholic aura resonating from Cyrus as he walked towards me. My disciples faithfully standing by my side; watching and waiting.
"Cyrus, I am not in the mood," I spoke out.
Warning that fell on stony ears. In a split second, his hand moved—too late to take a step back, I watched it splash on my trouser. He had been holding a bottle of yogurt all along. His friends burst in a loud peal of laughter—others joined.
My eyes fell on my trouser zipper with utter despair.
I had the half mind to just walk out of the class. I guess it might have been a good spirit with foresight. But my anger could not be tamed, not with Daniella's eyes questioning my next course of action.
His crew were bigger, stronger, and more popular than mine. They ruled the class and no one dared to contest their leadership, not even the Rule-breakers. Going to war with them was beyond stupidity.
Well, an old friend once said. "Two kinds of men that can't be reasoned with. A drunk man and a man in love."
And I was so much drunk in love. Her eyes were just the butterfly effect needed to rain havoc. Without a second thought, I picked my half-empty plastic bottle of soda and I threw it at Cyrus.
Pause. Remember when I said, sport didn't come easy to me.
The bottle sailed aimlessly over his head and dashed me a rather cruel fate. Landing perfectly on Mr. Sundays forehead—a perfect headshot. One, I would have celebrated if my eyes didn't widen at the odds of that happening.
It was hard to tell who was more lost for words. He stared at him with horror, his face slowly fading from shock to anger. I knew what was going to happen next.
With my head down and heart sunk in defeat, I walked to Mr. Sundays—his hands still on his forehead. In a faint swing of motion, my right earlobe was between his index finger and thumb—we both marching straight to the Staffroom. The last face I saw before turning away was Cyrus smirk.
The events that followed were as expected. A lifetime of scolding and a punishment befitting my actions—gladly dispensed by him. I was mostly distraught and a bit happy knowing that the principal's office had in store way worse punishments than Sunday's. One of the few privileges of him being my guardian. He could never take me to the principal's office.
The sight of the principal was inexplicably appalling for me. Though, many recent tales had spoken much of his kindness. I still held on to my principle—never trust a skinny man that has a goatee, a wear trimmed mustache, and wears an oversized suit.
In hindsight, I knew my days of being bullied was far from over. And I had worsened the enmity between Mr. Sunday and I. I knew Cyrus was going to make another move for me. I was surely going to be prepared.
Nothing escapes Andrew Shilling's well-thought plan.
YOU ARE READING
THE DIARY OF A MISFIT
Humor"Doesn't it bother you?" I inquired as we walked on the pavements that led to the school gate. "Treated like this." "It does sometimes. But, what can I do about it?" **** There are no big dreams, only small minds. Andrew Shilling, a social Pariah...
