runner

This is based off a tumblr post. All of the characters are made up. 

Read comment. Enjoy

Condolences to the boy (the real one) 

=====================================================================

His vacant stare told a story, not that anyone paid attention to this tiny detail, he was after all, that weird kid, that one who would run home when he got off the bus. We each laughed at him, we cracked jokes, mostly about how he was slow.  But he knew pain of no bounds, pain that would bite your throat, make it hurt, and force tears out of your eyes. no one knew the true reason why he actually ran.

Thomas, his name was Thomas. He was five foot four, chubby. Not a runner. Oh how funny it was watching him lug his bag, cello, and his weight, in a mad dash home. The look in his eyes screamed determination. His face pale, he almost looked like he was crying. I thought it was only the hazing. I told him they'd stop eventually, not quite relived he smiled and nodded. Sadly I knew that kind of smile, one that's so forced it looks like you're moving your lips with your fingers. I knew that look all too well. The look that people in pain give, it's a direct cry for help, unfortunately it's a look that works magic in convincing people you're okay.  Upon seeing this I wanted to scream. "IT'S A FRAUD." "SHUT UP, I'VE GOT TO SEE WHAT'S UP IN THIS BOY'S LIFE" I only dismissed it as pain from the bullying, I figured he'd be fine when they stopped.

 It really is funny, no one ever thought he had, had a good reason to sprint for his house when he got off. No one ever thought he was in any kind of danger, or pain. That say some one he loved was in peril. No, were too ignorant, we thought he was running to lose weight or he was running away from us. we shouted from the windows, "run fatty run" or "fall, fall, fall, fall" 

 After the bus took off, with the screaming assholes, I ran after Thomas, then I asked him why he runs when he got off the bus. Tears in his eyes he kept running. I chased after him, we ran to Thomas's house on the porch I grabbed his backpack and asked him again. Looking directly into his eyes, not breaking that connection. Thomas then confided in me,  My sister is suicidal, I have to make sure she's okay. Every damn day.

I never laughed again. It was no longer funny.  

And then it was Monday, I didn't ride the bus today, I never saw Thomas though, which was odd, He never missed a day. 

It was Tuesday, A bleak Tuesday. The bus ride home was less than eventful, Thomas was gone, it made no difference to us though. 

It was Wednesday, Bright and cheerful. No Thomas

It was Thursday, no Thomas, the kids on the bus had begun to notice.

Finally it was Friday. No Thomas, everyone on the bus who were so use to screaming "fatty, fatty" were getting bored.

Then on Monday I found the worst had come. 

He got off the bus, he didn't run.