A Wilting Rose

Strangled by Thorns

My head nodded slowly to my hands, and I heaved a yawn. I hadn't fallen asleep until late last night; it appeared the combination of tears and stress was not a comforting lullaby.

I widened my eyes marginally - to keep them open more than anything else - and twisted a lock of my fiery hair, for something to do. I was sitting at my desk in my form room, having speed-walked to school at ten to eight, therefore avoiding any unwelcome encounters.

It had taken all my body strength to lift myself out of bed that morning. One glance at the firmly closed laptop on my desk had reminded me exactly of the events of the previous night. My heart had plummeted at the memory, and I had even half-considered faking my illness to prevent going to school. But Mum would have taken a day off work to nurture me, and I couldn't have her miss out on a days wages for her daughter's non-existent illness.

It had then occurred to me that if I headed off to school even earlier than usual, I would have a large chance of not happening upon Michelle. This thought only powered me to get up, get dressed and devour my breakfast with haste.

And here I was, with half-an-hour until the rest of my form meandered in, but I found myself unable to read. I could not concentrate; my thoughts kept drifting back to last night, and I was busy preparing myself to whatever insults were shot my way that day.

'Rose?'

The voice of Mrs Thomas penetrated my thoughts, and I turned a bleary eye upon her.

'Yes?'

'Are you quite alright?'

Her tone was concerned, worried. I forced a smile, though the difficulty was immense. 'Yep, just tired,' I explained, rubbing my eyes as if to prove my words.

She nodded slowly, but her eyes were full of anxiety. The remaining half-hour was tedious; I sat there in utter silence, trying to contain my tiredness.

Eventually, a stream of my form flooded into the room, smirking at me, and throwing themselves down carelessly on their seats. I knew I must look a mess; my hair, though brushed as well as I could, must look like an uncontained tangle of auburn, and my cheeks were flushed from the sweltering heat of the room.

The bell rang loudly, making everyone grudgingly straighten from their previous slouched positions, and swing their bags onto their bags. I was packed and ready, and left for Chemistry before anyone else had gotten out of their seats.

I was just speedily hurrying down the corridor when a violent and unexpected push in the small of my back made me topple forwards. Without conscious thought I let out a yelp and descended downwards, banging my knee with a painful thump.

Laughter echoed around the corridor; I looked up to see congregations of students stopping on their way to class to look on the scene. I forced my head upwards to see my assaulter, and unsurprisingly saw Jack Hutches, flanked by his usual gang of foul-mouthed friends.

I scrambled upwards, but with a snigger Jack moved his feet so they curved round my own and jerked them. I cried out as I went down again, wincing as an ache throbbed through me. My bag fell onto the floor, and Paul Wright scooped it up, snickering. A few contents fell out; the floor was now littered with paper.

'No, stop it!' I called helplessly, getting to my feet and reaching for it.

He carelessly held it out of arms length, tilting it so yet more of my belongings fell onto the corridor floor. I was practically sobbing now; many of the on-lookers looked uncomfortable, but Jack, Paul and a few others seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves.

'What's going on here?'

A stern voice echoed from behind Jack's gang. My heart leapt; an intervention. The teacher speaking was Miss Bridges, head of English, who had a formidable streak to her kindly nature. Jack and Paul stepped immediately in front of me, shielding me from sight. I stood, completely out of view behind them.