. : . . : . Jackson . : . . : .
I just sat in my corner in the white, cold snow, where nobody ever noticed me. I had my hood up, covering my headphones which were on full blast, to shun the world around me. I struggled to my feet, and limped inside. The bell rang and I limped into the hallway, and down to my locker. I took each step with caution; it seemed too good to be true.
After what seemed like 20 minutes for me, but only seconds for "them", I finally arrived at my locker. Number after number, I felt like something was getting closer. I felt a tug at my hair. I couldn't see anything because my long, brown hair was in my eyes, but then I could see again after my hair was whipped back to the side as I was thrown at the wall. When I was on the floor, a guy kneeled down, and slammed his fist into my face. I returned a malevolent glare to the man whose fist made contact with my face, Zach.
He laughed as if hitting me was hysterical. My eyes began to water up as I received another kick to the stomach.
After my cry for help was heard throughout the hall, a crowd appeared. I saw everyone there, with the one good eye that I had. But the one face that caught my eye, was Nick.
Why was he just sitting there?
He's probably just holding in a laugh, waiting to bust a gut. Nick was one of the most popular teens in the school. Everyone was laughing, but he just stood there. I get this everyday inside, and outside of school.
