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The school bell rang loudly above my head. It was my signal. I rushed towards my locker to collect the books that I needed to complete homework for tomorrow.
13- 04- 09
I continued this pattern numerous times to unlock my lock but it wouldn't budge. The stupid thing always gets stuck. So I apply pressure to my locker and dial the numbers again. I thanked the heavens that it unlocked, it was getting late and the halls were bare. The only people left were the nerds who had clubs and jocks who had practice.
As I pull out my English Poetry book from the bottom of the big mountain of books that I never bothered to clean out all rushed out like a waterfall and landed on the floor with a big thud.
I could hear the jocks giving out big laughs and high fives.
"A stupid prank," I say to myself through gritted teeth. "I can't believe I gave them a chance to laugh at me. Again."
I bend down to pick the traitors up and shove them back into my locker without caring. They've caused me too much trouble already.
Just as I reached out for my English Poetry book that was scattered on the floor with a page open with writing that was not mine. I grab the book and read the front cover that had my writing and said, "Property of Vivian Whittaker" as it should as normal. All the books were titled like this.
I do a quick scan through the pages of the book to see if maybe my front cover ended up in someone else's cover-less book. To my disgrace, it contained all my work of poetry and my writing throughout the whole thing.
I flip page after page and finally land into the unknown written page. I had my book the whole time with me in English class. There's no way someone could've laid hands on it. This wasn't even the teacher's hand writing. It was written in pencil all the letters perfectly and clearly. written out in plain writing. It wasn't cursive, just the typical teenage writing that could belong to anyone in this wretched school.
My fingers trace the words as I read it silently in my head:
Dear Victim,
I saw you today leaning on your locker, laughing at something your boyfriend said. I don't know why he likes you.
You're ugly.
You're stupid.
Pathetic you are.
Who can like you?
No. One.
I'd watch my back if I were you.
You'll understand my reasons for everything soon enough. There is a time for everything and right now it's not the time for you to know. I won't tell you about it. You'll have to figure it out yourself. You'll never know who I am. You won't know anything, and that's because that's what you deserve.
YOU. DESERVE. NOTHING.
You laughed today. But you won't tomorrow.
That whimsical sound that escapes your mouth, won't be there. I'll be the one holding you down, I'll be making sure that the cork won't release your music because you don't deserve to be heard. You're better off silent.
That way no one gets hurt, no one has to suffer the consequences and no one has to pay for your mistakes. Your stupid mistakes. It's all your fault.
Everything will be alright and then no one would have to kill for it. There won't be any sound from you. Not any more. I'll silence your laughter forever. There won't be anymore of your laughs that fill the hallway and the way everyone looks at you when you laugh because you seem to damn happy about everything. It's disgusting. And someone needs to sort you out.
Well listen up girly, If I can't laugh, then neither can you.
I turn to page to see if it was signed but the page only contained three words that were engraved in angry bold capitals:
FROM YOUR BULLY.
I let out a deep breath that I didn't even know I was holding.
