Make me cry

Pigs with wings

It's last period already. Just a few hours ago it was Monday morning. What happened? 

Time flies when you're having fun... or something. I don't think school is fun. But it's better than the alternative. 

Mrs. Samson makes her way into the classroom. She's fifteen minutes late. I don't blame her. We are notorious for being the worst class in the entire school. And it's all his fault. 

Rory the ruffian is king of the troublemakers and the one that always starts the fires. He's the class bully and the school delinquent. I'm his absolute opposite. I'm always quiet, sitting at the front of the classroom, taking notes and actually listening to the teacher. Most of the time. I'm not perfect, just better than the rest. 

Just as Mrs. Samson starts Rory lauhgs loudly and smacks Dylan in the back. They both continue to laugh, drowning her voice. I don't look at them. I keep my head forward and my eyes down. It's dangerous to move. Anyting can catch their attention. I don't understand their way of thinking. 

Rory and his bunch likes hurting others. They humiliate and scare just for fun. If something seemes interesting they never fail to abuse it. I'm very interesting, or so they seem to think. A ball of paper hit's me in the head and I flinch. 

"Pick it up, dick-wad!" Rory yells across the room earning laughters from the others. I feel their burning stares as I stiffly reach for the cumpled paper. My fingers shake as I unfold the drawing. It's a dick with a sad face and my name next to it. 

Alexandra yankes it from my hands and laughs at it, showing it to the rest of the class. Mrs. Samson is waiting in front of the white board with an uneasy look. She's tried to fix things. I remember one time when she talked to Rory and Dylan. They forced me to drink water from the toilet after that. 

Mrs. Samson din't try again. 

When the ruckus dies down she continues though no one is listening. I just hunch down and stare into my desk. It's covered in mean doodles and a pig that is carved with a knife. You can barely tell it's a pig. PIGGY BOY, is carved under it; because they don't know my name I guess. 

When class finally ends I just sit very still while my class mates leave the room in our little fixed chaos. Everyone knows who goes first. I'm the last one out, no need for me to move yet - rather, if I move now I know they will do something. By sitting compleatly still I might be spared and wonderfully enough no one gives me more hell today. 

Mrs. Samson doesn't look at me as she heads out. It's our little shame I guess. We are both too weak and we remind each other of that, so she ignores me like she igonres everyting else. I stay still even after they are all gone. 

The halls are filled with laughter and loud yelling and too many conversations at the same time. The classroom smells of sweat and soap. After a while the lights go out on their own. The sounds from the corridors fades and a bittersweet silence falls upon the school. 

It's late now and I still haven't moved. I can't. The only place to go after this is home and no matter how hellish school gets... 

My body is tired form being tense all day and I have to will my limbs to relaxe. I shudder as I fall down ontop of my desk and with deep breaths I contemplate life. It's strange to be weak. I'm so human it's hurts to look at me. 

What am I even doing? 

I stopped asking why they hate me a long time ago. After all this time and all these people, surely I must be what's wrong; I must be the reason why they hate me so. 

I rest my head against the surface of the table. It's cold against my cheek. I blink and fold my arms in front of my head to make it more comfortable. 

If pigs could fly. If I was strong. If there was nothing wrong with me. Dreams. 

But there is of course. Reality is not made of clouds and pigs with wings.