Short stories +++

Never Give Up

It was Monday, seven thirty. School would start in about an hour, and the black haired teen with brown, nearly black eyes, had not yet got out of bed. He did not want to. School was the only thing he hated more than homework. At leats when he was at home, no one could beat him up. Or tease him, or tell him he was useless. At least when he was at home, he was invisible. He did not move. The only thing making any noise in the little room crammed with posters, clothes, half written songs and some unidentifiable scribbles, was the alarm clock. Slowly, a hand surfaced from under the black see of sheets, and the alarm turned off. With a sigh he got out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom.

About forty-five minutes later all the eyeliner was perfect, and his hair was formed into an intricate mess of spikes. Then came the clothes. They were lying all over the floor, crumpled up. He knew his appearance was the reason he was bullied, but he was firmly decided on not changing it. He did not have much to do at home, other than perfecting his looks, so that was what he did, and he was going to keep it that way. A few more useless thoughts later, he had found a good enough outfit, skinny, black jeans, a few chains to hang from his belt, two black wrist warmers and a tight ,black and red t-shirt. Then he headed toward the place he called hell.

School had been the usual mess of insults, glares, sniggers, and from a few, blessed ignorance. A few: “Look at that psycho!” and “If he wants a black eye that bad, I’ll be happy to give it to him!” but worst of all were the ones that remembered his name, the ones that called him Bill. He knew no one was home, but called out anyway, just to make sure. When there was no reply, he breathed out a sigh of relief. Even though he had nothing to fear from his parents, he liked them best when they were absent. That was the way he felt about everyone.

He flung his bag down in the least messy corner of his room he could find, and went to sit on the bed. He took out his iPod and pressed the play button. He could hear Nena blaring through his headphones and put them on. Just as he had hoped, his favourite artist helped block out all thoughts and memories. Little did he know that someone who would play an important part in his life was working the exact same strategy.

Tom was lying on the couch, not studying. He was bored and was listening to rap and hip-hop, not quite awake, twisting a dreadlock between his long, musician fingers. He did not like school, it was boring. And all the teachers hated him, of course that could have something to do with him sleeping in every class. But then again, bothering teachers, it was what school was there for. Unfortunately the teachers were the only ones that hated him. He was popular, but had no idea why. He did not want to be surrounded by annoying people, who just liked him because he was popular. He wanted someone to like him because he was, well, him.

He thought of the thin black-haired kid, who sat in the back corner in every class, even at lunch. He looked miserable. Tom wondered why he even bothered to come to school. The poor guy just got teased and beat up anyway. He just sat there, arms folded on the desk, his head resting on them. Tom wondered what that kid must be thinking when he was yelled at and hit. Tom just hoped he would not jump off a bridge or something. No one should do that, no matter what.

Bill was crying, he was so tired. Exhausted by all the teasing and beating. Sick of all the comebacks he never said. And most of all, tired of loosing the fight with his emotions. He did not care any more. He bit his lip, hard. So hard he could taste blood, although that might just be his heart breaking over what he was about to do. There was no one there to stop him. He was desperate, and no one noticed. No one even cared wether or not he lived. Who would cry if he jumped, who would even notice? The sorrow was overwhelming, the exhaustion overpowering. Bill stood up, and walked over to the railing.

Tom had decided to go to the park. The one that took him over the river and past the school. He was a few metres away from the bridge when he saw it, the shadow. With tight clothes and spiky hair. “oh, God no!” he whispered to himself as he watched the shadow climb shakily onto the railing. Then he started to run.