Scream It Out (Short Story)

Scream It Out

Scream It Out

I think I felt bad for Serena Johnson when she became the victim of some yo mama jokes.

It was all done just because she was kind of fat and had a few pimples. Just because she didn't have the perfect 'face' and 'body' like a certain bitch named Katherine Harrison, didn't give anyone the right to poke fun at her, call her names, and make memes that made everyone laugh. Except for Serena that is.

They just made her cry.

In the toilet.

At least, that's what I hear from chicks who think that making fun of the kid is going to get them some sort of advantage in with the popular dicks. A bunch of sadistic pricks, that's what I call them.

I definitely don't mean to brag but yeah, girls go for me. I don't know how smoking and riding a motorbike, which no girl even wants sit on, gets them but I think chicks dig the whole bad boy vibe. Yeah, I know, laugh. That's what I almost did when Rachel and I were making out and she purred "You are such a sexy bad boy."

I thought the slut was high or something. She purrs – seriously? And then calls me a 'bad boy'? Honestly, where do they even get these from?

There was nothing remotely bad about me. Sure I smoke up from time to time and maybe, I did get locked up for like, a day, for crashing my mum's car into my neighbour's house while riding under influence. But calling me a bad boy? Needless to say, that was the end of that little fling. Although Rachel finally did stop whining about it when she and Dylan got it on at a party the following week.

School was pretty much the definition of boredom. But it definitely beat being at home with parents who only thought about money and sex with people other than their spouse.

The only place where I could have no worries and not think about what a shitty place this world is was this mountainside cliff which overlooked the entire town - where I sat at the moment. Somewhere I could be alone and just draw peacefully. No matter how many times I'd come here, no many how many paintings and drawings I had of the same place, none of my sketches ever looked the same. I think that's what fascinated me about it - the vibrant colours, the diverse flora and fauna, my big home which looked like it could be squished beneath my foot – it was why I spent most of my time here.

I was doing a canvas of sunrise against the city when it happened.

Footsteps.

Panting.

Sobs.

I paused, my brush mid-air as I listened closely. The sounds seemed to grow nearer and I turned my head to take a glimpse from the bush which concealed me from outsiders.

A girl in a gaudy pink dress ran towards the cliff. The camera that hung around her neck dangled as she ran. Just some metres from where I sat, she tripped and fell hard to the ground.

Some seconds passed. She pushed herself up, a black trail of mascara visible on her face. It looked as if her whole world had been destroyed.

Wait a minute. My eyes widened - Is that Serena?

What was she doing here? She definitely did not seem like she was on a hike in that horrible pink dress which she wearing.

Serena was cradling her now broken camera in her arms. I think the only time I had ever seen her smile had been when she'd been taking some pictures of the school for some assignment. She had been standing outside the front gate, right in front of the statue of the school's founder and smiling while looking at the back screen of her DSLR. She actually had a very pretty smile now that I think about it, but no one ever saw it because all they ever did was hurt her.