Thump.
Thump.
Thump...
The throbbing of his heart echoed in his head, his breathing in sync. The sun stood in the blue sky, illuminating everything in it's wake and radiating heat. Sweat dripped from his face as his legs moved faster than they had in a while. He was running.
"There he is!" An earsplitting voice exclaimed. Seafoam green eyes glanced behind him quickly enough to see the group that pursued him. Turning a sharp corner quickly, the red haired boy wiped the sweat that had gathered at his brows. Panic and fear bubbled up inside him as he ran for what he felt was his life.
Why is it always me? Why can't they beat up someone else...why me? Those questions racked his brain from dusk till dawn. He was always a target, a scapegoat, nothing more, nothing less. And he was reminded of his lowly class day and night, for even his dreams didn't seem to favour him. He simply was not loved, not by anyone and surely not by himself.
The terrified twelve year old boy ran for what felt like hours. He was always running after all, nothing new. Fields of green seemed to surround him now, the wind blew and the blades of grass swayed to and fro; an ancient ritual. He hunched over in attempts to catch his breath; his chest heaving with each breath he took. He had lost them...or so he thought.
Suddenly a hand latched onto his shirt, pulling him backwards. The red head fell on his rump, wincing from the hard landing. "Thought you could get away didn't you?" The dark haired boy above him slurred.
"Please let me go," he whispered shaking in fear. The others laughed at his feeble attempt and helped to push him further onto the ground.
"You're nothing but a freak." Their leader spat causing him to flinch. Thoughts of pending pain flooded his scrambled brain as they all came to loom over their prey. It was always the same, he played the weak victim and for them, it was all about the chase.
The first blow was delivered to his head causing him to quickly curl into a fetal position with his hands over his head. The boy was bent so badly that he hardly looked human. He was merely a lump on the ground subject to his attacker's abuse. It wasn't the best defense...but it was all he had.
Wincing he felt a shower of blows all over...it had begun. "Why won't you fight back?" One of them yelled.
"He's so boring!"
"What else do you expect from a worthless freak?" He heard another chuckle.
"I guess he finally learned his place," another laughed evoking laugher from the rest of them. Biting his bottom lip he tried to prevent his tears from falling. No. They would not be wasted on people who sought nothing more than to bring others pain. But as usual, his eyes betrayed him and the tears that had been held captive escaped. Light sobs left his parted lips as his fingers curled in his red hair.
Make it stop. Please.
But who was he pleading with? There was no one there to stick up for him. No one there to fight for him or to help lick his wounds. He was alone...he'd always be alone.
"Stop!" Came a soft voice. But he couldn't hear her, too lost in his own thoughts of his nonexistent self-esteem. His body was numb, to both the pain and everything else that could be felt. He was empty.
