BLACK IMAGINES.

BIZZY BONE

❝What if I said I was molested, would you look at me pale?❞

You better fucking listen next time!

Bryon sits down in the last row inside the classroom, running a hand through his thick black hair. He sighs softly.

He hasn't been to a school in eight whole years and was not used to being around people. Being kept inside of a basement and being molested, tortured and beaten really did something to your mental state. Those screams of his step father and his stepfather's friends wouldn't leave his mind.

I should fucking kill you, you piece of shit!

A blonde lady starts walking towards where he was sitting and he was praying that she would walk pass him but his prayers was never answered.. ever.

"Hello, Bryon, is it?" The lady asks and the boy nods slowly. "My name is Mrs. Sweet and I am your -- she stops speaking and brings her eyebrows together. "Are you okay? You're shaking badly."

The boy nods his head again, his eyes wide. He was leaning so far away from the lady that his back must be hurting. Mrs. Sweet reaches over and touches his shoulder, concerned. "Br --

He leans over a little more and fall out of the chair, he scurries away quickly, now in the corner of the classroom, he was shaking so bad that it looked like he was almost vibrating.

Thankfully, no other students were in the classroom at the moment so they couldn't see his embarassing moment. Mrs. Sweet blinks, once, twice. "Bryon, maybe you should go to the front office and just go home for today. Okay?"
Byron doesn't respond. He had his hands over his face and he was as red as a tomato. "Please, just don't hurt me."
Mrs. Sweet stares in shock and disbelief, mostly worried. "I promise that I won't hurt you. The front office is right down the hall."

Byron stands up quickly and runs out of the classroom.

You're so fucking useless.

Your mom hates you, she's not even looking for you.

His stepfather's voice was floating around his mind, it seemed like his yelling was getting louder with each second that passed. Bryon was living in a foster home for most of his life since his real father didn't want him because he was too light, but what his father didn't understand is that his mom was white, so of course he would be a lighter color than just black.

SMACK!

Bryon flinches as the sound of the mans palm connects across his cheek. Even though he wasn't still experiencing the abuse and the rape, the memories were still fresh inside of his head. He could still feel the men holding him down and slapping him whenever he did something wrong or not good enough.

The memories wouldn't go away.