The Boy Named Bully

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It is a common occurrence in our society for a child to be named, not by their parents, but a third party who is referred to as a nomer. I'm not sure where we picked up this tradition, but it was quite the usual thing to do. Not everyone did this, mind you; it wasn't a requirement by any means. Nonetheless, the ceremony was taken very seriously, often even by those who disbelieved the practice.

The idea behind it was that nomers held the ability to sense a person's aura and an imprint of their life...but only when they were new. Hence why it was done directly after a child was born. These people were unable to pull off this trick once a soul had soaked up enough of the world around them, so even if one was asked to give a name later in life, the result was thought to be worthless. There was something about the fresh essence of the energy being what gave these gifted individuals their sense. Therefore living amongst the world for any time would taint that purity.

I call bullshit. 

Personally, I think that this is all some glorified hocus pocus; nothing more than an outdated superstition with literally zero basis in science and rational thought. I mean, I could pick up a baby and have a name pop into my head too. Nonetheless, perhaps the reason I hate it so much is because my parents had a nomer when I was born. 

The woman, an old hag whose breath always smelled, had named me. I was called Bully and yes, that word means what you think it means. Sure, my mom could have had a heart and realized it was a horrible thing to name her son, but as I said, the tradition was taken quite seriously. She refused to choose something different. Of course, Dad had agreed with her.

So, there I sat, curled up on the cafeteria floor while several of my fellow students chunked various pieces from their lunch at me, "Stop!"

"Stop, he says," one of the perpetrators mocked, causing the others to laugh even harder, "You want us to stop, sissy boy?"

"That's enough," came a cold, stern voice.

I looked up from my position, wiping my face with the edge of a dirtied sleeve. It was one of the teachers who approached, glaring at the children until they left before turning his heavy gaze upon me, "Get up," he commanded in the same solemn tone.

I did as I was told, only to be greeted by his firm hand grabbing onto my upper arm as he began pulling me away. Great, I was in trouble again. I didn't have to utter a single word to know we were heading for the principal's office. The girl who had made fun of me stuck her tongue out just when we left the room, snickering, knowing she was in the clear for the ordeal. They always took her side. Even my parents suggested that it was my fault for the way others treated me. A respected nomer had named me Bully after all.

"Yes," the principal sighed, having hardly looked up from his desk when I was escorted inside, "I've got it from here; thank you."

Aware of the drill, I sat my scrawny body in the chair across from the man after the other had departed, silently waiting while the headmaster ruffled through a few more papers before putting his attention on me.

"How many times does today make this week alone?" he arched an annoyed eyebrow.


"How many times?" he repeated.

"Six," my shoulders slumped in defeat.

"That's a new record for you, Bully," he scoffed.

"But I didn't do anything! They just won't leave me alone!" I protested.

"Clearly you're doing something or they wouldn't be bothering you," he replied as if he thought he was smart.

"It's my stupid name," I muttered, "The only reason people hate me is because of that stupid nomer."

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