Random Compilation of Short Stories I've Written

Shouldn't Be Alone

His locker was coated in spray paint.

It wasn't something indistinct, either. The door of Sam's locker had the word "FREAK" -- and a few other obscenities -- sprayed on in big, neon green letters. It could be seen from a mile away.

As he approached his locker, the small crowd around it parted for him, snickering and whispering to each other. Sam ignored them, running a pale hand along the locker's front. Yup. Definitely spray paint, he thought, sighing. That would take a while to remove, if he could get rid of it at all.

While he unpacked his bag, the bell rang, and the students around him scattered, rushing off to their first class of the day. He took his time, closing his locker and walking slowly to his classroom. His teacher was used to his constant lateness.

When Sam finally made it to class, the teacher -- who was already at the front of the room -- raised an eyebrow at him. "Glad you decided to join us, Samuel," the man said, resulting in a few muffled laughs from the students. He gestured to the desks. "See if you can find one to your liking."

"Yes, Mr. Nortman," Sam mumbled. It was better to ignore the teacher's sarcasm, at least it was for him.

As he made his way to the back of the class, the snickering followed him. He plopped down in a seat in the far corner, away from most of the class. Still, he could feel the eyes on him. He tried to ignore them, putting his head down on the cold surface of the desk in defeat.

Just another day at Targus Bay Middle School.

Sam knew who had spray painted his locker. It was the same group of popular kids who had been targeting him since sixth grade, when he had accidentally come out to one of them. It had been two years, and to everyone else it was old news, but the group didn't seem to take kindly to anyone who was different from them, especially gay people.

Would they get in trouble for what they did? Absolutely not. They would get away with it, just like they did with every attack. This time it had been a little more aggressive, but since the kids were kind to the school's staff and most students, the teachers would turn a blind eye. He was left on his own, as usual. He was accustomed to it by now.

He drifted through his classes, hardly taking notice of anything but where he was. How would he remove the paint? Should he tell someone, even if it didn't change anything? Should he fight back? These questions whirled through his head over and over, leaving him dizzy and exhausted. He just wanted to go home and hide in his room. He'd give anything for a sick day.

When lunch rolled around, he sat at his usual table. It was the closest one to the hallway, so he could get to his next class as quickly as possible. The bathroom was nearby as well, so he could run in and take a breather if needed.

It was empty, as usual. No one wanted to talk to the weird kid. He sat down and started eating his lunch, or at least tried to. Not only was the food school lunch, but he wasn't hungry. He ended up staring at it instead.

He could feel people behind him before seeing them or hearing them. He knew who it was already. They always came during lunch.

"Hey there, Sammy," a girl's voice rang out behind him, followed by giggles. He flinched. With the way the voice slithered coldly through the air, it couldn't be anyone other than Rebecca, one of the most popular girls in the grade. She was popular for her looks and intelligence. Other than that, she was as mean as mean could be. Not to the teacher's faces, of course.

A hand yanked his arm fiercely, nearly pulling him out of his seat. "Hey, freak," a boy's voice snarled, "Rebecca's talking to you. Or do you still have no interest in girls?"