I’ve always hated bullies.
I could deal with them; they always chose me to pick on, for some really stupid reason.
I’d been a Highschool Senior for about a half a year, and those girls –those stupid witches- had been bullying me for exactly that.
Now, I got it, I understood why people bullied. They felt insecure in themselves and were A: jealous or B: really hated their victims. It was probably both with this case though, I was sure they were jealous of how smart I was, and probably hated me for my looks.
Please don’t misunderstand me.
I may sound shallow, but I knew it to be true. I was unbelievably pretty. My dead straight hair was a strawberry-blonde, I was tall but not too tall, I had tanned skin, I was not petite or dainty or all that crap, I was well-muscled and strong.
The only thing I didn’t know about myself is what colour my eyes were.
Anyway, they hated me when they saw me they saw the stares of all the guys in school. They hated me and bullied me for how smart I was. Though the Dyslexia and ADHD didn’t help either.
The feelings were mutual.
I was a senior at Goode High-school. I would’ve liked to leave and go somewhere else.
But, sadly, I was underage and the orphanage wouldn’t let me go until I turned eighteen.
Oh yeah, you heard me right. I did say orphanage.
See, I was told that I was found on their doorstep in a glowing golden basket.
Wow, a glowing golden basket, dumped on an orphanage’s doorstep.
Sounded like the start of a superhero movie.
I was happy being the odd one out.
I was okay with being smarter than anyone else my age.
But I had always loathed bullies.
Everything started when I, the nerdy and friendless orphan, was asked to show around the new guy.