The Bully and His School Victim Creative Writing

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The TieThere was no question about it: he had to have that tie. He justified it to himself by saying that of course he deserved it, since he was the biggest and most powerful and important kid in school and perhaps even in the whole town, or maybe even in the whole state—probably even in the whole world, what the heck. But the reality was simply that he felt special by being able to take things from others.He certainly didn’t feel special at home. It was just he and his mom at home, and an older sister that sometimes dropped by but not often. He didn’t plan to be at home himself much longer. But to get away he needed money, or at least a car. And in the meantime, he needed that tie. That tie—because it shined so brightly and looked so blue and sparkly. He couldn’t believe that this twerp—this nobody kid—would have the balls to wear such a tie to school. This kid was practically begging to have it taken off him by someone more special—by him of course! Such was his thinking as he stood in the hallway in between bells, leaning against his locker. He was waiting for the twerp to come out from class. Then he was just going to get in his way, demand the tie, put it on, and parade around school like the grand master he knew he was. And everyone would see that he was wearing that other twerpy kid’s tie, and they would laugh and marvel at his own amazing awesomeness. He would strut and show off—and—There he was—the twerpy kid. Alec stepped off and got in between Bo and his locker (Bo was the twerpy kid; Alec was the bully, of course).“Hand it over, squirt,” said Alec, not waiting to beat around the bush.Bo gulped and saw only Alec’s chest in front of his face. He saw Alec’s own tie, which was a thin, puny looking red one that had stains on it and looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since forever. Bo winced at the tie—just looking at it caused his stomach to flop. But why was it now suddenly in his face, and why was his path impeded by this large, all too solid looking individual who had just delivered some unclear message to him? Did he say hand it over? Hand what over? What is going on? He had to look up to see Alec’s big, wide, pock-marked face grinning maliciously down at him. He had to look past Alec’s big, too-long peach-fuzzed chin, the craters in his cheeks, and the flaring nostrils to see Alec’s watery blue eyes, cold and sinister, communicating all the meaning to Bo that needed to be communicated—since words were not Alec’s primary mode of expression. If he could say it with his eyes, he would and did. It was the eyes that seemed to penetrate most thoroughly at this moment into Bo’s brain. The words still tumbled over like toys in a dryer drum, making noise but no sense to him—but the eyes: they burrowed with a hot menace like a branding iron right onto his mind, so fiercely that their hotness spread out all over him from brain to boots, instantly.Bo would have gulped again if he had been able, but he was too overwhelmed by emotion to do anything more than begin shaking all over. His entire body was in the process of melting down completely and if you had asked him at that moment who he was, where he lived, where he was going, or what color the sky was, he would have been able only to chirp pathetically like a half-crushed bird caught in some mighty eagle’s talons. His eyes became unglued in his head and started rolling around—and Alec was no doubt enjoying the spectacle as his prey turned from solid to liquid in a matter of seconds—but the spectacle did not go unnoticed by others, either. In fact, it was noticed immediately by Mr. Turnip, the history teacher, whose classroom was right in that hall and whose door was right in front of where Alec had chosen to do business with the twerp.“Mr. Flaugherty. Step into my room, please,” were the words that interrupted Alec’s proceedings. Alec didn’t move his head or his body at all—only his eyes turned from the twerp’s melting face to the room from which the words had come. It took him a moment to realize what was happening. He saw the tremendous figure of Mr. Turnip stepping into the doorframe. He saw the hands, now balled like fists, now perched on either hip of Mr. Turnip. His eyes continued to move—up to Mr. Turnip’s face, where Mr. Turnip wore a thick cop-like moustache over his big mouth and wore thick eyeglasses with tinted lenses that made him look additionally cop-like. Mr. Flaugherty’s malicious grin lost some of its maliciousness took on a more playful color, amplified by a small, “Heh heh,” and a kind pat on the head of the poor twerp—who now somehow managed to disappear down the hall like a fast-moving ooze that would re-constitute itself into solid form once it found safety in its next class.

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Alec added a further “Heh” just for good measure and then stepped back, turned around, scowled at the lockers across the hall as though all of Hell were now flooding the whole of his field of vision. He stepped off as though not knowing full well his path.To Mr. Turnip, Alec was a skulking lad who needed to be beaten, and then thrashed, and then beaten once more once the thrashing wore off, and then pressed between two rocks, and so on. Mr. Turnip did not like Alec. Mr. Turnip had never liked Alec. Mr. Turnip wanted to turn Alec into a puddle of goo and spray him down the sewer with a hose from outside.#At home, Alec threw himself onto his mattress. His mother had sold the only computer in the home, so he couldn’t get online. The TV they had on the wall didn’t work; a beer bottle had broken the screen—so he couldn’t watch that. He had no phone for diversion or for calling anyone—not that there was anyone to call. He lay on his back and stared at the…

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…Alec also pushed Bo back and back the twerp flew—right off the bench and onto the lunch room floor, his feet now up where his butt had been, his butt now where his feet had been, his head giving him an upside-down view of the whole wide rest of the world, which was now turned in his direction and laughing its awful little ass off.It was the laughter that was the worst of all. The indignity of being robbed by Alec could have been suffered in silence, could have been endured in secret—had it remained a secret. But the mockery of the public, of all those purported to be his peers, was too much. He knew in his heart of hearts that they skulked and slinked and slithered in the same halls as he, and that they lived in fear of Alec and others like him, just as much as he did, and that they, too, in time would have their eventual run-ins with him and others like him. He felt it horribly cruel and unjust that their laughter should now be pointed at him as though he were the butt of some ridiculous joke, some piece of scummy clown to be kicked and laughed at.He picked himself off the floor, and, not knowing what else to do, sat down at the table and put the red tie on, and wept.#That afternoon, the applause and shouts of hooray were glorious—it was everything Alec imagined it would be. His mates and non-mates alike shouted to his honor as he stepped into the halls, once lunch had finished and word had spread. Everyone saw the bright, blue shiny tie that he proudly showed off, beaming with delight, as he strutted to class. They laughed, they shouted, they clapped him on the back, they stepped out of his way like fawning minions in his dominion, and he appreciated them for it, and accepted their praise as like that befitting a king.As for twerpy Bo, no one said a word to him. It was like the red tie was a stigma around his neck. He went like one who had been prematurely placed into his own grave.#It did not take Mr. Turnip long to realize something was amiss. He stepped out into the halls, hearing the cheers, and sensing in his soul that disorder of a kind now reigned. He emerged from his classroom and looked this way and that—but the celebration ceased under his gaze, and students went on their way, none showing any signs of anything being out of the ordinary. It was only when Bo, who sat in the last row at the back of his class, took his seat and looked as though his entire world had been run over that Mr. Turnip began to pay attention to the boy. He looked at the boy’s crumpled shoulders, his red face, and his (worse) red, crumpled tie—and couldn’t figure out why this image troubled him so much. Something was off, but Mr. Turnip could not say what it was. He set it aside in his mind with the ring of the bell and got on with the teaching of….....

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