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°º°ºTæºTænæT°°Tº®`FUü…ÂÄÒ–Ä"TT¥0ÕTO æO TæÄÄ°°°°ÙHe was a plump character, with rosy cheeks and an outdated haircut, short and parted to the side. He got extremely good grades and made little time to experience many of the joys of being a teenager. He hadn’t ever snuck out late into the night hours before the future day’s sun would rise.
He hadn’t ever truly experienced any kind of love; let alone a kiss or peck of the cheek. He didn’t have but one true friend that was to call his own. He was physically and truly at heart, a nerd.
But how in anyway did that signify that he should be treated differently; harshly specified? It seemed that the “cooler” kids of our high school had assumed the role of punishing him for only committing good in life. They assumed that because he hadn’t decided to play a sport or buy those expensive “in” brands, he had ultimately chosen his fate of punishment.
On days walking home from the neighboring school, for my house was only a couple of blocks away, I would watch in helpless agony, teenagers punish him for his good. They would steal his lunch money or take his books, that in all honestly reflected all his life, and throw them over the bridge, into the low lying creek.
On some extreme occasions, I would watch a fellow human being be attacked, like a female lion in heat dismissing those who attempt at capturing her beloved children. They had no children. They had no reason. But they did.
Days drifted and as the sun became an element of heat and our summer undeniably neared, the brutal out-lashings became more and more violent. Before there had only been a band of three who had felt the need to punish the plum-like face, but now with the summer nearing, more and more individuals joined in the effort. It became to my horror, more like a show.
The students would take turns, as if it was a sport of some sort, of trying to out do the others in their beatings. Some days he wouldn’t come to school not only in fear of the day’s outcome, but also from the previous day’s aching.
Slowly and slowly his grades fell. His only friend was left behind. He wanted solitude.
Once I looked into his eyes as he left the school grounds in hope of getting home without receiving as many scars and bruises as the previous day had provided. I looked into his eyes and saw not a person, but a glazed and broken hue of black. He was no longer a person of good fortune and potential, he was a plagued country mourning the loss of everything and the inability to defend from further attack. He was plagued with insecurity and fear.
The attacks came more and more and instead of defending himself like a fighter jet against enemy fire, he slowly and surely began to allow the beatings without defense. It seemed almost as if he was becoming immune to the plaguing jabs and uppercuts. It was as if he was becoming invincible. But as I should have known, it was more of a slow in progression of downfall.
As the daily routine of a newly designed sport continued, his attendance diminished. As much as I truly wanted to call and ask, I let my mind wonder aimlessly on what he was doing. On whether his parents were catching a glimpse of the horror their son had most surely undertaken without decision.
Then on his final day that he would attend the school he once strived to succeed in, I sensed something different. Though these occurrences had altered his habits, he still had tried vigorously to keep up with ongoing class discussions and projects. But on this day, any passions he had once had were gone, never to be seen through his heart again.
As the bell dismissed school, students running wildly, as if it were the last day of school, to see the newly acclaimed sport (which by now had crossed the school in rumor and truth), he didn’t walk home. He sat.
I was in need of a stronger grade, so I also stayed put and wait on the dismissal to kill the crowds and noise. So I decided to sit and watch what he would do.
As he was obviously accustomed to doing, he anxiously bit at his upper cuticle. Staring straight up at the ceiling, I felt a sense of urgency in him. As if he knew something I didn’t and he was in real need of it occurring.
And then, as if satisfying his urge, I unconsciously saw a gun striped from underneath his un-“in” clothing, and quickly cocked. In shock, I jumped to my feet unaware of what to do next. He pointed the gun first at the sky, and then kissed the long narrow stout that would surely spit soon enough.
I stared at his eyes, which no longer were glazed over like a frozen bleak tundra. They now had a sudden calamity, with fiery walls of secluded blues and yellows. And then once again they froze over.
“Bam.” The noise caught me off guard, and suddenly I realized how many individuals had joined in my mishap. Coats of blue and green instantly surrounded him. There was a stain of red straight across the room, as if someone had precisely painted a line of blood.
The funeral precession was devastating. The life of a lost soul had been destroyed not in a matter of seconds, but in months. Months of physical and mental shroud.
They played a song of mellow melodies and sorrowful harmonies. I had heard it but could not place it now, nor did I care to. The more and more I thought about it, I had been the cause of his death. I had watched in hypocrisy, I had watched a peer’s death brought upon him. And I had done nothing. In many cases, until the last occurrence, I hadn’t blinked an eye. I always had idolized those who had contained the ability to stand up against the evil. I had obviously not learned.
A life had passed, a life wasted. Now I was the only thing to mourn.
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Description
ÐÏà¡±á>þÿ ,.þÿÿÿ+ÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿì¥Á7 ð¿ôbjbjUU "$7|7|ôÿÿÿÿÿÿl°°°°°°°Ä––––¢ÄÕìººººººººTVVVVVV$Á ánz°ºººººzæ°°ºº�æææº
°º°ºTæºTænæT°°Tº®`FUü…ÂÄÒ–Ä"TT¥0ÕTO æO TæÄÄ°°°°ÙHe was a plump character, with rosy cheeks and an outdated haircut, short and parted to the side. He got extremely good grades and made little time to experience many of the joys of being a teenager. He hadn’t ever snuck out late into the night hours before the future day’s sun would rise.
He hadn’t ever truly experienced any kind of love; let alone a kiss or peck of the cheek. He didn’t have but one true friend that was to call his own. He was physically and truly at heart, a nerd.
But how in anyway did that signify that he should be treated differently; harshly specified? It seemed that the “cooler” kids of our high school had assumed the role of punishing him for only committing good in life. They assumed that because he hadn’t decided to play a sport or buy those expensive “in” brands, he had ultimately chosen his fate of punishment.
On days walking home from the neighboring school, for my house was only a couple of blocks away, I would watch in helpless agony, teenagers punish him for his good. They would steal his lunch money or take his books, that in all honestly reflected all his life, and throw them over the bridge, into the low lying creek.
On some extreme occasions, I would watch a fellow human being be attacked, like a female lion in heat dismissing those who attempt at capturing her beloved children. They had no children. They had no reason. But they did.
Days drifted and as the sun became an element of heat and our summer undeniably neared, the brutal out-lashings became more and more violent. Before there had only been a band of three who had felt the need to punish the plum-like face, but now with the summer nearing, more and more individuals joined in the effort. It became to my horror, more like a show.
The students would take turns, as if it was a sport of some sort, of trying to out do the others in their beatings. Some days he wouldn’t come to school not only in fear of the day’s outcome, but also from the previous day’s aching.
Slowly and slowly his grades fell. His only friend was left behind. He wanted solitude.
Once I looked into his eyes as he left the school grounds in hope of getting home without receiving as many scars and bruises as the previous day had provided. I looked into his eyes and saw not a person, but a glazed and broken hue of black. He was no longer a person of good fortune and potential, he was a plagued country mourning the loss of everything and the inability to defend from further attack. He was plagued with insecurity and fear.
The attacks came more and more and instead of defending himself like a fighter jet against enemy fire, he slowly and surely began to allow the beatings without defense. It seemed almost as if he was becoming immune to the plaguing jabs and uppercuts. It was as if he was becoming invincible. But as I should have known, it was more of a slow in progression of downfall.
As the daily routine of a newly designed sport continued, his attendance diminished. As much as I truly wanted to call and ask, I let my mind wonder aimlessly on what he was doing. On whether his parents were catching a glimpse of the horror their son had most surely undertaken without decision.
Then on his final day that he would attend the school he once strived to succeed in, I sensed something different. Though these occurrences had altered his habits, he still had tried vigorously to keep up with ongoing class discussions and projects. But on this day, any passions he had once had were gone, never to be seen through his heart again.
As the bell dismissed school, students running wildly, as if it were the last day of school, to see the newly acclaimed sport (which by now had crossed the school in rumor and truth), he didn’t walk home. He sat.
I was in need of a stronger grade, so I also stayed put and wait on the dismissal to kill the crowds and noise. So I decided to sit and watch what he would do.
As he was obviously accustomed to doing, he anxiously bit at his upper cuticle. Staring straight up at the ceiling, I felt a sense of urgency in him. As if he knew something I didn’t and he was in real need of it occurring.
And then, as if satisfying his urge, I unconsciously saw a gun striped from underneath his un-“in” clothing, and quickly cocked. In shock, I jumped to my feet unaware of what to do next. He pointed the gun first at the sky, and then kissed the long narrow stout that would surely spit soon enough.
I stared at his eyes, which no longer were glazed over like a frozen bleak tundra. They now had a sudden calamity, with fiery walls of secluded blues and yellows. And then once again they froze over.
“Bam.” The noise caught me off guard, and suddenly I realized how many individuals had joined in my mishap. Coats of blue and green instantly surrounded him. There was a stain of red straight across the room, as if someone had precisely painted a line of blood.
The funeral precession was devastating. The life of a lost soul had been destroyed not in a matter of seconds, but in months. Months of physical and mental shroud.
They played a song of mellow melodies and sorrowful harmonies. I had heard it but could not place it now, nor did I care to. The more and more I thought about it, I had been the cause of his death. I had watched in hypocrisy, I had watched a peer’s death brought upon him. And I had done nothing. In many cases, until the last occurrence, I hadn’t blinked an eye. I always had idolized those who had contained the ability to stand up against the evil. I had obviously not learned.
A life had passed, a life wasted. Now I was the only thing to mourn.
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