Random Short Stories/Prolouges

Pure (TW)

((TW for s/h and bullying.))

((Sadly, this is based on real events from the past.))

((710 words.))
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Oh, those pretty little lines.

They swim on your skin like red fish in the vast sea. Stripes of a tiger, boldly painting your flesh with a sense of confidence. A sick memory stuck to your skin without a chance of removal.

But why, you would ask, do you love the way it looks? How it feels? How it makes others feel?

You asked yourself these questions multiple times, all times coming back to the same conclusion -

They make you feel alive.

Wind back a bit, shall we?

•••

You stood frigid on the school ground's field. It was early April, and a thin layer of frost covered the grass. You shivered in your spring coat, hoping and waiting for grade 5 recess to end.

Suddenly, you spotted her.

She was maybe 20 meters away from you. Along with her was her sidekick. The short one- the asshole.

You turned around quickly in hopes that she didn't see you. It was too late.

She did.

At first, it was a distant laughter, but it soon grew into chants and name calling, which were getting louder by the second. You were panicking. Even though this happened daily, it brought you so much stress and terror each time you couldn't possibly contain yourself.

You were only 12.

In a state of desperation, you begin walking slowly in the other direction, hoping to put some distance between yourself and her. Yet, again, she caught up. You were frozen. Like a flower caught in an unexpected April snow storm.

The predator wasted no time beating down her prey.

"Stupid."

"Ugly."

"Fat."

"Selfish."

"Selfish."

"SELFISH."

Tears dared to fall. You stood your ground. The chants didn't stop. The sidekick joined in. She was right at your ear now. Right beside you. Like a skyscraper's shadow over the civilian.

Suddenly, something inside of you burst.

Like a ballon that was blown up too much- you popped.

Driven by rage and adrenaline, you slammed yourself to your left, crashing into her. She pushed you back, startled at the action. You were usually meek. Naive. Scared.

Easy prey.

But this time, the bunny fought back, kicking and punching the wolf. She ripped your spring jacket off of you, your skin burning as the cool breeze splashed against it. The sidekick said nothing. Did nothing. Just stared.

But as the wolf was about to grab a chunk of your long, brown hair- the bell rang. You huffed and shook loose of her grip.

"Weak!" She screamed as you darted off to the doors, bunny footprints following you like a shadow.

You escaped the wolf.

But it cost you. A lot.

•••

3 months passed. It was July. Middle of it, to be exact. Memories of her scary face flooded your mind every. Single. Day.

Why couldn't you just shut out those thoughts? Those memories? Why?
It wasn't that hard, people would say. Distract yourself. Relax. Do something you love. It was easy.

Easy?

For you, it was far from that.

One day, your mother introduced you to a pin (she wanted to show you that trick where you stick the pin in a thick patch of skin). Innocent as you were, it was left unstained for a while. One August morning, though, you just so happened to be left with your thoughts and yourself and the pin all in your room. Together, like one happy little family.

You picked the pin up.

It was scary to you. You were not used to the sudden pain.

Flesh was damaged, never to be repaired.

Innocent little hands now stained red. Pain quickly desolving into numbness. And in that moment, as you watched the multiple beads of blood form on your skin like spots splattered on a dalmatian, you felt something. A soft hum in your stomach. A whisper in your ear.

You're alive.

Yes.

You were alive.

You were not some hollow shell. Not a teddy bear for some child to cherish. Not a piece of plastic. You were human.

You were 12.

Yes, you were alive. But at what cost?

Your happiness?

No. You told yourself. Although you knew that was exactly you had forfeited.

•[End.]•