"It was a deep, heart-breaking kind of hurt, threatening to destroy my insides. It felt like a vast whole of emptiness traveled loosely inside of me, burning from deep down like wildfire."
Stephen is one of the winners of an exclusive three day expe...
A roaring laugh soared across the cafeteria, over the clinging forks and knives.
"Oh, look! Little Willy Wonka here thinks chocolates are debatable!"
Another soaring laugh boomed across the wall of the cafeteria. Princeton gave a little punch on his classmate's shoulder with a grin. I buried my chin into my plate to avoid looking at them.
"Oh, what's wrong, Willy? Feeling a bit shy? Bet your mama still breastfeeds you!"
I picked at my food and stared onto my plate.
"I'm talking to you, little one. Is the food more interesting than what I'm telling you?"
Princeton walked up to me with a slow imposing stride.
"Well, well, well,"
He stood steadily by the side of the table. The sound of the dangling strings of his overalls clinked in my ear.
"Little Wonky Wonka's so interested in his cafeteria junk that he doesn't hear what we say. So what, is he deaf now?"
Girls in the background laughed together. Whispering his name and giggling aloud. Boys huddled around, handling hazardous items such as baseball bats and football balls. In the far end of the cafeteria, no lunch ladies or teachers were in view. That usually meant Princeton and his friends would do anything they wanted. Some were sitting on the lunch tables; others were quietly seated in the shadows, chatting low.
"Well, It's too bad mum's not here to get you from danger anymore. And right, how's she doing? Has she healed yet?"
It stung. Every one of Princeton's words stung like daggers in my chest. My ear reddened sharply. I clenched my trembling fists. Breathe. Just breathe.
"Oh, what was it again?"
No.
"Cc-"
He couldn't.
"Cancer?"
Without warning, I leaped out of my chair with an enraged tremble, forgetting every word of what my mom had told me.
"True strength is not a man with a gun in his hand. One who is powerful figures it out with calm and control." She had said.
My fist flung to his face, and he stumbled back. I charged at him again, but I felt someone pull me by the hips. I continued punching as tears rolled down my cheeks in a way that I couldn't control. I cried out like a lost lamb in the middle of nowhere. I just wanted it all to end. Talk about a strong warrior.
You're probably wondering who I am and what is going on. My name is William Emile Lapierre, and just as you witnessed, I'm a victim of bullying. I'm the kid who gets his lunch swung over to the other side of the wall. The boy people ignore during social gatherings and the one who always gets chosen last during that basketball game in phys ed. I live in Glendale with my family of five as the middle child. You might already know that it is the worst place to be in a family. As a middle child, parents expect you to become your elder sibling, pointing out their impressive accomplishments, and pamper your younger sibling. So, where does that leave the middle child? In the dump next door.
My mother was the only family member who never looked at me that way. She was cared for each child equally and never picked any favorites. Everything was perfect and regular for a brief instant, and I thought we would be like we were forever. Then, one rainy evening at the Lapierres' house, I heard my little sister holler with a horrible shriek, crying that our mom had passed out on the living room couch. When my dad learned the news, his face turned into all the rainbow colors, from red to indigo. He kept on mumbling on the way there, shouting out orders for us to follow. I realized--only then--how much I didn't cherish my mom's presence by my side. And it was only the day she fell that I realized how much I cared for her. How selfish was that?
My mom's brown hair shivered on her forehead as the wind blew softly threw the window. She had the same long, brown meshes as I did. People would compliment her smile and her general positiveness. She gave and never expected anything in return. If I got into an argument with one of my siblings, she would always find a way to solve the problem simply and fairly for all of us. She listened to every word we had to say with openness and objectivity.
She would not be there to help me when I needed help or encouragement, was the first thing I thought immediately as I saw her closed lids. I'd get into fights at school, and I would always go to her for advice and confiding. She comforted me in the ways she could, and I never thanked her. It was all my fault she was lying on that hospital bed. It was my fault she was tired and ill. Everything that happened to her was my fault.
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This chapter was probably the most sad and depressive of all, thus I hoped you liked it! Vote for more!
