Take A Walk With Me (One-Shots and More)

What You Don't See

No/Any YouTuber, if you want it to be like that. I wrote it as a general fiction.

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New state.

New school.

New people.

Old rules.

"You can't have friends over."

"Any food they give you at school, accept."

"Don't steal from other students, but if you can, pick up a pen or two from the teacher's desk."

Rickety house,

Hand-made beds

Food-stamp pantry,

Jacket bearing threads

I was poor, and I knew it. My parents were strict, and had "homeschooled" me since third grade. They were putting me into middle school, though, and I was scared. People would notice, from my ragtag appearance, and I had to pull myself together whenever I went out of the house.

Mocking voices,

Fill them with laughter

Keep turning your pages,

Chapter by chapter

Of course, I was right. My first day of school, my wardrobe consisted of a loose black top, and working jeans, frayed on the bottom. I had a hat to hide my hair, which I couldn't do anything with, but was forced to take off when I walked into the school. I think that was the first thing they made fun of.

Caught and sent down,

Patiently waiting

While their outside the door,

They're relentlessly baiting

With just a swipe, I snatched one of the pens of the teacher's desk as I walked in. My name was yelled, and I was hauled into the principal's office. He took one look at me and started lecturing, telling me the rules of the school and calling my "old school" improper. I'd heard it before, in first and second grade. It was all the same to me, anyway.

Hold just a minute,

Now the rumors do fly

It didn't take them long,

Before they started to pry

By my fourth week of school, I was entirely shunned. No one talked to me, but they did speak behind my back, when they thought they were being sneaky. I could hear their voices drifting through the hallways as I rushed to class from the locker bay. They knew I was poor, and they were harsh about it. It wasn't like I had never seen this before; it was more like they'd never seen anything like me before.

A check,

Bringing you back!

Shouldn't everything be alright,

Because you're in the black?

It was about then that my dad money sent in the mail, from my uncle, and my mom found a job. No more food stamps, sure, but we would be able to support ourselves, meaning I wouldn't have to steal that blanket or that shirt. Maybe we could live somewhere else, other than that apartment complex I hated.

But it didn't stop, even months after I had gotten better clothes, and started bringing my own lunch. They, kids and teachers alike, would always find something bad to say about me. Teachers would say I wasn't a good student, even though I had the highest grades in the class. Students called me names, varying degrees, from "faggot" to "piss-poor."

One day, they started getting entertainment from walking up behind me and either slapping me or kicking my knee out. I later learned that there was a game that teachers were trying to ban, called Slap, Kick, or Punch, where the player would choose one, then draw a name out of five slips of paper. Often, my name was put in four, or even all five times. I walked home with bruises, but covered them, and my slowly appearing scars, with a jacket and jeans.

This is the wreckage,

Of letting one thing be

This is the truth,

Of what you don't see.

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What happens to the character? They go on, live their life in silence and pain, reaching out to someone, anyone. Their stealing habits stay with them, and so do the rumors, even when they move out of state again. It's about then that they get a Wattpad and start writing.

Okay, so maybe my story wasn't exactly like that, but the above one-shot is based on it. I was poor. I lived off food stamps in a ramshackle apartment, and stole pens and other school supplies off the teacher's desk. I was bullied because my clothes weren't the best. I was the target of Slap, Kick, or Punch, four times out of five.

Anyways, I'm done now.

I guess I'll see you next chapter?

Baiii