Breaking The Mirror [Edited And Complete]

School Bully

"So what happened to your face?" He snaps at me after a while. I look at him, wondering what story I'll tell him. He seems smart, so the boat thing won't work. And I'll see him again, so that's no good. It needs to be something believable.

"School bully," I tell him shortly. He shakes his head and puts the cigarette out on the side of the trashcan and throws it away too.

Without another word, he walks back into apartment 333.

He's so damn confusing.

-

You gotta have respect for pizza. Really. It sits there, all round and covered with crap in a friggin square box until it gets shoved into an oven, burned at 300+ degrees, carried around and then what does it get for it's pain? Eaten, that what. That's what I feel like sometimes. Like I'm a round object in a square box, only alive to be hurt, burnt and burdened with a bunch of shit before being disposed of.

It sounds fairly depressing when you think about it.

Alfred and his poker buddies ate pizza tonight. The boxes are strewn all over and dad has, fortunately, collapsed on the couch. This message is, of course, mine to clean up. If it's there tomorrow, well, I won't be going to school.

I pick up each box and the disgusting crusts and the stupid little containers of the garlic sauce stuff. There's actually a piece left, but, after that metaphor, I'm not eating pizza for a while. I throw everything away and place the trash outside the door to our apartment so I can bring it out to the road tomorrow. Fuck, it's cold out there. I need to sleep for school tomorrow.

-

I don't end up going to school the next day. Or for the rest of the week, for that matter. Apparently, there was a box under the dining table that I missed and... I'm slightly incapacitated. Too much... ah... physical training. Damn, I knew there was something wrong. I knew it. It's all my fucking fault. I should have checked twice but no, I was stupid enough to just leave the box there without even looking. I'm so worthless I could just fucking puke.

Alfred's gone to work for the day, so I go to the bathroom and get some bandages to wrap around my ankle. Damn, I think it's broken. My right leg too, so now I've got to hop around on my left which is much less coordinated. Maybe the school has crutches I can borrow when I go to school again...

Enough worrying about school or the future for that matter, I need to get this shirt off. It's splattered with red and ripped all up the back. He didn't let me remove my shirt before he used that damned belt. I don't have any bruises on my face, more then before I mean. When Alfred gets really angry, he makes sure not to hit my face or people would start asking questions. These bruises I can hide with clothes. But the ankle...

I sigh and wince as I pour that stuff in a brown bottle all over my cuts. I can't ever pronounce it or even remember the name. Whatever, it fucking stings like you don't even know. It's not supposed to, but it does. Stupid fucking lying advertisement.

At least the cuts have stopped bleeding. I try to keep my leg straight when I walk out of the bathroom, avoiding the mirror at all costs. I don't want to see Alfred's face right now. It doesn't hurt much when I'm careful...okay, that's a complete lie. It hurts pretty bad, but I'll just have to suffer through it. I've got to take out the garbage.

I go out the door limping like Danny should. I wonder if I can borrow his cane. It's not like he needs it. After collecting the trash, I hop down the stairs like an idiot and thank the gods when I'm down all the way. If someone had actually caught me doing something so stupid...

I throw the bag toward the dumpster and miss.

I bend over, lifting my injured leg in the air behind me awkwardly so I don't disturb it. It's completely crazy. I throw it back in, and thankfully, I make it this time. I limp back up to the stairs and meet Danny on the foot of them. He looks at me, squinting like he's not even sure who I am.