From The Side Lines

I

  Hell is a door which is locked from the inside ~ C.S. Lewis

Luke Hannah:

The air is snatched out of my lungs, leaving me gasping for air, a burning sensation arising in my chest as I am shoved with brute force backwards into the metal lockers behind me, the sharp ridges digging into my spine but the cool metal cooling me down as my body feels as if it's on fire from the inside out. Rough hands grab hold of my jaw turning my head towards my attacker, making me look him in the eye. Eyes that are filled with pure rage that radiates from his body and would make an honest man start digging his own grave. The veins in his forehead seemed to pulsate on their own accord and the brute of a man that me locked in his death like stare panted like the animal he was. His primitive nature seeped through as he spat and growled like a beast clamming it's territory. With a final blow to my ribs that made a painful crack, and a further shove back against the lockers behind me; the clatter of which rung around the otherwise empty hallway, he dropped me to the ground and stomped away. Leaving a trail of my blood that dropped from his ape like fists, behind.

I lie there slumped against the lockers, surrounded by my own self hatred for allowing this to continue, but I know I won't stop it, I'm too weak, too pathetic, too ... irrelevant, to be able to do anything. By even attempting to stop this, will only make it worse, I mean I tried once, I learnt my mistake when I left the battle field they call school, with a broken arm, three fractured ribs and a dislocated shoulder blade. This was easy compared to what I could get.

Wearily I push myself of the lockers clutching onto the handle for supports, I search my blurring vision for the grey-ish blob that vaguely looks like my back pack before pretty much dragging myself over to where I'd had to abandon it when they assault first started. Wrapping my bruised fingers around the strap and picking it up. I sling it over my shoulder, the weight of it balancing out the new limp, I've acquired. Unable to move with any grace my movements are jerky as I tumble down the hallway in dire need to escape this prison.

Pushing the heavy wooden door (that was once painted blue but is now faded and splintering, so looks more of a grey, just as depressing as the rest of this hell hole) with as much strength as I could muster, it slowly creaks open, banging against the tar coloured metal banister outside. Sighing in relief as the cool air hits my clammy skin that seems to pulsate with heat, instantly cooling me down.

Step. Step step. Step step. Step step.
I gradually make my way towards the steps at a snails pace, taking each step at a time, trying to keep my weight of my knee that I know will be all swollen and bruised from using it straight after receiving the injury.

Knowing there's no point in going home as mum will be sleeping after coming home from her double shift and I that I'll have to pick up,  Katie from the primary school; I decided to go and take shelter in the library, like all outcast stereotypes typically do.