"Wanna play a game, fag?" he demanded as he grabbed my collar and slugged me painfully across the face.
I heard the shuffling of sneakered feet against squeaky tiled floors and knew they were coming. Panicked, I dropped my bookbag on the floor and took off running. I thought I'd lost them, but judging by the screams of "there he goes!" and "come ON, he's getting away!" I heard so clearly behind me, I had apparently been wrong. Tearing past the rundown row of lockers I'd only moments before stood in front of, I raced down the hallway away from my potential assailants.
I hadn't done anything to these guys. Usually when they beat on somebody, it was because a] the person had hit on- or, actually, looked at- one of their girlfriends, b] the person had picked on one of them and, being the strong men that they were, they all had to go kill the singular person who'd harassed one of them, or c] that person was me. I had no interest in any of their girlfriends- trust me-, nor did I have any desire to pick a fight with one of them, but I was born with a curse, a "loser" brand, a permanent "kick me" sign on my back that I wore everyday and couldn't ever remove: I, Gerard Way, at seventeen years of age, was gay, and there was abso-fucking-lutely nothing I could do about it.
Seriously, what the hell did these guys care about my sexuality? Why was I so interesting? There were probably plenty of other gay kids in my school...right?
That was the part where you were supposed to say "right, Gerard! There are plenty of other gay kids in your school and there's absolutely nothing wrong with you".
Thanks for the support.
How close the sound of feet had gotten by that point snapped me out of that thought. I turned the corner and, though my heart was going faster than my legs and I was completely out of breath, the rush of adrenaline I was getting from the absolute terror I felt propelled me forward. The further I ran the worse the aching in my lungs from lack of oxygen got, but I ignored the pain and ran faster. I'd almost reached the exit when-
"Hey, pansy," a cruel voice greeted me that matched the evil sneer on the face of the speaker who'd jumped out in front of me.
My heart rate increased tenfold, something only moments ago I'd thought impossible. Within seconds, I heard the patter of feet racing up close to me from behind, and I knew I'd been surrounded, but I was too terrified to move. The group by my back grew closer still, and though I couldn't see them, I could feel their colossal shadows casting over my unfairly small figure.
"Wanna play a game, fag?" Zander demanded as he grabbed my collar and slugged me painfully across the face. Immediately, the rest of his friends tore over to us and formed a tight huddle around me, each one kicking and punching and slapping any inch of me they could get their hands on, making the next fourty minutes some of the longest of my life.
[So what'd you think? Sorry if it was terrible, and if it was mad boring. It WILL pick up, I promise. Also, comments and reviews are love, and I'd greatly appreciate them, thank you =] I love you all to bits. Peace.]