Well, I've written from Mikey's POV. About... High school? I'm sorry. This is my first story, sorry if it's awful.
It was still early, but I got up and dressed for school. I pulled a black wristband over the criss-crossing scars on my wrist, last nights a vibrant red. I left the house in my usual all-black attire. It was far too early for school, but I needed to get out.
Leaning against a wall, smoking a ciggarette, I checked the time. School was starting soon. Seven hours of being verbally and physically abused. As a group of jocks walked past me, they yelled
And insults like that. My older brother, Gerard, and I seemed to be the main source of entertainment for such people. Though my brother and I are different. Gerard fights against the abusing people, yelling back and fighting against them. Though, he always returns home bruised and bloody. He stands no chance in a fight against the jocks, there's too many of them. When they abuse me, I just take it. Without a word or opposing move, I let them shout and punch. Perhaps that makes me a coward. Stubbing my cigarette out, I made my way towards school.
Sitting in my usual place in the back corner of the classroom, I immediatley covered my test score as soon as I received the results. I was bullied about enough things, I didn't need to be abused because of my intelligence as well. I walked out of class as the bell rang, and a group of jocks approached me.
They yelled as they dragged me behind the bike sheds to abuse me. I let them commence the punching, kicking and other forms of attacking me. I didn't try to fight back; I didn't have a chance. When they finished pounding the
sh¡t out of me, I picked myself up and put my glasses back on. Though I ached all over, I made my way to my next class. My pale skin never bruised, it stayed clear white all over.
My day was... Normal. I got beat up when I wasn't in class... The usual. I skipped gym class, I'm no good at sports. I get teased about my hairless, lanky body.
At the end of the day, I was reluctant to return home. I wander around until night falls, when I know I have to go home.
I can't remember the last time I spoke. Speech is unnecessary, and depression stiches my mouth shut. Awake into early hours of the morning, I brought the knife to my wrist once again.