Death slowly claiming me, my life ending just as fragile as it had started. I could feel the strength leaving my body, coldness spreading to my extremities. Too tired to thrash against the door in a pitiful attempt at escape. They left me rotting in this tiny little case, too tired to yell anymore. There's no way they didn't hear me crying. There's no way they didn't hear me banging. There's no way they didn't hear me screaming. To think, not even a single teacher deigned to help.
To be seen offering assistance would only direct the trios gaze onwards. I banged on the door for hours, I heard people passing in front of the locker as they went on their merry way.
They wouldn't have actually done anything to help, probably would have accused me of filling my own locker with the hateful cesspit of filth that I now stood ankle deep in.Īt least I wouldn't be stuck in this torturously small space, choking on the stench of my stomachs own regurgitated contents mixing slowly with the other swill. I should have turned away, gone and found a teacher. Had they done something to my locker? The thought stuck, but didn't generate the correct response. Gore rose in my throat, and I had stalled in my approach. I knew something was wrong when I neared my locker, the sour stench of copper hanging deep over the underlying essence of rot and bile. I hope.Īt least that was what I had held to be an immutable fact of life up till today. It doesn't really matter, they'll lose interest given enough time. The caustic insults, the errant outs of physical violence. Its been going on for a little over a year now.
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