My mother and father hated me; I have received no parents love. No parents to get love from, no siblings to fight, and play with, getting thrown at out of the house. I had grown up alone, with no one to be there for me, to love me. When I watch that Trey boy with the girl, I saw her give him love, make him smile, make his feel happy, make him feel loved. I wanted that same feeling; I want to be loved too. I never got any love. Am I a monster? An abomination.
That was what my parents had called me, every day. No sweetie, darling, or even are you okay, it was you’re a monster, you’re a waste of space, why are you here? I don’t want to be alone anymore, I don’t want to be a sad guy, who one day will die, and no one will know him, then there will be no one to miss him, no one to pray for him, I want someone to care for me, to help me, to stop making me feel so lonely. I have money, fame, cars, and food, everything I want. But, nobody to share it with, nobody to talk to, nobody to care for.
The only people, who talk to me, are wealthy business people, who just want me to invest in them, or stringy slutty, glamorous, but beautiful girls, who just want to date me because of my wealth. They don’t like me for my personality, or because of a lovely guy I am. Just because I am rich, they think that all I care about is girls, and pretty girls, who I will waste money over. But, I don’t want a girl like that. A girl who is cold, and plastic, and uses me, just like I will use them.
All I wanted was to be loved, is that so hard to ask. I had never been loved, parents who hated me, wished I wasn’t born, thrown me out, when I turned fifteen, my parents just told me, to get lost, and go wherever I wanted to, or just die somewhere, and just to leave them alone, and that they have had enough of seeing my ugly face, have had enough of pretending to care for me, and that I could do whatever I want, and that they wouldn’t care.
I had no siblings to play with, to fight with. No friends to play with, to hang around with. You don’t know how lonely it gets being by me, being all alone, it is horrible, and you know having nobody to talk to, to socialize with. Being rich, makes it even worse, because everybody just assumes I am a spoilt cow, who thinks he is much better than anybody else, which I am not. At my old school, they thought I was a know at all, a lanky guy, a spoilt tramp, a waste of space, a piece of dirt.
That was what my parents had told me I was. It really hurts you know, knowing that even your own parents think you are a waste of time, a waste of space, not even worth the time, or space. Knowing, that if they have a chance to kill you, they would, and then they would say how life would be a lot easier without me. They bullied me, kicked me, punched me, hurt me beyond measure, and tormented my life. . Some girls came to me, but that was because they liked me, but I knew their love was a fake.
Watching countless couples kiss each other, be with each other, promise that they would be together forever, love them for eternity only to cheat with someone else, and break apart a few months later. All my life I had been thinking was I a mistake? Why was I born? What was the point of my existence in this world? Was I just meant to be a lonely, hopeless person, who would do nothing in the world? My only comfort knowing that I could spread the cold, and the hatred, which I have felt my whole life. Knowing that the pain and suffering which I have been through, I could share it with others, make them feel the pain I felt.
Make them hate themselves, just like I hate myself. They all hurt me, they all break me down, and the all tore me apart. They make me want to kill myself, wanting to end my life, after all; I am just a waste of space, and I know that nobody would miss me, or even notice me. I was practically invisible in everybody eyes, me at nearly six feet tall, should be able to stand out, but even my height cannot help me become noticed.
I remember; all the taunts, all the horrible words they call me, they made me cry, they made me feel so upset, and distraught. They all hurt me, so they had what was coming to them. They all called me so many horrible names such as
“Faggot boy, go and die, your mother took one look at you, and wished she had that abortion.”
“Ugly, horrid, stupid brat, thinks he so cool, and smart. Girls don’t like freaks.”
“I bet your mother was a whore, who took one look at you, and decided that she must have slept with a monster.”
“Go. And die. Nobody cares, you’re a waste of space, useless, and no one likes you.”
They even tried to kill me; they stuck my head in a toilet, and tried drowning me. They all told s many lies about me, on how apparently I hated everyone, and were actually Hitler son. It was not even funny, but they thought it was. They thought that bullying me, and making me want to kill myself, was funny.
A game to them, I was. A pawn in their chess piece, somebody they could play around with, could mess around with. Could destroy without even knowing how much pain and suffering, they have put me through. It made them look all cool, so cool that they can bully someone lower than them. That by bullying someone, and making them look like the class fool, makes them feel more power. I tried to be brave. I tried to be strong. I tried to not let them get to me.
I fought hard, trying to shut away all those words, tried to erase all the pain and scars they caused me. Tried to forget, but I couldn’t. Every day was the same. I thought that it would get better as we grew up, and that they would just leave me alone, after all I have done nothing to them. So, I didn’t know why they picked me? Didn’t know why they hated me? Why they hurt me? Why they chose me? Was it all because they knew that I was weaker than them, or that they knew that already my family have put me down, and made me so low, so worthless.
They knew that however hard I tried to pretend it didn’t hurt or affect me, they knew it did. I wanted to fight, wanted to show them that I didn’t want them to bully me. But, I felt so hopeless, so weak, and so pathetic. I was just the poor victim, the kid who nobody liked, and nobody cared. The victim who was taunted, beaten, abused, kicked, tormented, destroyed. The poor kid they all hurt. I remember the teachers; they would just smile at me, never have they asked me if I was okay, and if anything was wrong.
It was like they knew what was going on in my life, knew I was bullied, but couldn’t be bothered to help, or save. They didn’t care about me, just like the rest of the world didn’t. They didn’t even try to help me, they didn’t even think that maybe if they even asked me once if I was okay, and then maybe I wouldn’t turn out the way I am.
But I was happy with who I was. I was bored. I look around my house; it was looking shady, dark, moody, and unpredictable. Wait that was just me describing me in a few words. I guess my house represented me, shows me for the way I am. Boredom, my company for so long. I sit in the living room, on the plush satin purple sofa. I button my clean blue shirt up to my collar, and then walk towards the glistening mirror.
I see my reflection, my reflection of a young handsome cool guy, with cool wet coal black hair plastered to my head, my black eyes piercing at the mirror. The shower had just broken today. Stupid shower! One minute it was warm hot water splashing on to my skin, the next, ice cold really freezing water trickling down the stupid shower. It was so stupid, and I was the one paying for this. I was paying for hot water, not icy cold, what did they want me to do, catch pneumonia?
I take out my nice looking perfume from the cupboard, and spray it on to me. Then inhale deeply, a wonderful nice smell of beautiful tulips and fresh daisies like in the summer. I then walk towards the sofa, and land gracefully on it, and pick the black remote control, and click on the red power button. The television snaps open, the white light blinding me.
I look at the channel that is groan and then groan with frustration it was just some boring mortal show called East Enders, so boring. I change the channel with a push of a button, and then sigh bored to see it was just some boring game show with an annoying host, who talks too much, and then change the channel again, feeling very bored, then moan angrily it was just a stupid mortal romance film. After going through another two hundred and seventy five channels, I throw the television remote right into the air. I watch it smash it something. Just great! Now, I would be the one who would get in trouble for breaking the remote, and would have to pay for it.
“After going through two hundred and seventy five channels, possibly two hundred and seventy eight or maybe seventy nine channels you expect at least one good thing to be on, god, what a waste of television and money” I groan, then walk towards the remote control that lays on the floor, hitting something on the way.
I wonder what I broke now. Not that I cared anyway. It was not my fault that the old boring stupid television had nothing good on. I mean I paid good money for it monthly, and so I did for the shower. It was not my fault I had a cold freezing shower, was very tired, and had nothing good to do. Stupid day. Today was not my day; I was seriously angry, and bored. I wipe a sweat that trickles down my face, and then look to see a beautiful silver photo frame lying on the floor, beside thousand of silver glass pieces.
I shove the silver glass pieces to a side, trying not to hurt myself, more than I already, and then look at the picture and turn it around so I can see it. I gasp in shock, when I see the picture, my heart pounds rapidly. I gasp in shock. The picture is of me, a slightly younger looking me, still looking handsome as I am now, in fact maybe I was more handsome then, me grinning happily at the camera, a bunch of candy floss in my mouth. Now I don’t smile, but those days I used to smile every day, being happy and me.
Beside me is a beautiful brown haired woman with long hair, elegantly wrapped in a bun. She sticks her tongue right to the camera, holding on to a piece of candy floss. Her warm brown eyes melting my heart, as she stares at the camera, blushing. I turn around the photo to see the names written in black ink on them:
Love is a many treasured thing xxx
That was so stupid, now I think of it. Love was just a joke, a game, a way for the bullies to hurt me even more. I remember the girl in the picture Ariana; she was just like the rest of them. She pretended she liked me, pretended she cared, the only thing which came out of her mouth was lies, mouthfuls of me, and then just hurt me, just like the rest of them. Ariana was just as worse as them.
She hurt me, even though I trusted her. This is why they tell you to trust nobody. Nobody was trustworthy, everyone was bad. Ariana was just a spoilt cow, who thought it would be funny to break my heart, and make me fall in love with her, and then she broke me apart. She made me feel like she was everything to me; I loved her more than the world. I would have done anything for her; killed anyone, done anything. I guess love does make a man go crazy.
Well, it did make me crazy. I loved her, treated her like royalty, like a beautiful princess, which I thought she was at the time, and now do I see that she was just an evil mask on the inside, with a heart so cold, and black, that evil is the only thing that pumps in her blood. I hate her with so much, so it was good what I did to her. I didn’t kill her, no way. I made her look like a slut, a whore. I ruined her popularity, and then because of me, she lost her voice. I don’t want to go on to the whole explanation, let’s just say Ariana was never the same girl she was, and now looks at the world in fear, like it’s a terrible place.
Which it is, I am glad I hurt her. If somebody hurts me, I hurt them back; it’s like an instinct, after all that is what they deserve. I throw the picture on the floor, and watch the glass shatter, just like Ariana had done to my heart. I pick up the silver glass pieces from the floor, and throw them in the bin. Suddenly I gasp in shock, as a piece of glass pierces my skin. I go and inspect the damage, their on my middle finger, a cut runs down half way down my finger. I watch the red sparkling crimson blood trickle down from the cut and splashes from the floor. I put my finger in my mouth, and then take it out. Suddenly the cut heals, the only thing that would suggest that I had been cut, was the little pool of blood.
With a wave of my hand, the blood disappears. I pick up the crumpled up photo from the floor, and straighten it. A small tears falls slowly on to the photo and splashes gently, I wipe the tear away from the photo, and open up my drawer. I open it slightly, and shove the photo inside, and then pick the silver ring inside. I hold the silver ring in my hand, and look at it the ring amazed; it is still as beautiful as it was before. The silver band it is beautiful, with six blue crystals on it, a beautiful white diamond right in the middle.
It was the ring my grandmother was given by my grandfather. A ring I was going to give Ariana, but that was before I realized how stupid and horrible she was, and that she wasn’t worth me. The ring remains in my house, a treasured possession, the only thing I have off my grandmother. I guess everyone stopped talking to me. As everyone believed I died that day in the cabin, but I didn’t, but let everyone think that. It’s better for everybody to think I had died.
Sometimes, I wish I really had died that day, and then maybe all the pain would have just gone away, but now it will always be with me, in my life, a reminder of my past, and the pain which I had been through, and pains so horrible and painful to remember. I wish I had friends, friends I could trust, and know they were there for me. I wish I had money. Money, which when I was younger, had to beg and cry for, and starved because of it. They had a constant supply for food, food that sometimes I would have to starve for, get beaten for. A memory runs to my head.
A young me, with my crazy wild black hair, and black eyes spot the seller. A giant man, who had to be at least twice or three times my size. Me, I was just fourteen years old. The old rags I wore, clings to my shirt. I run nervously at my head, the hot blistering sun blazing rays at me. I sweat like a pig, sweat trickles down my face. I wipe it tired. My eyes glare at the fruit seller, in front of him lay shiny red apples, yellow delicious bananas, small red cherries, bunches of strawberries, a giant water melon and some delicious mouth watering mangoes catches my eyes.
I lick my lips in hunger. My stomach groaning in hunger. I walk towards the fruit seller. His dark blue eyes pierce at me, he frowns at me, like I am a worthless beggar to him. I look at the fruits carefully, which one I should steal I thought. My heart pounded rapidly, like it was racing a marathon. I had never stolen before, but now I had too, or I was going to die of hunger.
Die young, and starving. The shop seller inspects my skinny thin body, and my eyes darting at the food. I watch the fruit seller, turn to a customer. This is my chance I think. I slowly grab a bright red juicy apple, and run away from the fruit seller. The man knows looks at me, the bright red juicy apple at my hand, and then charges towards me. I take a bite of the red juice apples, it filling up my hunger. I keep running, as fast as I can. But a young guy, who barely eats anything, is nothing compared to the large burly giant man who must weigh three times my weight, he grabs me by my collar, and glares at me with intense hate.
“You stupid horrid brat, stealing my apple!” the giant burly man shouts, his blue eyes twinkling with hate.
“Please sir, I am so sorry, I was just so hungry” I whimper.
“Hungry you stupid brat, why should I care about someone like you, you are just a beggar, a stupid orphan worth nothing. No one even cares about you or loves you. No one would even mind if you were dead. All I care is that you steal my apple and you will have to pay” the fruit seller shouts.
A big hustle of crowds, surround me and the fruit seller. Young children holding their mother’s hand, and pointing at me, and then saying anything. People giving me evil looks, then shrug their heads. I look at the children with their parents and sigh with jealousy. They have everything, loving parents. I lost both my parents, they had left me. They had abandoned me. They had not wanted me. I was just a sick wispy horrid child that they didn’t love.
“Please sir” I whisper, tears trickling down my face.
The fruit seller grimaces menacingly at me, and then with a smack of his hand, smacks me on my cheek. I fall on the floor, my fingers holding my cheek in agony.
I wipe a tear. I remember that day. I had been beaten till I had scars, blood trickled from me. That stupid fruit seller had beaten me painfully, not even thinking that I was just a poor lonely starving child. He had beaten me grimacing the whole time; his heart must have been made of stone.
He nearly killed me, he broke two of my bones, busted my lip, caused me a nose bleed, given me so many scars, and even cut my head, having me to have twelve painful stitches and all for a apple. A small apple. An apple that if I had not stolen I would have died. I remember wishing to die, wishing for all the pain to end, and feeling safe. I remember I used to cry, watching the children going everywhere with their parents.
Parents who loved their children unlike mine, and cared for them. I used to watch when the children grew up, and started to argue with their parents, and wish I had a parent that would argue with me. I used to think the children were very dumb, they did not realize the importance of their parents. Their parents had loved them, taken care of them, had give them food, and water. Had always been there for them, given them advice, and had shouted at them, but underneath that, their parents had really loved them, a lot. I had always wished for a parent, and never got one.
My parents were too busy; they didn’t notice all the bruises, or the scars, all the pain and suffering I went through. They heard me cry, but didn’t care. They didn’t care about me, just like nobody did. Everyone hurt me, so it made me feel so angry. Rage and anger is what was pumping through my veins. I went to school every day, not wanting to let the bullies get to me. I knew I couldn’t let the bullies win, I couldn’t let them victorious. I couldn’t let them destroy me.
I couldn’t let them crush me, and break me apart. I wanted to be a fighter; I wanted to fight all the evil in the world. I wanted to fight the bullies, but I was too powerless compared to them. There was so many of them. Tall ones, smart ones, beautiful ones, not beautiful ones, short ones, dumb ones. All of them bullied me. I bet, you are all wondering why I didn’t tell somebody. Why I didn’t escape? Or kill myself? I didn’t want to be a loser. It was because I didn’t want them to win. I wanted to tell somebody, I really did.
But nobody even asked me, or even cared on what was going on in their lives. All they cared about was their lives, so many people witnessed the bullying going on, and did you think any of them told the teacher? No. They just watched me with poor expressions, they laugh at me, some of them looked at me with pity, some of them felt sorry for me, while others felt like I got what I deserved. All they cared about not to be the next victim, not to lose their status, or popularity.
They didn’t even try and help me, all because they didn’t want to be the next victim, and didn’t want to lose their popularity status, didn’t want to seem nice, and kind to a spoilt tramp that deserved whatever he got. I didn’t deserve it, none of it. It was horrible, so much pain and suffering, it made me feel so weak and small, and I hated it. I tried to fight back, tried to destroy the bullies, but they won, or that was what they all thought.
They destroyed me, they hurt me. So, don’t they deserve to feel the pain and suffering I did too? My bullies were a group in my class. Twenty people, who found it funny, and pleasurable to destroy my life, they found pleasure in hurting me. So, I guess they deserved what they go. We went on a school trip, and when I noticed, me and my other twenty bullies, were all sharing the same cabin, I was over the moon. No I wasn’t, I knew they would continue destroying my life, and would never learn their lesson. They were too horrible, stupid, and mean to learn that. I found that my opportunity to hurt them.
They didn’t know what was coming to them. They thought that I was just going to let them continue running over me. But enough was enough. I had enough of them, and they would all play. On that first day, I let them bully me. I let them torment me, just for their next pleasure. What they didn’t know, was that it was the last day of their laughter. The next day, I woke up bright and early, and burnt the whole cabin, all my twenty bullies destroyed. I escaped, and I watched as them scream in pain.
Flames engulfed the crumbling house, spreading their boiling rage through everything that stands in their way. The wild creature of fire refused to be tamed, growing more and more wild by each second. The dizzying radiant heat from the blazes pulled me in deeper into the burning abyss as I struggled to fight it. The strong waves of smoke clouded my vision, as I fight to stay awake. The horrific waves of fire slither around me, waiting for their every moment.
I crawl away from the violently whipping fire, ashes burning in my eye. I cough, as I engulf the smoke that surrounds me. I step away, and watch my twenty bullies scream, as the fire smothers over them, they scream for mercy, until there is nothing. I smile, I have won. I killed them, they hurt me, and I know they all deserved it, for hurting me.
All the pain and suffering that they have caused me, begin to decrease, knowing that they will never bully anybody else. A smile forms in my face; knowing that they won’t have the chance to ruin someone else’s life again. Knowing, that because of me, someone will not be bullied, that somebody would not have to suffer the way I did. Knowing, that even though I killed them which I know is bad, and corruption, but knowing that this was the way it has to be, for the better good. Yes, I know what I did was horrible, and bad, but they had all of this coming to them.
Did they just think they could destroy lives, without mercy, and hurt so many people without suffering the consequences? Did they think it was just a stupid game to them, a game they will win? Stupid fools. They didn’t know how many people they hurt, how many people they caused so much pain and suffering to. Did you think I was their only victim? No, by far. They destroyed so many people, I was just their latest victim, their latest pet, which they could hurt and destroy. They already hurt so many people, and destroyed so many people; did they think I was the same?
And that I will just let them win. I wouldn’t let them win, no way. I wasn’t like the other poor cowards that they tortured, and that I would just let them win, like the others did. Let them walk all over me; let them hurt me for long. No way, that was a rule which I had always been taught, even from when I was little kid. I still remember it:
“Don’t let people push you down. Don’t let anyone seem stronger than you. Don’t be weak. Be strong. You have to be strong. You have to be brave, strong and courageous in life. If you weren’t people will just push you down, and destroy you. The more you let them push you down, the stronger they will be. If you don’t want to be bullied, or get hurt, stick up to them. Don’t let them hurt you. Don’t let them think you’re just a piece of trash, which they can run over, you are much better than this." a voice tells me.
" It’s not just the bullies fault if they bully you, it’s yours as well. Yours for not sticking up to them, and being a coward. A coward is somebody who is weak, somebody who is too much of a coward to stick up to themselves.Who still thinks that everybody will like them, and that all their problems will go away? Well, they won’t. If you want to make your problems go away, fight for it. Be yourself, be strong. Don’t let them just break you down." the stranger tells me, pushing me away.
I fall to the floor before staring at them, even though his words hurt I knew what he was telling me was correct.
His words cut into me like a knife, he snarled at me before continuing, "Don’t let them hurt you. Don’t let them destroy you, because you know that all these things only happen if you let them too. If you fight them, you may not always be victorious, but you will be much stronger, and better than they all are. Nobody will fight your battles, nobody can. It’s your life, your battles to fight. There will be many battles in your life, but all which only you can go through, and pass. You’re a strong boy, a strong guy. Don’t be a coward. Some kids will be weaker than you, shyer, gentler and, more timid, less strong, but don’t pick on them!" he exclaimed in anger watching me from the corner of his eyes.
I don't say anything to him since I knew that my words wouldn't mean anything to me.
"Don’t be a bully yourself, defend them, and help them. They might not tell you to, but you know you should. You can help so many lives. Help those in need, and destroy those, who deserve to be destroyed. You can do this. You are a ray of hope, a strong, brave piece of sunshine. You can light so many lives, and use your light to defeat the darkness. Remember, to fight your own battles. Nobody can help you. You may want to succumb to darkness, but don’t let them take you down with them. Fight them, fight the darkness, and be victorious. You may feel like you can’t do this and I understand. But, everyone knows you can, you will be victorious. Just believe in yourself. Remember that you are the light. A defender of the light, and the killer to the darkness. We all believe in you, and we all know you can do this.” He shouted at me, his voice rising in tempo.
I slip my long black coat around me tightly, tugging it lightly around my head. I see teachers, and other students running, to see the cabin, where my twenty bullies, has been in, burnt, gone. No trace of them. I’m a killer now, a dangerous powerful strong killer. I have had my revenge. But, once somebody is a killer always will be a killer. Such as me. Killer! That’s me. Beware! Everyone, you never know, who I will come, and maybe it will be you.