PuristLove
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Dec 11, 2000
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Jason's Tormentors
By Eric West
"Fuck you," he shouted in defiance. Jason ran from them but they were close on his heels. He ducked around a corner and then tripped on something. His knees were skinned and he felt the blood soaking into his jeans. He got up to run again but not before catching a kick in the ribs. They were very close now.
His breathing was ragged, he wasn't used to running this hard. Covered in dirt and sweat, it was all he could do to keep running. A hand tugged at his jacket and he was pulled to a stop.
He swung around to face them now. There were five, and they smiled wicked grins. "Fuck you," he said again, this time with a lot less defiance and a lot more defeat.
Sadism gleamed in their eyes. They circled him, pressing closer and closer on him. One of them pulled his hair until he was forced to look him in the eyes. "Fuck who?" the hair-puller asked.
"Fuck you," he said again. Courage and disgust swelled in his heart again and he spit in his tormentors face. Hair-puller let go of him to wipe the mucas off and Jason tried to break free and run. He backed into a brick wall.
It was all Jason could do to restrain the tears of fear that wanted to break loose and run down his face. Hair-puller punched him in the stomach. "Bitch, that's for spitting on me." He punched him again, "That's for running." A third blow took all of Jason's wind away, "And that's for being so fucking ugly."
"Fuck you," Jason wheezed.
"Fuck you, Fuck you," they mocked him.
Something inside of Jason snapped at this and he began swinging wildly. His first punch caught Hair-puller unawares. Jason's fist had made contact with his nose and tears instantly welled up in his eyes.
Spurred by this Jason began attacking Hair-puller with vengeance, hitting him again in the eye, the stomach, the mouth. Hair-puller fell to the ground and curled up in a ball.
The others grabbed Jason's arms and pinned him back against the wall. Hair-puller stood back up, "Fuck you, you little bitch," the tears in his voice made it obvious that Jason had landed some decent blows. "Hold him while I give him what he deserves," he told the others.
Jason tried to brace himself, but there was nothing that could prepare him for the punch that slammed his head against the brick wall. Blood oozed from both his nose and the back of his skull.
They released him now and he tried to swing again but he couldn't see and there were too many of them. He couldn't land a single punch.
They shoved him to the ground and began kicking him, his entire body hurt and his world faded to black.
A tiny whistle far in the distance called to him. Slowly he left the warm, dark sanctuary of unconciousness and returned to a body bleeding from so many places that he would end up being given a transfusion later.
He looked around, seeing first the sky. He tried to stand but quickly realized the impossibility of that. Suddenly he remembered why he hurt so bad. He flinched in reflex, awaiting more blows but his attackers were gone. Rolling over on his side he looked down the hill at the larger buildings there.
The rest of Mrs. Christopher's third grade class was already in line waiting to go inside for juice. Slowly he began the long crawl back to the school where he could get help.
www.literaryclearinghouse.com/ericwest.htm
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Intelligence is not best measured by the answers you have but by the questions that you ask
By Eric West
"Fuck you," he shouted in defiance. Jason ran from them but they were close on his heels. He ducked around a corner and then tripped on something. His knees were skinned and he felt the blood soaking into his jeans. He got up to run again but not before catching a kick in the ribs. They were very close now.
His breathing was ragged, he wasn't used to running this hard. Covered in dirt and sweat, it was all he could do to keep running. A hand tugged at his jacket and he was pulled to a stop.
He swung around to face them now. There were five, and they smiled wicked grins. "Fuck you," he said again, this time with a lot less defiance and a lot more defeat.
Sadism gleamed in their eyes. They circled him, pressing closer and closer on him. One of them pulled his hair until he was forced to look him in the eyes. "Fuck who?" the hair-puller asked.
"Fuck you," he said again. Courage and disgust swelled in his heart again and he spit in his tormentors face. Hair-puller let go of him to wipe the mucas off and Jason tried to break free and run. He backed into a brick wall.
It was all Jason could do to restrain the tears of fear that wanted to break loose and run down his face. Hair-puller punched him in the stomach. "Bitch, that's for spitting on me." He punched him again, "That's for running." A third blow took all of Jason's wind away, "And that's for being so fucking ugly."
"Fuck you," Jason wheezed.
"Fuck you, Fuck you," they mocked him.
Something inside of Jason snapped at this and he began swinging wildly. His first punch caught Hair-puller unawares. Jason's fist had made contact with his nose and tears instantly welled up in his eyes.
Spurred by this Jason began attacking Hair-puller with vengeance, hitting him again in the eye, the stomach, the mouth. Hair-puller fell to the ground and curled up in a ball.
The others grabbed Jason's arms and pinned him back against the wall. Hair-puller stood back up, "Fuck you, you little bitch," the tears in his voice made it obvious that Jason had landed some decent blows. "Hold him while I give him what he deserves," he told the others.
Jason tried to brace himself, but there was nothing that could prepare him for the punch that slammed his head against the brick wall. Blood oozed from both his nose and the back of his skull.
They released him now and he tried to swing again but he couldn't see and there were too many of them. He couldn't land a single punch.
They shoved him to the ground and began kicking him, his entire body hurt and his world faded to black.
A tiny whistle far in the distance called to him. Slowly he left the warm, dark sanctuary of unconciousness and returned to a body bleeding from so many places that he would end up being given a transfusion later.
He looked around, seeing first the sky. He tried to stand but quickly realized the impossibility of that. Suddenly he remembered why he hurt so bad. He flinched in reflex, awaiting more blows but his attackers were gone. Rolling over on his side he looked down the hill at the larger buildings there.
The rest of Mrs. Christopher's third grade class was already in line waiting to go inside for juice. Slowly he began the long crawl back to the school where he could get help.
www.literaryclearinghouse.com/ericwest.htm
------------------
Intelligence is not best measured by the answers you have but by the questions that you ask
