The echoes of humiliating laughs ringing in his ears. Head lowered in shame, fists clenched strained, the tiny frame shuddering—the wasted food spilled over him, staining his flesh, his navy blue blazer uniform.
They always craved a chance to torment him. The students, their unruffled, taunting gaze overwhelmed him. So he preferred the classroom, he just wanted to be alone, to have his lunch in peace.
Tears threatening to bursts out, a flood bleeding in the burning eyes—a tall, broad dam to collapse. Wild, trespassing images, piercing shame crossing his head.
"Look at me loser!" One of the kids barked, roughly fisting his hair and forcing the icy gaze to rivet with his flinching self.
"Who you glarin' at loser!" He knocked the boy off his chair and down on the cold hard tiles, angered and refusing to acknowledge he almost intimidated him.
"You stink! You belong to the thrash!" Another kid hurled an insult at him, kicking him on the back and sinking further the frame, pinching his nose and waving the air.
The group of boys giggled in along, snatching the bag from the table's hook.
Zipping it open, the heavy books, stationery—tumbling upon him, hurting him, but he wouldn't even let a squeak out his lips. And it annoyed them to the depths.
And away a picture slipped, falling on the bullied boy, who had his head hung low.
A happy family painted the portrait in the white glossy paper. Before he could pick the memory before him, a kid snared it.
He analysed it, when their leader asked for it, he handed it to him.
"It's just a stupid photo," he snickered, the rest joining in the exploit.
"Give it back to me Archer!" The boy finally raised his voice, gathering immediately their mocking gazes.
"Or what? Loser."
Archer leisurely stepped owards him, smirking at the glaring frame standing tall. "You gonna call your mommy?"
"Oh wait," Archer tilted his head, eyes squinting, glistening in a mischievous light. "I remember, you've got none." He barbarically laughed out loud, eyeing around his friends, tying in their cruel laughs.
He looked at the boy, "Not even your mother wants you, loser!" Saying, he tore it apart, biting along his little heart to shreds.
Archer in a flash was roughly slammed on the ground.
He jumped on him, fighting for the tattered paper.
"Get him off me you losers!!" Archer screamed at his minions, who stood there stiff—wearing panicked faces.
The three of them struggling caught his arms, one kid on each, from the back another one encircling his waist, attempting to peel away the crazy boy.
Archer was yelling at them, frail hands attempting to push him, cursing at the boy—breaking between the hits on his jaw.
Shaking them aside, he swirled his fist at a lad's nose who held him back, sending him pounding on the floor.
Propping himself up on his elbows, grazing his hurtful nose, he felt faint at seeing the blood on his fingers.
The underlings had fear thrashing in their eyes, instantly fleeing their hands off ths frame, regretting ever messing with him.
If he had this lot rage inside him, why had he been not fighting back all this time they picked on him, silently enduring everything?
They were stunned, widened eyes and petrified bones. He was being hysterical.
Bruising hands punching Archer's now bloody visage. Archer was eerily still and silent.
His grim face was red, his body heated with vengeance.
Archer was passing out, but he was savoring the taste of all the evil he had him through, the beast tearing out of him; realising the sinful desire.
One of the bullies started crying for his mom, legs trembling while the other lad ran out the empty classroom.
Soon he came back with a teacher, who standing at the door had her heart collapsing at the scene.
"Rhean stop this instant!!"
Rhean ceased his motions, breathing heavily, still strangling over Archer. Wild, red sore eyes with water building up looked up at the homeroom teacher.
The teacher rushed towards them, the fidgety kid following behind. "What have you done?!" She shrieked, horrified at Archer's almost unrecognisable features.
Rhean shoved away lands on his butt, a trail of scarlet handprint left behind on the white tiled floor, the blood melted with his own and Archer's.
She checked Archer's pulse, the agonizing, shallow, stuffy breathing of her student washing her in relief. Her paled features—drawing in back colour.
Before she took Archer to the infirmary, she glanced at Rhean, revulsion and wrath in her glare.
"You, to the principal's office now!"
Rhean saw her running out the classroom with an unconscious Archer in her arms. He looked around at the three rats on the corner, shuddering at his fierce stare.
Rising to his feet, he picked up the ripped portrait. His parents smiling at him.
Archer had seperated them right in the middle. He was torn away from his mother's embrace.
He barely cleaned himself off the spilled, and gathered his squandered books, arranging inside his bag. Swinging it on his shoulders, he walked out the door, without bothering to glance back at his tamed tormentors.
Their view of him shifted, with a price, a blow of trauma to their soul.