Ding Ding Ding
The school bell echoed through the hallways, a jarring sound that marked the end of another day. Fourteen-year-old Thomas, clad in his usual black attire, rushed out of the building, his long hair whipping behind him like a dark banner. Today, however, there was no sense of freedom in his hurried steps. Instead, a weight pressed down on his chest, heavy with the remnants of a day filled with torment.
It was the last day before Christmas break, a time when most students buzzed with excitement, but for Thomas, it was just another reminder of his isolation. The laughter and joy that surrounded him felt like a distant echo, one he could never quite grasp. Bullies had made sure of that. They thrived on his silence, their taunts a constant reminder of his solitude. He didn't have many friends, and he was indifferent to the few he had. His world was one of shadows, a place where he felt safe only when he was alone.
As he entered his home, the familiarity of his surroundings provided little solace. He trudged to his room, hoping for a moment of peace. But that peace was shattered moments later when his mother's boyfriend barged in, his face twisted in frustration. Thomas braced himself, a familiar dread settling in his stomach. The man's anger was a storm, and Thomas was just a hapless leaf caught in its path.
"Get out of my way!" the man shouted, his voice booming. Thomas felt the blows rain down on him, each hit a reminder of his helplessness. But today was different. It was as if a flicker of defiance ignited within him, a spark that had been dormant for far too long. In a moment of desperation, he tried to fight back.
That decision proved disastrous. The man's fury escalated, and Thomas found himself on the floor, gasping for breath, the world spinning around him. The pain was blinding, and soon, he lay there, defeated, as the man stormed out, leaving Thomas to nurse his wounds in solitude.
For the rest of the Christmas break, he was confined to his room, a prisoner in his own home. He was allowed to leave only for the bathroom—three times a day—and the solitary meal he was given felt like a cruel joke. The walls closed in around him, and the silence became a suffocating blanket.
When school resumed, Thomas's heart sank as he approached the building. The familiar dread returned, amplified by the memory of his bullies. As if summoned by his thoughts, they appeared like shadows at the edge of his vision. The leader, Chris, a hulking sixteen-year-old with long blonde hair and an imposing presence, spotted Thomas first.
"Look who it is!" Chris called out, swaggering over with his entourage. Before Thomas could react, a fist connected with the back of his head, sending him sprawling to the ground. The laughter of Chris and his friends echoed in his ears, a cruel symphony that made his heart race with humiliation.
A teacher noticed the commotion and rushed over, her brow furrowed with concern. "What's going on here?" she demanded, kneeling beside Thomas, who struggled to gather his thoughts.
Chris's voice cut through the air like a knife. "We were just playing around!" he said, feigning innocence.
Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. If he told the truth, it would only lead to more trouble—more retribution. He had learned that lesson the hard way. "Nothing really happened," he finally managed, forcing a weak smile. "I tripped."
The teacher eyed him skeptically, but she had no evidence to act on. "Be careful next time," she warned, her voice tinged with disappointment. "Let's all head to class; school is about to start."
As he walked away, Thomas felt the weight of the day pressing down on him. "I'm so tired of this," he thought, frustration bubbling within him. The rest of the day passed in a blur, each class a reminder of his isolation.
The next morning, the burden of the previous weeks loomed large in Thomas's mind. He had reached his breaking point. He walked into the kitchen, his heart pounding, and grabbed a knife. It felt cold and heavy in his hand, a stark contrast to the warmth of his anger. He slipped it into his backpack, a desperate measure fueled by years of torment.
On his way to school, he spotted Chris and his friends loitering nearby. "Thomas, wait up!" Chris called, a mocking smile plastered across his face. Anger surged within Thomas, and he turned to face them, adrenaline coursing through his veins.
As Chris approached, Thomas pulled out the knife, his hands trembling. The laughter of Chris and his friends only fueled his rage. He swung the knife, aiming for Chris's face, but the blow missed as Chris dodged effortlessly.
In retaliation, Chris struck back, landing a powerful punch that sent Thomas crashing to the ground. The impact jarred him, and he hit his head against the curb, the world spinning into chaos.
When Thomas opened his eyes, everything was a blur, tinted with an otherworldly red. Panic surged through him as he rubbed his eyes, desperate to clear his vision. As the haze began to lift, he noticed something unsettling—his body lay motionless nearby, a pool of blood beneath it.
Confusion morphed into horror as he realized the truth: he was dead. The world around him was ablaze, the sky burning with an intensity that mirrored the turmoil within him. This was not the end he had envisioned. Instead, it felt like the beginning of something far more terrifying.