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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1541266-How-I-Met-The-Bully
Rated: ASR · Short Story · Fantasy · #1541266
Read at your own risk
How I Met The Bully



Entry 1



I got hit. I got dumped. I got Ted... I mean I am Ted. Before I begin, I shall warn you that what is in the writing is very dangerous and secret. So just imagine that this never had happened, even though it did... excuse me. If you like Ted, close the book, or take the risk and read on, but I warned you.



Entry 2



8:35am I arrived at school smack on time, just ready for an eight-forty start. Life was not so easy in Shatford as a year 7. About 3 metres ahead in the corridor was a 90 degree corner to the right which lead to my classroom at SB31. In 20 seconds, a monstrous beast awaits. Something, I can not escape. Something, beyond my fears. A black shadow overtook mine with just five steps to reach SB31. I gulped, tried to keep mute, made no fuss. I stood there, lost for words, shaking like an earthquake. The devil took me by the collar and said three words. "Give...Me...Money!"



Entry 3



Other shadows appeared and sniggered as if watching some animal get tortured by circus freaks. The world felt if it has been tipped upside down, wait a minute, I blinked again, I was being tipped upside down. "No, no! Please!" I begged. The beast vigorously scrambled through my pockets but just in time, the bell rang and the devils raced off with no hesitation.

Sorry, I don't think I have fully introduced myself yet. Of course, my name is Ted and I am 4 foot 8.25, that's if my hair spikes up, or else it's just 8.2. I could go on all day but let's just say my nicknames were Freckly and Mr Four-Eyed. My role here I guess, is to get beaten up? Anyway, where was I?



Entry 4



I limped to class after all that adventure and found myself with a lateness. Mr Astle always shook his head when he wasn't impressed, and this time, he shook it for me...

What I was concerned about really wasn't that but what awaits at the detention room. A pack of hungry tigers ready to pound at me. That, sent the shivers up me.



Entry 5



Time went like a leopard and lunch break arrived. I was deep in my thoughts when suddenly, I felt a chill behind my back...

Weakly, I turned around but it seemed like half an hour before I realized spaghetti was poured all over me. Just for the record, the spaghetti was also cold. Yes, that’s right, I was shivering.

“That suits you a lot, jerk!” the beast shouted.

“Hey, stop it, you... you stinky piece of cheese!” I stuttered back.

After that, the dining room went quiet for about a second before it was filled with roars of laughter. With tears in my eyes, I stormed right out of the dining room, found myself a tall sky-scrapish looking willow tree and cried under it.



Entry 6



Somehow Mr Astle snaked his way around the school and kneeled beside me before I even knew it.

“Hey what’s the matter?” He asked.

“Big Stone ju.. just gave me a hard time again,” I sniffed.

“So why is he picking on you?”

Dear Reader, please read this part carefully and it will reveal why he is doing this to me:

It all started when we were both in Springfield Preschool; where all the fun began. That day I shall not ever forget, when our teacher took us out to play baseball. La la la la la out we ran like a herd of sheep and got into our positions; I was the catcher and Big Stone was the hitter. Wait up, let me explain, you may be wondering: Oh my! He’s gonna smash it all the way to your house but guess what? At that time, believe it or not, he was smaller than me. Still, I must admit he was pretty strong even in preschool. Hmmm... I wonder how he did that. Sorry, back to the point, the pitcher threw a straight ball to Big Stone and with no stress he hit that ball like a kid eager to hit a piƱata. Run! Off he went as if the wind had picked him up. First base, boom, Second base, boom, Third base, boom, Home base, Yikes! That was our first game of baseball... (And also my last) I did not know what came over me, maybe a man’s instinct but I just charged at Big Stone with all my protective gear on and crushed him over, squashed in a sandwich.

End of childhood story.

End of “Big Stone do you want to play with me on the playground?”



Entry 7



After the “little” talk with Mr Astle I decided it was about time to man up and face him. Even if I didn’t want to face him he would appear any second right in front of my freckly face.

Everything actually went too smooth this morning that I was feeling a bit nervous if it was going to be a big set up. While I was walking to my English class, right at the edge of my sight, I spotted my predator. He must have had quite a good eye sight because the minute I spotted him, the minute he chased me. Hormones really do act up at this age don’t they because I seriously did not know what I was thinking, standing there as motionless as wood, staring into his eyes.

I stood there, waiting for him to arrive.

“I want to be friends with you again,” I blurted out.

For a split second Big Stone looked as if he was going to puke but all that came out was, “Ha Ha Ha! Get out of my sight, loser!”

The last thing I remembered was that I could feel blood around my lip....



Entry 8



A beaming hot day, perfect for baseball; first thing in my mind. I looked around and saw people from my class with baseball bats and gloves.

“Hey.... Please, easy with those bats,” I took a step back.

Big Stone smiled. I didn’t like the way he smiled at all.

“Want to join in and play some baseball, like the old times, aye?”

Ummm... Did Big Stone really say that? I’m sure I cleaned my ear out the other day so I wasn’t just hearing things. Strange enough, I couldn’t feel anything at all.

“What’s the problem? Come on, hurry up Teddy,”

We were practicing our catching but I just could not feel the ball in the glove at all. It was like I was covered with numb injections. My eyes started to blur and nothing was as clear as before, making it hard to biff and catch the ball.

Blackness slowly raided over my sight, but what did not escape was the smile in my heart.





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