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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1825204
by Ginger
Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Contest · #1825204
A bully commits a horrific crime against a classmate.
He spied her as everyone made a mad dash out the door for recess. Like a hunter catching a glimpse of a deer, there she stood. She was his target. He sneered and laughed to himself at this chance to corner her. She appeared nervous, fidgeting with her dress and brushing the hair out of her eyes; that hair that she took so much pride in. It hung past her shoulders, straight and shiny, never a single strand out of place. It annoyed him more than anything else about her; more than her attitude, more than the glasses that made her look so smart, and more than her perfect clothes.

Those were the reasons he hated her. She was seemingly perfect in every way. He wanted just one thing to be wrong with her. Just one thing so she could be like everyone else in school. Even some small imperfection like crooked teeth or a visible scar or shabby clothes would suffice. Each day she displayed none of that, only more perfection and he couldn’t stand it.

He leaned against the school, his hands in his jeans pockets. She stuck close to her friend, the shortest girl in the sixth grade, he assumed for protection. The old safety in numbers routine. She must have sensed his loathing. He made no secret of it, constantly belittling her. Largely, she ignored his comments but she always steered clear of him as much as possible.

His schoolmates laughed and ran across the playground. His eyes never left his prey, following her to the monkey bars and then the swings. He noticed her hair flowing around her as she swung higher and higher, her frilly dress flying up as she swung forward. She was picture perfect and he hated her for it.

He smiled knowing this would be the day. This would be the day he wiped the ever-present smile off her beautiful face.

He watched her as she freed her bike from the rack after school. She hadn’t seen him as he peered around the corner of the building. He waited for the perfect time and as her books tumbled out of her arms and she bent to retrieve them, he pounced. He was on her in an instant, her screams piercing his eardrums. He struggled to free the scissors from his pocket and sliced quickly through her dark lustrous hair. He held at least ten inches of it in his hand.

She was determined to fight him off and flailed her arms violently, screaming hysterically as she realized what he had done to her. She fiercely grabbed her bike and pedaled out of the schoolyard with him close behind.

He couldn’t let her get away; he would be in more trouble than ever before. She was a fair distance ahead of him but still visible. He was an experienced rider; he was sure she was not. Regardless of how fast she went, he’d be faster and able to overtake her. With all his might he pursued her, pedaling desperately, gaining on her by the minute. He caught up to her as they began their descent downhill. It was steep but he was sure he could get close enough. She continued to scream and sob. He laughed, knowing how afraid she was of him. Her fright gave him more power.

When the front of his bike was parallel to her back tire, he pulled his wooden club out of the inside pocket of his jacket. His initials were deeply carved into the side of his prized possession. It kept his enemies at bay and he cherished it. Keeping his bike steady, he rammed it into her back spokes.

She sailed down over an embankment, her shrill howls ending abruptly. He quickly stopped and looked down into the wooded area. Her bike lay in the grass halfway down the hill, its tires still spinning. She was nowhere to be seen.

He left his bike on the roadside and slid down the hill to investigate. There, in the thicket of trees and thorny shrubs lay her lifeless body, her skull cracked open, scarlet blood pouring from the side of her head. He stared at her in disbelief, thinking he had never meant to kill her, just scare her. Her wide-open eyes were filled with astonishment and terror.

He scrambled back up the hill to his bike in a rush to get out of there. He rode away as fast as he could, trying to convince himself that no one would ever know he had been there. They wouldn’t be able to prove a thing.

She took her last breath amongst the wild rose bushes, tangles of trees and mossy rocks at the bottom of that steep embankment as her predator pedaled away.

A hush fell across that country road and the spinning tires on her twisted bike slowed. A stillness filled the afternoon. And only a mere six inches from her broken body laid the wooden club, partially hidden by the innocent rose bushes, with her killer’s initials proudly emblazoned on the side.


Word Count: 853


© Copyright 2011 Ginger (rebecca39 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1825204