Escape

Trigger warning: violence 

It's been haunting me for months. In my eyes I should’ve gotten over trivial things much faster. If it was someone else I’m sure they would’ve forgotten it and became stronger.

 I’m at that tender and dangerous age where you're afraid to hurt people and not afraid enough to hurt yourself. 13. It’s supposedly an unlucky number but I think it’s just controversial because everyone wants something to blame when something horrid occurs in their unsatisfied lives.

 I used to be a weak and angry person too. Someone who wanted to blame everything and everyone else. Someone who wanted to believe something higher existed. Like a God. Someone to blame it all on. But something good in me didn't allow this. And neither did the demons around, as they've always wanted me to suffer.

I wanted to keep those feelings and blame it on myself because that was the only option that made sense. I drowned in those feelings for awhile, believing I was the only person that existed. Even so, it didn’t go well for me.

Then, something saved me. It was my delusion. I couldn’t take it as the demons inside of me turned me into something hideous. I wanted to be human again. Not just any monster. A real human being.  

    “Amelia, it’s time for school, hon,” mother said over her shoulder.

    “I’m coming, mother,” I mumbled with an apple in my mouth. I wore the school uniform, a navy skirt up to my knees and a short white shirt with the school logo on the left breast pocket. I had my hair down to my waist with the top half in a ponytail. 

 My mother placed my breakfast in front of me and commanded me to eat. It was a fruit salad with a glass of orange juice on the side. I specifically asked her for fruits to keep my skin healthy and ‘the doctor away’ as the saying goes.

The school bus arrived outside our house. I quickly finished the salad and ran outside whilst kissing my mother on her cheek. She smiled at me as I left and it gave me strength for the day ahead.

 The bus was crowded with ignorant kids who didn’t notice as I entered the bus. It didn’t matter since this is just the beginning of the torturous year for us.

 The bus halted in front of our school. And all the other kids pushed and even tried to climb over each other to get out of the bus first, like animals. I waited patiently in the back of the bus, smirking at their idiocy.

  At last I stepped off the bus and then entered the school. I wasn’t nervous at facing my past but, a surprising calm and some pure silence in my ears. A blessing.

 The school was filled with pictures and trophies of past achievements. The school’s pride and evidence that it could achieve more if given the chance. Just like me. I walked into my classroom with a cold and serene expression like I surpassed everyone else in the room. Like I am the only human in the room. 

  It is almost time, I readied myself and straightened my back.

 My classmates stared at me with their same old predatory expression, like they couldn’t wait to gobble up the high self esteem I carried with me into the room. 

 I smiled back at them in my own predatory way. And it must’ve done something because a few of them looked away. 

  It’s time.

They’re faces slowly morphed into something inhumane. Eyes filled with greed and lust and tears filled with frustration because I wasn’t willing to back down this time.

 I pulled out my strength, my courage, my anger, my fortitude and I threw it in front of me like my shield. Like my weapon.

And then I repeated the words. 

  “ My name is Amelia Racheron, I hope we get along," I said after taking a deep breath. 

They all stared at me with their frightening faces, daring me to do something naive. Waiting.

 I grinned back at them, knowing what they wanted and keeping it out of reach.

 “You can sit next to the window in the back,” the teacher pointed to what will be territory for the rest of the year.

 I nodded and approached my desk without glancing at my classmates, once. As I sat down in my assigned seat, I was the center of attention for everyone else. Like a new toy to play with.

The teacher had a blank expression, like she had no clue as to the evaluation happening to me. Good. I didn’t expect her to be part of the game anyway. “We will be learning about Mesopotamia, and how trade was done there...,” she began the lesson.

  A few of my more dutiful peers turned their unsightly faces back to their mentor. The rest resumed their previous activities, undoubtedly willing to forget me in the next few minutes. The remaining creatures were waiting to pounce after class. I just couldn’t wait. Hm.

 “Brrriiiiing! Brrriiiing! ,” the fire alarm rang. Interestingly some students went through the back door of the classroom. 

 I lined up with everyone else, wondering what kind of day it will be. We walked out of the school in anticipation, anxious to breathe some fresh air instead of the recycled oxygen we were forced to breathe in captivity of four walls. 

 We walked into the luscious green hills at the back of our school. The clouds looked heavy, about to unleash their pain upon us at any moment. They chatted among themselves, hoping to be unheard by the teachers.

 More students from other classes filed in. They didn’t have faces. They didn’t matter.

 Soon enough, after centuries of waiting we allowed back in. We were the last ones to go back in, as we came first. But the teacher didn’t bother taking attendance, which was quite strange.

 We walked towards the door in silence.

 I gasped. Someone grabbed both my hands and covered my mouth. I could taste a cigarette on their fingers.

 I was pulled into one of the alleys. 

“Mmpphh,” I tried to let the last of my classmates know that I was being dragged into seclusion. They heard me. I know they did because one of them paused for a few seconds. But they didn’t bother turning around, they continued walking away. 

 I heard snickering behind me. Then, someone pushed me from behind onto the mud covered ground. Rocks scratched hands and my knees bloodied. I turned around attempting to uncover the identities of my captors. 

 I saw them, they were the most disproportionate, daunting things I have seen thus far. Bullies. They had melted faces filled with bleeding skin. Eyes full of sadistic nature. Despair pooled at the pit of my stomach. My hands turned clammy. This probably won't end well. 

The most hideous creature hit me first, in my left eye. Pain shot up the left side of my skull. Then, the rest of them joined saying something about a welcome ceremony, that it was tradition. They kicked, punched, and spit on my whole body. Like I wasn’t someone with feelings. Like I was trash. I felt pain everywhere, in my mind, my body, my heart. I could hear their sick laughter. Their greed for power, for control. Tears flew in the air. My tears. As I suffered on the ground. No one will save me. No one will pull me out of this. I will be drowned. I will be suffocated. I will be killed. 

 Before long, I heard cries of help. “Amelia! Run, they will hurt you. Run while you can! ,” a girl screamed in my face. She was being tortured just like I was. Why didn’t I help her? Why did I run? How could I watch someone innocent be in such agonizing pain?

   But , someone said it was a small thing. He kept telling me to get over it. That I was a monster, that I had to accept it. That I had to get stronger. That I was too weak to accept the truth.

  A funeral. I didn’t cry at that girl’s funeral. She died because I didn’t help her. It was my fault. But, I smiled? Why did I smile? 

 “Monster! , beast! ,” people tore at my clothes, tried to hurt me out of anger. They cursed at me. Oh right. Because I’m a monster.

 I didn’t hear anything for a while. My mind cleared out. And my breathing slowed. I’m a monster. I’m a monster. I’m a monster. My body stiffened. And I slowly rose up. Back on my feet. Calm. Silent.

 And then, “Slash, slash, slash,” blood dripped off the walls. My white shirt turned red. The bullies were sprawled on the ground, with a red liquid gushing out of their necks and mixed with the mud. Their eyes were still open, but not with greed this time, not with anger. It was fear in their eyes. The kind of fear that says I don’t want to die. The kind of fear with a tinge of guilt in it. The kind of fear that begged to mercy. It was so beautiful. A work of art. And I made it.