Bradley

Heya. If you're reading this, you should feel lucky. I'm the biggest deal at Redman Elementary. Ask any of the other students that go here. Few would argue with this fact, if at all. None of them even could.

My real name is Bradley Stepson Grant, but proper names are for losers. For people who are content to sit at their desks thinking their mediocre lives and achievements are somehow special to anyone. Call me Big Bradley, nothing else. You're not worthy to know me on a solely first name basis, but don't feel bad, very few are.

The only ones who are, have earned it. There's only five boys in all. I took them through the whole nine yards to get such an honor. After all, to get so close to greatness doesn't come to any sucker for free. Who in my shoes needs a "friend" anyway? Having one of those would imply that there is anyone in this school that's at my level.

Trust me, nobody here has what Big Bradley got. I wear the best clothes. I'm taller than anyone else. I'm a stellar student. I have all the coolest, latest toys. I'm an idol to every and any sane drool face here. Every student wants to be me so bad. They want my face, my smarts, my whole life. It would be admirable if it wasn't so desperate. Though, I guess I can't fault them for being jealous.

Every day, I come in and get to be the king that I am. I go to school with the newest playthings in my backpack, spending recess playing with them in my own corner of the playground. (I made a line with sticks in the grass field nearby to keep idiots from intruding) Then afterwards, I go to my fifth grade class with my toys out on my specially customized desk of glitter, gold star stickers, and my name tent out in front of me.

Y'know, it even says BIG BRADLEY on it, lets any and every baby in that classroom, and the entire school, know who the real boss is. What, don't think I am the boss? I had every student in my class basically make my name tent. They got to write one letter each out of my name on it. A few unlucky ones I made draw a small picture on the tent as a consolation. (stars, smiles, crowns, stuff like that.) Better than nothing. All of them were lucky I let them do such a thing in the first place.

The first time I tried this, some fat lowlife teacher with a stupid mustache wouldn't allow it. He honestly tried to tell my parents about it, the poor dummy. The guy ended up getting replaced the next day. The next teacher got the memo, and almost every student got to write my name out. Sure, it wasn't exactly as pretty as I would've done it, but, at the same time, who else can say an entire classroom made something for you?

Anyways, I do all my work ahead of time, with little error. Then, the teacher has the class do some kind of project of the day. I only do that when I feel like doing it. I don't involve myself in less than stellar work, which my classmates love to reproduce and pride themselves in. Oh, and any dum-dum that gets the idea of objecting to it, well, they get a special "session", as I call it, from me. As for the teacher, they know better than to oppose my decision. I do makeup work to allow it anyhow.

Then I go back out for afternoon recess. It's at this time I have the other students in my class play a game of my choosing. Of course, I also make the rules of the game every time. Y'see, I don't let them do their own thing in the afternoon, cause it sucks. Besides, while all the new toys are all I really need, it gets boring after morning recess. I have to make fun in some other way. Those kids should be thanking me more often, I design the most exciting games for them to play.

While they don't express it as much as they oughta, the class loves to play these games with me. It's nothing but laughs when my games are going. For all two of you wondering, of course I always win, but that doesn't take away from their enjoyment. I make afternoon recesses a blast for everyone in my class.

Though, a few days ago, there was this bratty boy with these wide glasses who didn't want to play my game. I mean, the ignorance and stupidity!

So I go to one of my close followers and ask them who this jerk is, and they told me they didn't recognize him. This was a new kid to this school. Well, I guess I can give this turd an excuse to not immediately know how things operate.

The next day at morning recess, I had to take time out of my play to put this blind sap in his place. Annoying, I know, but unlike this lowly moron, I have a reputation to think of. I walk up to the brat, finding him on a swing, and ask why he didn't play my game the other day. Not that I particularly care what his incorrect answer is, but I want to give the garbage with glasses a chance to explain his stupidity. It's kind of like watching a dog try to speak its mind with incoherent barks.

He says that the game seemed boring, which of course is ridiculous, and that he just didn't have interest in playing it. I tell the twerp what the deal is. I'm Big Bradley and inherently better than everyone around here. Hence, we are not equals. Of course I have to dummify it for his weak brain to process, but that's basically what I tell him.

The brat says that it doesn't sound fair. What a whiner. It's not my fault that I was just born better than the rest. I tell him that he may not want to accept it, but sometimes no one likes to hear the truth.

After morning recess, the turd went to try to rat me out to the teacher about what I said. Of course it didn't amount to anything. Why would it? After all, I did nothing wrong. It'd be like the teacher getting fired for teaching that red and blue make purple just because the principal thinks they make green.

When it was time to go back out for afternoon recess, it was game time. I was waiting to see if the rat learned his lesson about where he stands in Redman. I tell him to play the game with the rest of the class. He has the nerve to call me a "meanie fart" in front of everybody.

A few from the class snickered. Can you believe that? They tried to hide it from me under their breaths, the little punks. I tell them to shut up or I'd give them one of my "sessions." They all quiet down.

I tell the pathetic scamp that if he doesn't play the game, he would get one himself. This imp has the ant brained idea of telling me "no." Oh, he was going to get it, alright. The rest of the students, the smart ones, carry on with my game. A weird satisfaction rests inside me all the while, watching that twerp on the playground by himself with a smile on his face.

After the school day ends, with everyone lined up outside, I have my followers grab the jerk from the back. They drag him backwards away from the rest of the class. I have the schmuck taken to the back of the school where the garbage bins are.

From there, I tell my followers to make sure this time the kid learns his place. Class is now in session. It's always so satisfying to watch. Seeing these idiotic worms who think they can assert their worth over me get that confidence beaten out of them. The more they cry, the more I know that they'll take this session to heart.

Then comes my favorite part of any session. After a good two minutes of beating this loser's head back into place, I have my followers toss him where he belongs. Then I stand there for as long as it takes for the twerp to say that he'll never make such a wrongful act again. How else are you going to make absolutely sure they swear to it? Sitting around with the definition of what they are long enough will get the point across of where every other student here lies compared to me.

As I stand there waiting for the kid to accept my plea, one of my followers tugs my shirt. I slap him across his fat, ugly face, and ask why he would do that. I mean, I know it's beautiful, but even my close followers don't deserve to touch my clothes. This boy says that this feels "a bit wrong". A bit wrong? I mean did this tubby just sniff a tub of glue?

I ask for any one of my followers to punch the fat retard as hard as they can in his gut. One of them complies after a weird bit of hesitation amongst them, (not sure why that was) and I rip the stupid, cutesy construction truck backpack from his shoulders. Then, I tear it apart right in front of him, throwing his school supplies in front of him.

I stand there, wondering if any of my other followers have any further contributions to make toward the fatty's thought. You can guess what the answer to that is. Afterwards, the brat in the garbage finally apologizes for his heinous act. I have my followers pull him out, and, just like that, a good lesson learned.

Now, that does sound annoying to deal with. To be frank, as much as I enjoy putting morons back where they should be, it is irritating to go through. Thankfully, these kind of incidents are few and far between. I've got a feeling that number will get even shorter as I eventually depart from this school. It's a shame what a dump it will be without my presence to grace it.

Regardless, nothing's going to change about where I stand on the mountain of life. Not here, not in the next school I go onward, or the next. No matter where I am, or what lowly hog says different, there is no kid like Big Bradley.