Fly.

Short story.

The red lines that marked my arm were faded, but still there. It had been only a week since the razor last entered my skin, but my mind still wanted more.
More red lines, more suffering, more pain...
 
I snapped back into reality, and realized that I was starring into the nothingness of the blackboard at the front of the class. I looked around to see everyone else laughing and goofing off, ignoring the teachers desperate screams for order. She kind of reminded me of professor Umbridge from the Harry Potter books; she would do anything to get what she wants, including making up stupid rules and enforcing them. As I watched her interact with the class, I noticed the amount of disrespect that my fellow classmates showed. I started to wonder if she took any of it personally, and went home feeling useless and stupid. Was she anymore immune to bullying than I was? Did age really matter? I herd someone yell "duck!" as I saw a newspaper airplane fly past me, and land onto the empty desk in front of me. I wasn't shocked that this was happening; who the hell was going to stop them? I know I wasn't going to rat them out; it was bad enough being naturally unpopular, let alone a teachers pet on top of that. I herd the bell ring, and watched as they all packed up and left. All except me and you. I was still left confused by what you did, but I was healing.
I watched as you packed up, and said a polite goodbye to the teacher.
 
Oh God, your voice...
 
I almost asked you to speak again, but held my tounge; I couldn't stand the hurt you put me through already, let alone tell you how much I really loved you. As you walked out the door, I caught a quick glance of you looking at me. I blushed, wanting you to just come back...
I gave myself a mental slap, and continued to pack up. As I was headed towards the door, I turned back to the teacher. Her hair was in tangles, and her voice was hoarse, but I knew she could use someone. As I approached, I bowed my head, and starred at my feet.
"Miss, I'd like to aopplagize for my fellow classmate's behaviour today, and all year. I know they can be bad kids, but they're really good at heart. Some of them are just having a bad time..."
I murmured, grabbing my arms, feeling the burn of every red mark. "Its okay, I'm use to life not going my way..." she began. I scrunched up my face in a confused manor.
"What do you mean, miss?" I asked, looking up from my shoes in wonder. I saw her smile, and pull her sleeve up, revealing dozens upon dozens of red marks just like mine.
"Life doesn't always go your way. Sometimes you head down the wrong path, like I did, while others fall off of it temporarily. You've just gotta learn how to set yourself on the right path, and learn how to fly."
 
And that was the day I learned that hurt is never defined by age, and that everyone can learn how to heal.