Breaking Point

This is a narrative I wrote two years ago to raise awareness for bullying. Mason is also the main character in one of my horror-shorts.

Hello. My name is Mason Anthony Smith. I am in tenth grade at Magnolia High School, in New Orleans, Louisiana. I have two brothers and one sister. We all get along really well. My mom and dad are happily married, and they love us more than anything. We have a nice house, and we get by okay. I should probably tell you a little about my town.  It’s small. There are only 1, 128 people in our town.  It’s kind of like what you see in the movies, where everyone knows everything about everyone. The people here are really judgmental too. Like, if some girl dyes her hair pink, she’s looked at like she is a leper. That’s how the kids at my school look at me. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have pink hair. Actually, I’ve never dyed my hair before. My hair is dark brown, and really curly. It’s really hard to make it look nice. Sometimes I scare myself when I look in the mirror. As for my face, well, it’s not too bad I guess. I mean, I have clear skin, and blue eyes. However, I am really pale, and my clunky glasses cover my eyes. Plus, I’m a metal mouth. That’s what they call me sometimes; metal mouth. That nick name isn’t as bad as some of the others. I guess by now you’re wondering why I am even telling you all of this. It’s because right here, right now, I need to get my story out. I need to tell someone why I am doing this. I need someone to understand. For once, I need to be heard.

                I guess you could say the bullying really started in ninth grade. And now, here I am. It happened today, like no other day.  It used to be that I just sat alone every day, or kids “shoulder checked” me in the halls. That didn’t bother me. What bothers me is when they would shove my head in lockers, slam me into walls, push me down, steal things from me, and say things that burned to the core of my heart.

                Today was different though. It stared as soon as I got to school. Everyone in the halls was staring at me, which is weird because normally I am invisible. I heard some whispers; “he’s going to die…”

“They’re waiting for him.”

“Finally someone is taking out the trash.”

                A deep panic began stirring in my mind; I knew they were talking about me.  But why? Yeah, sure, I got beat up every day but that was normal! Why did they suddenly want me dead today? I guess I’ll never know now.  But, anyways, I continued to walk to my locker despite the whispers and stares.  When I got there, I heard loud yells and laughter. I started to turn around but that’s when his fist made contact with my face. I felt cold. Unfortunately I chose to stand up.

                “Stay down, and maybe I will let you live.” My attacker warned.

I grasped at the walls slowly steadying myself. I couldn’t see straight, or think straight for that matter. I looked my attacker in the face. He was the same kid who has bullied me from the beginning. Memories of his torment flashed through my head. Anger boiled in my veins. I snapped. It’s a blur, but I remember running at him and hitting him repeatedly. Kids were screaming at me and cheering him.

                “You can’t even hit”

                “Kill him already!”

                That’s when he got the upper hand. He grabbed me by the back of my hair and punched me repeatedly. Every hit felt like fire scorching my face. He threw me down to the floor. I felt the temporary relief of the cold tiles on my burning skin.  He pulled me to my feet, slammed me against a locker, and got very close to my face. I winced and closed my eyes expecting for another blow.  He only talked, well, growled actually. He spit words of hate my way. Things that I would have never thought about myself suddenly became true.

                “Now listen to me very close you worthless piece of garbage; you’re lucky I don’t kill you right here. I’m going to let you live, knowing that you are nothing to anyone. You have to live everyday knowing that no one on this earth gives a damn about you. Not even your parents. You are their only mistake. Compared to your siblings you are a waste of life. In fact that’s exactly it; you are nothing but a waste of life. No purpose but to take up the air that others who contribute to society actually need. I wonder what that feels like. Tell me, how does it feel to know that you are a waste of the most precious thing?”

                I felt every word cut at my body like a razor blade. Then suddenly, I was numb. Any feelings, emotional or physical were suddenly gone.  He made sense though. All these years I spent alone was because no one cared for me. No one brightened up when I walked into school. I was invisible. Truth was, no one would even care if I died. They wouldn’t notice, they wouldn’t be sad. In fact, I bet they would be happy that I was no longer wasting something so precious.

                 He let go of me, and I sunk to the ground; beaten, bloody, numb, and something much worse than all of those; broken. I am broken. He walked away, leaving me to the crowd of by standers. They taunted me, and spat at me as they walked by. i don’t remember anything they said. All that I could think of were his words. Repeating over and over again in my mind.

                Now, here I am. Alone.  In my natural state I guess. At the beginning of my high school adventure I thought I was being given a fresh start, a second chance. I never knew how wrong I could be. I never thought that something could bring me so low. I feel nothing anymore. I guess this is meant to happen. I need to do this. It’s sick, but I guess you could say that I have finally found purpose in something. This life of mine means nothing.

                They say that every human has a breaking point. When you fall down, but just can’t seem to pick yourself back up. I’m not scared to die anymore. This is right. I am just a story that was meant to end.

Author's Note

The tone I wrote in is very monotone, and dull. I did this on purpose to emphasize how he really has lost all feeling.

Reviews

[SquinklaPsyOps]

Wheew that tone was definitely monotone for a museum, good job.

[ThatPeculiarGirl :3]

Thank you.