Forever's Past.

A story that everyone can relate to who has witnessed the bullying and torments that are committed in secondary school. A story very loosely adapted from Wuthering Heights

Forever’s Past.

Reminiscing about the past can be a frightening concept. Secondary school is a disturbing period for those people who never seem to fit into that society. They were treated as sub human by many, as though they were shadows in an ever-changing world. There is one distinct figure, a twelve year old girl stuck in my memory whom I recall whenever I ponder my school life. It’s a tragedy for every generation that multiple lives can be altered for the worse by one mistake, because culture had not only taught but also compelled them to carry out senseless, moronic actions.

Winter was upon us, and snow had begun to fall for the third time that month. The glittering snowflakes invaded the green, lifeless fields, transforming them once more pearl white. I battled through the thickening snow and infinite floating snowflakes, just to reach school. Winter was my least favourite season. To me, it was a compulsory symbol of loneliness, anguish and tragically, death. As I walked through the gates towards the playground, a mystifying figure appeared from nowhere. My first thought was that this girl was a lost soul in an uncertain world. By merely gazing at her dated clothing and elegant, yet exquisite face, I began to feel sympathy for this newcomer. She was clutching a battered, worn out novel. It seemed preposterous that she could ever fit into our social circles. I did not think this because I thought her appearance was distasteful, I just thought she was incompatible with the rest of my peers. Often being individualistic and different to everyone else was not a blessing but a curse. Individualism can bring out the worst in human nature; it can make us hostile, and drive us to the extreme.

There was something quiet about this lonesome girl, she appeared to glide through the school without being troubled by her surroundings, as though her dated clothing shielded her from the problems within current society. Whilst other children and I were engaged in the extreme weather, building battalions of snowmen and commencing a snowball blitzkrieg, the girl appeared to have cut herself off from the outside world on a distant bench, and began reading what I made out to be Charles Dickens’s Bleak House. It was later on in life I realised the poetic significance between Dickens’s novel and what later occurred that day. It was only a matter of time before events took a turn for the worst. Many young militants wished to broaden the scale of the battlefield, therefore affecting those who were initially on the outskirts of the skirmish. The generals began examining the war torn playground, picking out potential targets that matched their criteria of being weak and defenceless.

“How about that retard over there?” suggested a boy, fixing his eyes upon the girl whom I had been wondering about hopelessly all day. The masses conspired in agreement, as though they were about to engage a formidable enemy. A bombardment of snowballs came down on the girl. She wept upon glimpsing her book being buried beneath the bitter snow.

“Don’t stop!” cried someone encouragingly, as endless waves of snow began falling upon her trembling body.

Should I have done something? Should I have prevented this from even happening? No. I may have had pity for her, but I didn’t wish to have the same fate as her for merely having a conscience. I wasn’t the villain in this, I was merely a spectator. The girl frantically grabbed her ruined novel and sprinted into the distance, until the snowy blur obscured her from our sight.

As I walked home from a day filled with self-guilt and sorrow, I encountered the girl for what was to be the last time. She was being tormented once more by those whom had oppressed her earlier, but this time she was confined to a circle, so no matter where she turned, left or right, she would be mercilessly harassed.

“Why the f**k would you read books?” shouted someone, laughing mercilessly at the warm tears now running down her glacial face.

“Why don’t you just do everyone a favor and drop dead?”

That was the last straw. Without warning, the girl irrationally leapt out of the circle, sprinting halfway across the road towards me, with a face pleading in desperation. Her pleas, however, were cut short by tragedy. A car’s wheels skidded out of control, as it ploughed into the girl’s body, throwing her six feet into the air, before she came down with a large thud. I stood in sheer horror. Did she willingly throw herself in front of the vehicle? Or was she in such dismay she didn’t look? Her last breath on this earth was in fear. Whatever was the reason for her untimely departure, I will carry this burden for all time.

Author's Note

Please ignore any grammatical errors, I apologise them and hope you feel emotional when reading the climax. Please tell me what you think.