Chapter 1: Victim or Not?

Home, Sweet California

Those jerks!” I petulantly exclaimed, huffing, and I quickly spun away on my heel. I strode across the blacktop in a barely contained rage, with my anger animalistically clawing at its poorly sealed confinement—which, in this case, is me. Their taunts and jeers mocked me, the words “that wannabe” repeating in my mind like a broken record. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes because their words cut deep. I walked jerkily, trying to muster as much confidence as I allowed myself to at that moment.
You probably are wondering who “that wannabe” may be, and if that person guessed “Gwenn Mills”, they answered correctly. I am a sixteen year old, 5’7”, Chinese and American female hybrid with black hair and green eyes. My pale complexion that easily tanned usually gives away part of my breed, most of the time. My green eyes, the most American looking part of me, always made people become confused about my ethnicity.
Anyways, I thought my life really sucked. My classmates accused me daily for my “selfishness” and “greed”. Don’t listen to a word they say—I mean, I seem like a very innocent, misunderstood girl, right? Constantly bullied at school for wanting in on the popular crowd, I tripped along the bottom of the social pyramid where the pariahs stood. I wished for popularity, starved for acceptance, pined away for a real social life, and hopelessly wished for a higher social class.
I broke into tears as I tried to recollect myself among the shady trees. I rubbed at my throbbing eyes, which were patterned with millions of little red veins. I checked my composure in a small makeup kit I always kept with me, when I tried to impress my peers. What I saw definitely did not satisfy me. My blotchy eyes now looked and played the part of cheese puffs. My cheeks, spontaneously stained red, looked bloated. My lips swelled with a childish pout, dripping with salty tears. I hastily whipped out tissues, lip gloss, and foundation, and proceeded to heavily apply it.
I heard the criss-crossed metal rattle behind me, but I thought nothing of it. Next thing I knew, I heard shouts and whoops proclaiming, "That wannabe is crying! What a baby, so desperate for attention. She has no life. Actually, she's such a low life that she's up into negative life. Or should I say down! Why doesn't she go back to the slums where she came from, where her parents made the mistake of an interracial baby?"
Tears pricked my eyes again, and I impudently screamed, "You little retards! Why don't you accept me? Don't you see how hard I try?"
Someone from the growing crowd yelled back, "That's exactly your issue! You try too hard.

Seriously, look where it got you? No friends, the entirety of the school not accepting you, I mean, really. After all the times you got shot down, you're still getting up? If I was smart, unlike you, I would've tried to find other friends, instead of ones that always reject you for the pariah you are."
I hissed in annoyance, fury, bitterness—I don't know, just some overwhelming emotion—and yelled back, "Just accept me! Look how cool I am, and how uncool you are! If you accept me, look how much better off you'll be? Besides, me joining you would be a gift to you."
The crowd roared in laughter, and and first, I thought they were laughing at the person who yelled at me from the crowd. But I quickly realized otherwise.
They chanted, "Wannabe, wannabe, Gwenn Mill's a wannabe, she ain't got no friends, so she comes over to us and begs..."
I couldn't take it anymore. I slapped the living lights out of anybody, didn't matter who. I became certifiably crazy as the pounding of flesh upon flesh became very noticeable. Many strikes landed on my cheeks, back, face, stomach—you name it. But, I did not care. I did not care if I became bruised. I did not care if my school record was stained tremendously with this whole fiasco. Put simply, I did not care. About. Anything. At all.
I howled, "Do you realize you are victimizing me, and I am innocent? I am the victim here, and you are the provokers, the bullies, whatever you want to call it." I punched and slapped some more.
Somebody had the balls to say, "Are you serious? I mean... look, you're the one strutting around like you're the shit of the school. You're not. I mean, you're the one forcing yourself upon us. You're the one who's trying to squirm into a place where nobody wants you, when there are other people willing to take you in. Open your eyes before the shit hits your face."
Now do you see how bad I've got it?

Impressum

Texte: Do not plagiarize this story. Plagiarism can be punished by law.
Lektorat: daughterofthemoon101
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 21.12.2012

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