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Mon 26 Feb, 2007 07:35 pm
Author's Note: I wrote this using all the anger and sadness and helplesness I feel when I am picked on at school. (Which unfortunately, happens quite often.) It was a really nice way to vent some of those feelings. The tone, which I hope I pulled off correctly, was supposed to be one of great anger, scorn, and disgust, that's also trying very hard to mask sadness. The identity of the narrorator isn't supposed to be clear until near the end.
The warnings include one useage of the word "damn" and violence. The violence is pretty bad, but the descrptions of it used by the narrorator TOO horrible, so I don't think the rating should excede PG-13. Please let me know if there is a problem. ^^;
This is not a true story for me, but it could be a very real tragedy for many unfortunate people. I've dedicated this short story to everyone who's ever been bullied at school, but I also hope bullies themselves could read this one day! Improvement on this would be nice, even though I feel it's already some of my best work to date. ConCrit is very welcome and encouraged!
PS - There may be some line breaks in odd places. I tried to get them all but may have missed a few. Let me know if you find one.
[align=center]Sticks and Stones
By J. Elizabeth Dowell
Sticks and stones may break my bones....
But words will never hurt me.... [/align]
You think it's funny.
You think it's funny to pick on the artsy kid in class; to call him a faggot, a retard, a fatsoknow he does, he's just doing his best to be a bigger person. And you think it's funny. Don't you?
Wait. Wait one minute, you say. They're just words, and words don't hurt anybody, right? Sticks and stones, right?
Maybe that's true. But what about when you throw chewed up gum and spitballs at him in class, that's a hoot, too, isn't it? Watching him squirm and go red would give anyone the giggles, I'm sure, and when he tries to throw stuff back and misses? Priceless. What was even better was that stupid haircut he came to school with the next day, because there was no other way to get the gum out of his hair.
But it's all in good fun, though, you protest, because after all, we're not hurting him.
No?
Well what about that one time, when he was walking home, and you started hitting and kicking him? It was hilarious when he fell over, it must've been, you did laugh, didn't you? And when he started crying after you ripped up all his sketches...that must've been just great.
Okay, you're saying, maybe that was a little harsh, but you need something for entertainment, and hey, you gotta impress the guys! No big deal. He can draw more sketches, can't he, and those bruises? Give 'em a few days and they'll heal right up.
Besides, it was funny.
So let me ask you this....
Was it still funny when he came to school with a gun?
Were you laughing when you got out your cellphone, and your hands were shaking too badly to dial nine-one-one? Was it funny watching him kill off "the guys" one by one as the blood splattered on your shirt? What about when your cousin got two shots through the shoulder? Tell me. Was it funny then?
Was it?
Strange, I don't remember you laughing.
And there wasn't a smile on your face, when he had that gun pointed at your head, with the cold metal digging into your skin, when he was just standing there shaking and crying, no, he was sobbing, and you were too, you
were pleading for your life and apologizing and everything like the coward you are, not that it mattered, because even when he did fire, he was out of bullets. You lived, but only because you were lucky. Tell me, am I wrong? Am I?
But hey...when he cried before, you laughed, right? Because it was funny. He sure was crying when he had that gun.
Where was all your damn laughing then?
Where was all your snickering and elbowing and grinning when he ran home to get more bullets? Why weren't you laughing? You'd think if you found tears funny once, you'd find them funny all the time. You'd laugh at all of them.
Including mine.
Was it still funny when I came home from kindergarten to find my older brother sprawled all over the couch, with his blood and brains all over everything? Were you laughing when I screamed and ran out of the house, when they finally found me shaking and crying my eyes out at the park at three in the morning?
You know, not one person cracked a smile at the funeral. The words fag or retard or fatty didn't come out of anyone's mouth then.
Why not? Did something, maybe, give you a change of heart?
Whoever made up that stupid saying, the one about sticks and stones, they were wrong, dead wrong, because words do hurt, and sometimes, lots of times, words can turn into something much worse, much uglier than anything you ever want to imagine, if the words don't stop.
Picking on people? It isn't funny. It's hurtful. It's cruel.
It's wrong.
At least, that's what my brother thought.
But you never really cared much about what my brother thought, now did you?
Gemini-I'm glad this is not a true story for you. But I wanted to let you know that you expressed the reality for a lot of people as if it was reality for you too. That speaks to your talent as a writer as well as an obvious empathy for the subject.
This:
speaks to your powers of observation. I'm sure you've seen it over and over again in school. I know I have.
Quote:You know, not one person cracked a smile at the funeral. The words fag or retard or fatty didn't come out of anyone's mouth then.
Yep.
I want you to know that your writing has affected me more than just about anything else I've read on this forum. And I think that's because, though it wasn't a true story for you, it was for me- and for
my brother- who, although he never hurt anyone else- took his own life after years of taunting that started during his school years and lasted into and all of his adult life (he had suffered brain damage due to lack of oxygen during an accident when he was a child).
He finally had had enough of it when he was twenty-six years old.
I thank you for writing this, because I've never been able to really, fully tell my brother's story to anyone. Even after sixteen years, it's too painful for me to think about for very long, much less to write about it.
But I think it's important that people remember that every person has a limit. And as I learned, in the saddest and most devastating and difficult possible way when I was almost thirty years old- is that what you never imagine happening, the unthinkable and absolutely the worst thing in the world,
can happen if and when people are pushed to it.
You illustrated that fact very effectively in this piece.
Thank you for writing this. I don't think I have ever read something so thought out. It is extremely sad but true. That really touches one's
heart. What a wonderful way to express your thoughts. You are extremely
talented and I hope it did not happen to you. I would hope it did not happen to anyone but in reality it does.
Thank you for your comments. Aidan, I'm so sorry to hear about your loss. I have not met personally anyone who later took their own life, bu the thought passed through my head many-a-time during my worst years (I'm 17 now, these thoughts were when I was 13-15). I'm glad I was able to write it well enough so that it sounded real to you. *hug* Again, I'm so sorry about your brother. I know how hard that had to have have been for you.
It started the tears in my own eyes cause I was that little boy. I didn't take a gun to school or hurt anyone but that was me just the same. I held it in. I did attempt suicide when I was little though. Over dosed on Tylenol. I counted the pills instead of taking the whole bottle. I wanted to make sure my family had enough after I was gone, to take them out of my misery. At that time, I thought they didn't want me cause they teased me too. I was like a Cinderella at home but without the fairy godmother. My writing was the only thing that pulled me out of it. I created my own friends who I could relate to. I escaped into my own worlds where I could fix other people's problems and pretend mine didn't exist. I was lucky. My family moved away so I could eventually heal. But now as a mother, I raise my babies not to be like those mean kids at school.
If they laugh at someone, leave someone out, or just snicker, I scold them so hard they think before they will ever do it again. I'm lucky again there. My children are nice kids, like I was although they don't get teased. Now when I look back (it still hurts) but I am thankful those pills didn't take my life. Those days I suffered through molded me to the person I am today but I have drawbacks too. People take advantage of me all the time because I don't know how to stand on my own 2 feet. I let my hubby do that for me. He is a good man.
Your story is very true. People don't understand that teasing and laughing is actually worse than getting a cut or a bruise. Those heal. I'm still in the healing process. Other people may be having a problem healing because it was so severe. True, sometimes it is so bad death comes to the abusers and then the victim, not knowing what else to do to take away the pain, turns the gun onto themselves. Its been in the news so many times. I was raised with that phrase and never felt it was enough and it isn't enough. What is? To raise our children with hearts and when those hearts turn cold, take away the cell phones, the car keys, the MP3 player, or what ever they like so much. It starts with us in the here and now. Maybe then it will stop and no more children will have to die because someone was hurting.
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