His hands moved across the keyboard, each letter punctuated with a small click. The
letters formed words, which formed sentences, and soon the room was filled with the sound of
many clicks. Each letter was innocent by itself, and the words only had bad connotations, but
when he put the words together in sentences, they became hate sentences. One last button to push
and and his hateful message would reach the victimized girl. Click.
He leaned back and watched the screen, waiting for the message to be seen. As he waited,
he went back over the day in his mind, stopping when he remembered the scene that held his
only weakness. His brain replayed the angry shouts that echoed in his ears, and the harsh slaps he
had received. After one silent tear escaped to trickle down his cheek before he swiped it away
and willed himself to stop, he decided to do his waiting in the kitchen. The burner on the stove
was emitting heat when he walked in, but there was nothing on it so he turned it off. Opening the
fridge he was met with a repugnant smell that nearly made his nose burn. The light inside the
fridge took a minute to switch on, and when it did it bathed cobwebbed bare shelves in an orange
glow. “DIDN’T I TELL YOU TO STAY OUT OF THE FRIDGE,” a strong harsh voice yelled.
“Yes sir, I didn’t mean to only...”
“ Only what young man?”
“It's just that I was hungry and well it doesn’t matter,” he trailed off. “Thats right it
doesn’t matter. Your hunger doesn't matter because you don't matter. You are nothing, just a
speck in this big universe, and until you get that through your head you will continue getting
beatings.” His father swung his arm up and struck him in the face. He fell to floor when the force
of the slap hit him. His father towered over him as he continued to hit him.
“YOU...DON’T...MATTER...YOU...ARE...NOTHING...YOU...ARE...WORTHLESS,” as each
word was drilled into his brain, he was given a punch or a slap. His eyes threatened to spill over
with tears that had formed, but he refused to allow that to happen. As soon as his father was
done, he got up and walked quietly to his bedroom. “And I don’t want you to forget that next
time,” his father called after him.
Sitting down in his chair he saw that she had seen his message. A bubble popped up on
the screen, so he waited for her to stop typing. As he waited he thought back to when he was
happy. His dad still had his job, and he didn’t hit him. In fact, they went on trips together and
laughed. His mom didn’t have cancer, and she baked him cookies every day after school. His
parents were happy and so was he. He shook his head. There's no use thinking back in the past
when this is the reality now he thought. Mom got cancer and she died, and dad starting drinking
too much and lost his job. He quietly stared at the red marks, raised bumps and purple bruises on
his arms and legs. He knew his face must be worse and he wondered what story he would come
up with tomorrow at school.
His screen dinged as the little girl's reply popped up on it. The message was rather short
and left him feeling scared. She had discovered his secret, his weakness. Why he wore long
sleeves and pants in the summer instead of short sleeves and shorts. Why he hurried home each day making sure he wasn’t a second late. Why he never let anyone come over to his house. After
she said what she had found out, she said one sentence that shook him. “I’m not going to take it
anymore, and I’m not going to become a bully myself like you.”
He fell on the floor in a puddle of tears. Had he become just like his father? How had he
not seen it coming? He had gotten so used to being alone, so used to feeling like his thoughts
didn’t matter that he had taken it out on a younger girl. His father used to be a good man before
everything had happened to him and he had taken it out on his son. Now his son was becoming a
bully without even realizing it. His sobs pierced the air as he saw how much of a coward and fool
he had been. Getting up off the floor he messaged her back. “You’re right and I’m very sorry.
I’m not going to take it anymore either.” As his finger hovered over the send button he knew
what story he was going to say tomorrow: the true story. He hit send and heard his past life
leaving with a click.