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A Story of Injustice

All over the world, throughout history, there are stories of injustice. Compared with some historic stories, the one I witnessed was rather minor, but nevertheless, I remembered it. It happened on the bus ride to our after-school program. The victim was Aiden. It was my first day of kindergarten, and he was going to make sure I got off at the right stop. Aiden was a fifth grader, but despite the age difference, he was my friend, and my protector. The perpetrators were boys his age and grade level. Because I was four, there wasn’t really anything I could do but watch. I was horrified that someone would do such a thing, and afraid they would do it to me, or someone else I cared about. Although that was about ten years ago, and I no longer know Aiden, the incident stuck with me.


The day my story of injustice unfolded, I was sitting next to my best friend Emma, who was my age. She had gone to the same preschool as me, and was also taking the bus to after-school for the first time. We chose a seat towards the back so we could be near Aiden. I was a little afraid of the other kids who were sitting there. They shouted, and swore. I couldn’t stand loud noises, and they were so loud I had to cover my ears. The kids who were sitting in the back were older, bigger, and from my point of view, scary. Apparently, my fear of them was justified. About halfway through the bus ride, some boys in the back started to tease Aiden. They made fun of anything and everything about him. They made fun of his freckles, of which he had many. Aiden put up with all of this, and was good-natured about it. However, the boys were determined to get some sort of reaction out of him. They kept at it. Eventually, the situation escalated to the point where one boy took Aiden’s backpack, and threw it out the window of the bus. It was going about thirty miles an hour at the time. Luckily, the bus was in the far right lane. The backpack didn’t hit any cars, and landed far enough away from the road that it wouldn’t get run over. Emma and I, not to mention Aiden, were in shock. His backpack was probably gone for good, and there was nothing that we could do about it.

There was only one thing Aiden could do; tell an adult. Because his mother worked at after-school, he was able to tell her what happened as soon as he got off the bus. She was outraged, and called the school. The principal at the time was a very nice woman whom I would soon adore. She had the perpetrators kicked off the bus. Although I’m sure they faced other consequences for their actions as well, I don’t know what those were. This incident taught me that in some cases, all you can (and should) do is tell an adult. I also realized that when someone is getting bullied, they are not only ones who are negatively affected. It hurts their friends and family, especially when there is nothing they can do. I don’t know if Aiden ever found his backpack. I don’t know if he was bullied, and had problems at school, or if this was just some joke that got out of hand. I may never know. All I knew at the time was that some boys had done something horribly mean to my friend and protector. If that could happen to him, why not Emma, or me?


I don’t remember the rest of that bus ride, and I’m not sure I’d ever want to. Even when the incident was no longer fresh in my mind, I continued to avoid sitting in the back of the bus. Whenever possible, I sat in the front. This behavior continued throughout elementary school, and on into middle school. As I grew older, and the incident faded from my memory, I sat more towards the middle, farther and farther back with the passing of time. However, I still am a little scared of those older, bigger, and louder kids in the back of the bus.



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