She was sitting alone, at the end of the boys table.
The busy, happy chatter of little children filled the cafeteria.
The girl poked at her food, not hungry and new to the school.
Alone.
For her age, it was true.
She was overweight.
Leering, laughing, smirking boys bothered her.
Hey, fatty. Why so alone?
All alone, all alone. Eating by yourself.
Little piggy, you.
Why are you so fat? They chanted, making pig noises, grunts.
The little girl tried to make herself smaller.
Less noticeable.
They wouldn’t leave her alone.
She wanted to stand up for herself.
She wanted to tell someone.
She was scared.
She was new, with no friends in this haunting school.
Everyday, she went through the same torture.
The torment.
She purposely wore baggy clothes,
in a pointless attempt to hide her body from them.
From herself.
One day, the girl grew tired.
She grew sick of it.
She took a stand.
Stood up to those bullies.
People didn’t believe that she had done that.
Couldn’t believe she stood up to the bullies.
She was finally accepted.
However, the scars. The scars that came with the bullying.
They left a deep gash, wound, mark.
That, would be with her wherever she went.
No matter how much weight she lost,
how much skinnier she got.
The torment of those years would always be with her.
Never, ever letting go.
Clinging like a shadow.
Unseen to the visible eye, but there.
Emotionally.