April 23, 2011

His piercing blue eyes cloud with tears,
that cut through his face like a cascading waterfall.
His gaze drops as they cross his path.
Hands attack brutally and savagely,
each strike penetrating deeper, scarring worse.
The words are excruciating to hear.
Punches leave agonizing bruises and welts.
Slaps leave angry scarlet gashes.
The boy sits sobbing,
rocking back and forth hugging his knees,
waiting, praying for the end to come soon,
for God to be merciful and let the pain stop.
Finally, the offenders flee as the bell rings.
Students rush out from classes,
Pushing and shoving their way through the crowded halls.
The boy sits unnoticed,
quivering with fear,
longing to be comforted,
at the very least, acknowledged.
Yet no one comes to his rescue.
He stands on shaky knees and leans against the wall,
the only support he can find.
He wipes the blood off his face with the back of his sleeve.
He takes a single breath and trudges forward,
head bent, eyes open only wide enough to see the floor,
knowing his day has only begun,
anticipating the next ambush.
The boy endures the torture alone,
being one of the bravest people at the school,
only because we are too weak to lend a hand.

The author's comments:
This was inspired by Jodi Picoult's novel Nineteen Minutes(:

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