Bullied

Miguel POV:

My family always said I was the bad child,

throwing me away into the bad pile.

All my life been putting on a fake smile

sitting on my own, feel like I'm exiled

Feeling like I always do the wrong things

telling all their friends that I'm the bad kid, though, it wasn't told only if they asked about me. I was an oddball in school and at home, in fact, wherever I went. I closed myself to the outside world and have learned to read expressions of humans. Beaten at home and in school, almost became a victim of rape. Y'all would think I was miraculously saved, but I wasn't, instead, I became a victim of domestic violence. Even in my home, I couldn't move freely. It was as if a chain had been tied to my neck to push and pull when needed.

All this all started when I was ten years old. The age I got to know whom I was. People say you don't get to realize who you are until you become older, but that was not the same for me. At a very young age, I knew who I was and what I wanted. My brothers had turned me to their receiver of anger, and the same went with my parent, but instead of it being once in a while, it was rather frequent. The fact that I looked like a girl wasn't helping matters.

I more or less seemed like a vampire, judging from my very pale skin and plump red lips. I was too frail to fight against anyone's beatings and tortures.

At school, it was no different from being at home. The only thing that made it less painful was the fact that I wasn't beaten when the teachers were around. I was literally closed in to the world. Nothing could get to me, this was the legacy I followed, but I knew deep down, I was just fooling myself to run away from everything.

At age eleven, I made my first attempt of committing suicide – something you'd find hard to believe that an eleven-year-old boy could carry out. That day, I wasn't miraculously saved, but instead beaten to a pulp after I was caught in the process. You'd have thought I was cared for since I was beaten, but God knows it was just the opposite. A year of torture and I believed suicide was the only way because the violence was too much. After my first attempt, things became worse than I expected. I was subjected to beatings for every little thing I did.

My suicide attempts still kept on going until my current age.

Even at seventeen years old now, I was still a victim. My father was a chronic gambler, my mum's work was another story to tell, and my three brothers let's just say there were all hopeless.

The fact that I was attending a school didn't mean my parent loved me than my siblings. The reason they sent me to school was something I was yet to figure out.

“Faggot, watch where you're going,” I heard a schoolmate say just before I was slammed into my locker. I wasn't walking to begin with and was only taking my books out of my locker.

I pulled my hoodie further, making sure most of my face was covered. This was an everyday routine, and I'll say I've gotten used to the pain.

I packed my books at my own slow pace despite the ongoing name callings.

I suddenly felt the air turn stiff and I didn't need to be told what was about to happen. Heavens had mercy on me because as soon as I closed my eyes, the bell rang indicating the beginning of class.

Although I was used to pain, I was no sucker for it, so I scurried to class as fast as I could. In the process, I fell to the ground after successfully falling for a trap. While kissing the floor, then and there I knew someone had set his leg out for me.

“Dick sucker, aren't you satisfied with sucking dicks, but now you want the ground?” I heard someone laugh, and the other students laughed along.

I whimpered as I helped myself up. The beatings from my family yesterday was yet to heal. Today being Monday, I knew it was going to be a tough and long day.

I packed my now dirtied books and limped to class. By then, everyone had scurried away and when I got there, the lessons had begun, and I knew I was in for long talks again.

With my head down, I stepped into the classroom, hoping I'd get unnoticed because of my small stature. The heavens seemed to have turned their back on me because I was about sneakily taking my seat when the witch of a lecturer turned to face me.

“Miguel…where have you been? Why are you late to my class?” Mrs. Finn asked and I grimaced.

As slow as I could, I turned to face her with my head down, not wanting to show my face like I usually did.

The funny thing about her question was that even when she knew I wouldn't talk, she still asked. I wondered if she was foolish or trying to act foolish. Didn't she know who I was, then why try to strike a conversation with me?

I heard students whistle and laugh at my mute state. Yes, they all thought I was mute because since the years I've been in this school, I've never attempted to talk or befriend anyone. Even when I was bullied, I refused to give them the satisfaction of pleading to them.

“I'll let you go today since it's your first time,” Mrs. Finn said, and she was the only teacher I found nice in the school despite knowing what I was.

I took my seat, which was far away from other students. I was thankful the class was huge enough to contain us all.

I drifted off into my thoughts, remembering when all these started.

It all started, all because I was gay….