Adult winner in Writing Rammy 2019
I turn the key, letting myself in the front door and out of the blinding rain. Shrugging my rucksack off and unzipping my soaked hoodie, I start to make my way from the hall to the dark living-room. Rivulets of rain run from my soaked hair onto my neck, and my face feels frozen.
I knew, without looking, that my face would be mottled and that my eyes would be threaded with red fury – as I fight to hold in the tears that are welled up inside me.
Every day, every single bleeding day, I’m the target of the ‘king-crew’; those alpha guys who strut around school smelling of ‘Millions’, whose trainers look like they’ve only ever been worn in a sterile lab, and who think that picking on kids like me is a sport.
“Wash your emo hair, you filthy animal” Dale sprayed into my face, so close I could see the food stuck between his train-track braces. “Got yourself a skanky girlfriend yet?” Robbie yelled as he slammed into me “or probably a BOYFRIEND?” he smirked, egging on his crew. The pocket of my rucksack got unzipped from behind, and the contents thrown up into the rain. I scrambled, first to find my bus pass – but too late, as it’s snatched away by another leering face. I know this means I’ll be walking for weeks cos my Mum can’t afford a replacement…again! As I got up, they jostled some more, ‘Big men, huh? Three against one!’ I thought – as I felt a hard punch on my right kidney. I crumpled down, weakened, as they swaggered off.
At home I pull some bread from its wrapper, and take it dry to my bedroom. Everything is strewn around the floor and I step onto and over things without care, in truth it’s because I don’t care. I don’t matter, and nothing I have matters either. I’m so alone in this world, my Mum is never around; ‘you’re 17 and all the man you’ll ever be’ she’s been saying all this year, justifying her absence… that’s when I do actually see her.
I lie on my bed, eyes tight shut, trying to stop tears sliding into my ears. Something smells bad in here, I know it does – but I ignore it knowing it’s probably a mouldy bit of pizza or something. My mind plays over and over the video of me getting pushed around by ‘the kings’ and even though I try to disrupt the mind-movie it’s always there. I feel under my mattress for the razor-blade, my breathing eases.
I know what will come next, and I think it will help me.
I count the scars up my arms, and take one breath – in and out – for each silvery line, just as my counsellor taught me. I tell myself over and over that this life is temporary, I can set my own path.
I press the blade hard… and snap it in two.
(c) Linda Sharkey