A Short Story About A Bullied High Schooler: A Need To Kill
A Need To Kill
Prologue- July 4, 2010
I hid in the closet. I could hear my dad, pleading to the man to let him go.
The intruder snickered.
“Sorry, man. Nothing personal. I just can’t leave any witnesses.” he says.
“Please! I have a family to take care of! Take what you want, I won’t tell anyone!” my dad said. I could hear his labored breathing as he was held at gunpoint.
“Your entire family’s at the park, watching fireworks. By the time they start ‘em, no one will hear you die.” the man said. He cocked his gun, and pressed it to my dad’s forehead.
“Daddy… “ I whimpered. But no one heard me. The fireworks had started. I could hear them exploding from the distance.
And along with the fireworks, I heard a bullet shoot through my father’s skull, shattering it. Then the murderer left, not bothering to look for any witnesses.
What he didn’t know was that there was someone still in the house. He didn’t know that I was hiding in the closet. He didn’t know that I watched my father die.
August 17, 2015
Today was the first day of school. It was agony. I didn’t recognize any of the acne-strewn faces in the crowd. When you are in middle school, all you can dream of is getting out of childhood and going to high school. Let me tell you one thing, high school is not fun.
I couldn’t find my way around the school, I was tripped in the hallway multiple times, and my lunch money was stolen by some kid named Brian Simons. High school is not my friend.
August 17, 2015
I saw him him, pushed to the ground by a junior. He was a tall Asian kid. The junior chuckled, igniting an unknown anger in me. I wanted to say something. I wanted to go strangle him. Brian, was his name? He took a few dollars out of the younger kid’s pocket, and left. How petty.
August 20, 2015
Soccer. I love it, I’ve played it since I was a little kid. Over the years, the running and dribbling has made me stronger than the average player. And now, it was time for a game to show off my skills. The whole team was in the locker room, getting pumped for the game.
“Okay boys, we are against Chatham. We need to play our hardest. If we lose, we run laps. Let’s go!” The coach said, trying to motivate us. All of the boys left and leaving me and Brian alone in the locker room.
“Hey, freshy,” he said, blocking me from getting out of the locker room.
“If you play good today, maybe I’ll let you eat tomorrow. Oh, and one other thing. I’m gonna leak out about you going to ballet class every week. You like that, Mark?” he threatened. Was he afraid of me? Was that why he was trying to get rid of me?
“Don’t talk to me Brian, you’ll lower my IQ.” I retaliated, even though I was actually afraid on the inside.
“Oh no, no one talks to me that way.” Before I blacked out, I saw Brian’s clenched fist flying towards my face.
August 20, 2015
I saw him again. The Asian dude. He was alone, with that junior. Brian. The petty bully who stole his lunch money. Oh, how I wanted to pummel him.
“Hey freshy.” Brian said, blocking the freshman’s way.
“Don’t talk to me Brian, you’ll lower my IQ.” he said. Huh. Got some guts for a freshman.
“Oh no, you don’t talk to me that way.” Brian said, and punched him.
That was it. Rage flared through me like an unsaturated fire. I couldn’t be stopped now.
“Brian, now you can’t go around hitting freshman.” I said.
“Well too bad, ‘cause I just did.” Brian said. I remembered the knife I had hidden at my side for protection. Then, I knew what to do.
“You’re going to have to pay for that.” I said, grinning at him. His expression went from smug, to confused.
The steel blade came out of my pocket, and my hand flew up, impaling the tender skin of Brian’s throat. I heard a sickening, yet satisfying, gurgling noise escape his mouth, before he fell at my feet. He died with his eyes wide open, choking on his own blood.
“Bye-bye, Brian.” I muttered as I left the locker room.
The rumors were spreading. Brian, my bully, was found in the locker room with a knife stuck in his neck. Some people say it was suicide, but I don’t believe them. Brian was too cocky to even consider killing himself. He was so full of himself, but everybody loved him nonetheless. He loved to rub all of his achievements in the faces of everyone he considered a lesser being.
But who had killed him then? And the weird thing was, it happened just after I left the locker room to our game. The coach was looking for him everywhere, and he knew I came out last so he asked me first. I decided not to mention the part where I was smashed in the face, but I told him I didn’t know. Now, I’m afraid. Because I was the last person to see him, I had become a major suspect.
August 21, 2015
I was a criminal. I killed him, unable to control my temper. But he had deserved it, that jerk. Going around, bullying freshman was just so inferior. The police are looking for the murderer. Me. Whatever happened, happened. There was no going back now.
October 2, 2015
Things were getting hectic around town. The murder of Brian Simons has wreaked havoc throughout the community. The school shut down for a week, the police were searching for the person responsible.What was worse, I was the last person seen with Brain. An officer had come to my house everyday of this past week for his investigation. As much as I despised Brian, I wanted to help. The only problem is, I blacked out. I have no idea what happened. I was forced to admit the fact that I’d been punched, to explain to the officer why I didn’t know what happened. I hope he believed me. Otherwise, I may have to serve time in jail for a crime I didn’t commit.
October 2, 2015
The police were getting closer to the truth. All they know is that Mark was with Brian in the locker room. The only person who knew I was there, was dead. I doubted I would be caught. But, anyways, I would have to be careful.
October 5, 2015
The police said they had found the murderer. They hadn’t come to my house for awhile, until last night. I heard them talking to my mother, who got enraged from something they had said. When I went out to ask her what had happened, she refused to say anything. I wondered if maybe they told her that I may be in danger. Or, that the criminal had been one of my classmates after all. Whatever it was, it had clearly disturbed her, and I decided not to inquire.
October 5, 2015
I was done. My life was over. They had caught me. Just yesterday, they had taken me forcefully out of my house, leaving my mother screaming out of the door. They first took me to the hospital, and scanned my brain or something. I guessed it was to find what had caused me to commit the murder in the first place. They were interrogating me afterwards, in a bleached white room. I told them everything. What was there to hold back? I told them every detail, from when I saw Brian bully Mark, to when I stabbed him. It felt righteous, for them to know the truth. At least there was one benefit. The chief police officer said, I could talk to Mark, and explain to him what happened. Also, now that the real criminal was found, Mark was out of harm's way. Wasn’t that what I had wanted in the first place?
October 7, 2015
I met the killer, today, in my room. At first I was confused and scared. Then, he told me how he saw me suffer because of my passion to ballet, and talent in soccer. He told me why he had killed Brian, and that now I was saved from his tyranny. Once I was explained this, I still wondered why he had done all this for me. He said, he had a weak spot for bullied kids and felt the need to teach them a lesson. Then, he left as fast as he had come.
Sure, bullies deserve consequences, but I did not agree with the killer that bullies should die. It wasn’t that bad of a crime. Was it?
October 7, 2015
My goal in life, was achieved. I had saved someone from being bullied for the rest of their teen years. Sure, it had taken a huge toll on my part, but it was all worth it. Mark was safe, and I was happy. I felt the need of not having to live anymore. I had another option in mind now. I wouldn’t have to go to jail, and I could go to heaven happily. I committed suicide.
October 10, 2015
I was taken to the police station today. They wanted me to see something, to show me accounts of Brian’s killer. Once I was there, they sat me down, and the chief officer started to play a tape.
What I saw in it shook me to the bone. It was the killer, thrashing around in a chair in a bleached white room, but every few minutes he would talk and explain his murder. Something looked strangely familiar about him. Then, they showed a tape that came from a secret camera in my room. It was the killer talking to me. Or rather, it was me… talking to the mirror.
What I saw was inexplicable. What I saw frightened me so much, I fell out of the chair and to my knees. How could this have happened? How did I not know?
Multiple personality disorder, they called it. I had developed a defensive character for myself in my mind, ever since my father’s death had taken effect on me. Now that a potential threat, Brian, was gone, they told me the character had vanished like he was never there. Finally, I understood. I knew who Brian’s murderer was.
It was me.
© 2018 Bushra Ibrahim