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Do Bullies Cry - A Flash Fiction Story

Tim is a Christian artist, storyteller and poet. He also has a strong faith and enjoys writing articles with a strong moral value.

do-bullies-cry-a-flash-fiction-story

Do bullies cry

Do they ever feel sad

Or do they enjoy

being oh so bad

Making fun of others

dragging spirits down

causing them to wear

a heartfelt frown

Do bullies cry

Is there ever a time

when another causes

them to walk the line

between fear and worry

of what may yet come…

I let my poetic words trail off as the bell rang. I grabbed the books off my desk being careful to ditch my writing journal in the middle of the pile. I didn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands.

I’d written a lot of stuff about a lot of people in there. If the journal ever fell into the wrong hands it would not only be humiliating but also cause my social status to drop even lower than it is now.

Last check I think I was number 159. Not bad but not good. Well at least I’m hovering right above the middle of the 9th grade. The further down you go on the list the better chance you will not be sitting near the cool kids at lunch.

Why is that important you might ask? Being seen near the cool kids ups your status among us not so cool kids. A win if you ask me.Time to get moving.

My journal firmly secured I scurried out of the room. I glanced up and down.

“Crap!”

The hall was not as crowded as I’d hoped. No problem, there were a few packs of kids still milling about the hallways. A good enough cover for now. I quickly joined a group as we made our way to our respective next classes. The other students didn’t even notice I was there. A perk of not being one of the not so popular kids.

Of course I felt like the poor animal in a herd who is running outside the pack. You know the one the lion gets to eat first.

do-bullies-cry-a-flash-fiction-story

Perfect example, in my haste not to attract attention to myself I failed to feel Willy, the chief bully of our school, come up behind me. I know it’s a weird name for a bully but I don’t want him to know I’m writing about him so keep it to yourself.

He called out. “Hey sissy boy.”

My blood ran cold. I tried to walk a little faster as if I didn't hear him.

“Trying to ignore me is not going to help you.”

He grabbed my shirt. I stopped and just stood there. Lucky for me a teacher saw him and yelled.

“Let go of his shirt and move on.”

Willy released my shirt.

“Catch you later dweeb.” He whispered as he pushed by me slamming me into the lockers.

“Not if I can help it.” I muttered under my breath feeling like I dodged a proverbial bullet this time.

My friends always try to reason with why guys like Willy and other bullies like him, bully people. They say things like, “Maybe they have issues at home which cause them to act out at school.” or “Hey, maybe somebody might be bullying them and they’re just bullying downhill.”

I can’t say as I agree with them but if it is true then I wish Willy would direct his frustrations somewhere else. Maybe take up a hobby like drawing or tennis. My mind was streaming through a thousand things Willy could do when a hand dropped on my shoulder. I jumped.

“Easy there Chuck. It’s only me.”

I turned to find my friend Ray standing behind me. “Did I scare you?”

I shook my head no but answered, “Yes. I mean I was thinking of all the things Willy could be doing instead of bullying us.”

“Really, I usually try to think of ways to get even.”

“Yeah, but you know neither of us has the guts to try.”

“You’re right Ray. Hey, did you ever wonder if bullies cried?”

“No, that's why they’re bullies . They don’t have emotions, only thoughts of torments to come..”

We both laughed.

“Yeah you’re right. Come on, we better get to science.”

“Yeah Bielski will give us extra work if we’re late.”

The rest of the day went better than I expected. Each time I passed by Willy he was either busy picking on another poor soul or talking to his posse.

You know the bully wannabes or the hangers on who ride on Willy’s coattails so he doesn’t pick on them.

Now I just have to survive my bus ride home.

© 2022 Timothy Whitt