There was a crunching of branches. A blur of trees. A heart beating much faster than it should be. Perspiration--enough to drench a shirt. Desperation coming out of the pores as a backpack bounced uncomfortably over the shoulders of a child. A boy. Running trying to get away—escape. The tall trees a blur as he looked behind to see if he was losing them. But he wasn’t. They were right up on him. Screaming at him—laughing.
He somehow looked inside himself for an extra burst of speed. He knew he was much smaller—weaker. There was no way he was going to outrun them. Feeling the uneven ground beneath his feet, he prayed that this time it would be different. He almost slipped as his foot pounded into a muddy part of the trail; the slushing sound was followed by the icky sensation of the substance splashing against his legs. He couldn’t stop though.
He almost ran in spot, feet sliding on the wet surface of the path, his arms flailing out to his sides as the books in his pack dug into his back. As he regained his footing, he struggled to regain his line of vision, running into a few branches, scraping his arms and drawing blood from his cheek in the process. The laughter behind him was getting louder. They were taunting him, knowing he couldn’t escape. Still, the boy ran on in defiance. The pain in his ankle that caused his near fall into the ground could not deter him. He pushed through.
He wondered what he had done to deserve this. Was he really that awful of a boy that God would allow him to be breathing heavy, pushing his body to the limits, only to befall the same fate he always fell? Still, his feet kept moving; he had a determination to defy fate. Some stupid force that always seemed to forget he couldn’t win. Then, suddenly in slow motion… the crunch of a branch underfoot, lost footing, a lean to the right, a tree too close, his arm bumped into the tree forcing that side of his body backwards, turning him into a spin while falling to land on his back with the bag digging into him on impact. The pain shot through him as if his whole body had been put inside a large bottle and shaken at extreme force.
There lying in a heap on the ground, bag still attached to his back, and in a very awkward position, he breathed a sigh of resigned fate. Again nature had foiled his best plans of escape. The same woods he found peace in had turned against him once more. He didn’t even bother to open his eyes, just braced himself for the first kick, and then the next. The punching and the screaming. They dragged him through the woods until he was covered in mud, dirt and scratches. He cried more from the emotional pain than the physical. He got it. He was small, weird looking, and they were popular. The future doctors, sports stars, womanisers of the planet.
Finally, he decided he should open his eyes. There were four boys. The ringleader of the group – the pretty boy and the biggest of the lot – spoke to him. “The next time I ask you for something, freckles, just hand it over.” His voice had that air of self-appointed authority.
“What you got in your bag, white boy?” one of the others asked. The leader watched as they wrestled the bag off the boy’s back and they all laughed as they threw items onto the ground. When they got to his sketch book and started making fun of the drawings, the boy in charge grabbed the book and duly laughed along with them. Then he turned his attention back to the bruised and battered boy on the ground.
“I own you, freckles. Get used to it.” He kicked him one more time, and you could almost feel the crunch by looking at the expression of the battered boy. Then he attempted to pee on him. Failed miserably. By the time he managed to get started the other three had joined him. They then walked away—laughing. The boy didn’t move for a while, he just stared up at the sky. He was going to have to move eventually.
After what seemed forever, five minutes of lying in the dirt, he got up and collected his things while finishing off his tears. He had gotten the sketchbook on his last birthday. It was a gift from his mother. They didn’t have much but what she did get him always spoke volumes about how well she understood him. Even if they kicked his ass again tomorrow, he was going to go up to them and ask for his book back.
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