dear agony . cassius . clue

One of the boys, you think he’s name is Phillip, pushes you from behind. He tells you that your hat is ugly and that you should just go away -no one wants you here. You stumble forwards a few steps, biting your lip as your eyes bubble with tears. It’s the first day of third grade, your mum had knitted you the hat and had forced you to wear it so she could show you off to all her friends.

You hadn’t wanted to upset her, it made you happy when she smiled, so you’d tugged it over your head, pushing down the curls on your head until they reached your eyes. You didn’t like it when they were in the way, but you made do, struggling to see what was on the board in class, unable to read the book you’d be interested in.

The teacher had smiled, told you that you looked cute, and asked you if you could take it off. White knuckled and pouting you had pulled on the sides harder, letting her know with a gentle whine in your voice that your mother had asked you to wear it. Even the teachers didn’t want to deal with your mother, so she had nodded solemnly, telling you to sit at the back so you didn’t block anyone’s view.

Philip pushes you again, two others, Mark and Ryan, walking up beside him as you fall into the dirt. You let out a cry, the rocks cutting into your knees as you land. You can feel them biting into your flesh, and when you pull away there’s blood already forming, dripping down your shins. If it drips any further, it’ll get onto your white socks and your mother won’t be happy about that. Wiping at it, you stumble to your feet, trying to get some space between yourself and the bullied.

The backpack on your back feels heavier and you pull at the straps, trying your best to look brave as you sniffle. The tears fall, because you’re not strong enough to stop them. The pain coming from your knee makes you want to cry harder, but you bite your lip, desperate to prove to yourself that you’re not the coward they think you are. As one of them steps forward you take a step back and another and another until your backpack bumps up against a wall.

Your eyes widen, gaze flickering frantically to the side of the building you’d hit. By the time you look back, the three of them have already surrounded you, fanning out to cut off any escape.

“What’re you gonna do now, Cassius?” Philip says, snide smirk on his face. He reaches for your shirt, pulling you in close with a vicious tug. You flinch, trying to pull away, his gaze twisting with disgust. “Mummy ain’t here to save you, neither is-”

Whap.

The rock smacks against the side of Philips’s head, and suddenly the hand on your shirt is gone. Philip falls into the dirt, clutching his head with a cry, tears now streaming down his face. Blood is already seeping down the side of his head. The other two boys stand, shock all over their faces. You react quicker, running past them and towards the figure who had thrown the rock.

“Mavvvvv!” You scream, the fear that had been battling for a hold in your chest takes over. You’re sobbing as you reach him, throwing your arms around his neck and crying into his shirt. “Th-th-thank you.”

The hug only lasts for a few seconds before Mav carefully frees himself from your hold. You don’t resist, fingers switching to your own shirt as you sniffle and wipe at the tears on your face. Mav places both hands on your shoulders and looks you up and down before saying, “are you okay?”

You nod, worried that your voice might betray you if you try and speak to him. With your answer, Mav turns away walking up to the bullies. “I’d walk away if I were you,” one of the bullies goes to respond, sneer on his lips, but Mav is quicker, his fist colliding with the boys nose. The kid cries, hands trying to stop the blood falling from his nose, tears streaming down his face as his friend grabs his arm and tries to drag him away.

“Told you so,” Mav comes back to your side, a hand on your shoulder. You give him a weak smile. “C’mon, we’re leavin’.”

You follow him as he leads you to safety.

“Congratulations, Cassius!”

You look up to see Mr. Webb smiling at you from his office door. He waves you over, pushing at the glasses on the bridge of his nose as you make your way over to him. You’re not entirely sure what he’s talking about, but it’s your second year in high school and in that time, no one had spoken to you as fondly as Mr. Webb had.

It made sense to you. You were his favourite student, perhaps one of the only ones that shared the same fondness for books and reading as he did. He’s one of the few people who can tease a conversation out of your stiff lips, and he does it gently as if worried he might scare you away. He’s stopped being as cautious over the last few times you’ve spoken, ever since you gave him a smile.

That had been your mistake, you’d let the mask slip. He’d slipped in, in a moment of weakness and now he thought he’d become a step closer, seen inside this tortured soul of yours.

He thinks he can help you, but you don’t need help.

“For what, Mr. Webb?” You ask, trying to piece together what he might be talking about. The smile on his face only brightens and he beckons you forwards; you follow him into his office as he makes his way to his desk. He shuffles through a few papers, before pulling one free and heading it over to you. Glancing down at it, you realise it was a short piece you had written a few weeks ago. It had been for one of the recent assignments, but there had been nothing special about it, perhaps a little more tender then you normally wrote.

“I entered it into a competition, and well,” he rubs the back of his head, your gaze narrowing as your fingers tighten on the edge of the paper. You can see where this is going. His smile only grows as he picks up an envelope on his desk, stretching out his hand to give it to you. “You won.”

You take the envelope, not a flicker of emotion on your face as you tuck it into your backpack. Mr. Webb looks disappointed, he had been expecting a response, perhaps another smile and now you were letting him down. Another person to add to the list. “It’s on the school board, the piece and a quick congratulations from the principle, I thought-”

“Thank you, Mr. Webb. I’m late for class.”

You turn, making your way out of the door, you can feel his gaze burning into your skull as you disappear into the corridor. When you know you’re safe you let out a long sigh, lips twisting with dismay as you continue down the hall. There is a sharp pain in your stomach, a nauseous feeling that swirls all the way up to your throat as your steps quicken.

The board is not too far away now, and you slow down as you get closer, anxiety gnawing at your movements as you near it. Kids in this school were cruel, they had a tendency to make fun of academic achievements. Whatever joy you might have felt for this achievement vanishes as you spot the letter.

It says your name in large letters, announcing it to the entire school, the story you’d written plastered right underneath for everyone to read. For a moment you look, soaking in the momentary feeling of success before you reach upwards and pull out each pin. You fold the letter up and tuck it into your pocket, and walk away, leaving behind no sign of your reward and achievement.

Leaving behind no weapon to be used against you.