series of 100 words short stories, theme: bullying

Here’s another ‘100 series’, inspired by Scott’s blog. This time, they aren’t funny, or witty, but they’re not supposed to be. I hope you like them.

I. WHENG

He was always in the back of the class. Head low, silent, face hidden away in his palm. His clothes smelled funny. I’m sure that was what set it off. He said it was gasoline, an accident, we knew he didn’t wash them. Who doesn’t wash their clothes? It’s only plain courtesy not to stink, right? We didn’t know he couldn’t afford it, he never told us. We didn’t ask, but still. He kept smiling, no matter how bad it got. How could we possibly know he cried about it at home or that he would... It’s not our fault.

II. Cause He Loved Other Ellens

She looked at her reflection in the mirror and pulled up her shirt. Maybe if she lost a few pounds, she wouldn’t be so invisible then. Be more like everyone else. Not having to be ashamed in the locker-room. She knew they were laughing behind her back. Sometimes not even waiting till she turned her back either. She’d skip desert. And dinner. That way, she’d lose a pound by morning. Wouldn’t she? She’d be sure to catch his attention, this time. She ignored the distressed alarm signals from her stomach. She’d be so much thinner for it. So much prettier.

III. Mania

It was hurtful to see him come in. He was upset, it was all over his face, but he didn’t say anything, not a word. I had to hear from others, teachers, principals... It made me afraid to pick up the phone or go to that school, that office yet again and listen to the awful things they did to him. While not being able to do a single thing about it. I tried talking it over with him, but he kept his mouth shut, pretending everything was alright, hiding his intentions. That must be when he bought the gun.

Peter is a cheater

“Don’t go.”

He touches her arm slightly as she stops at the open door. Why won’t she look at him?

She sighs.

“I have to. It’s over.” He gasps and falls to his knees. “I’m sorry.” She breathes. She means it.

He has no choice, it’s his own fault. All he gets to do, is watch her walk away. The door falls shut. He stands grounded, staring at it, processing what happened and hoping, praying she’ll chance her mind. That she’ll come back, but why would she?

Maybe if he called her and apologised. But he tried that before. What would he tell her? It’s useless. He dials the number anyway, it switches over to voicemail immediately. He flings the phone on the couch. It was to be expected.

Oh, what was he thinking. That she wouldn’t find out? Such a fool.

He switches on the TV and throws himself in his chair, zapping away brainlessly. All he sees are her pictures in his head. Her face, her smile. Her tears. Her screaming at him.

The doorbell rings. He springs up and darts at the door in a few huge leaps. She’s back!

“I... I heard what happened, Peter, I... I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

She runs her hand through blond curls, the way she always did, which initially drove him wild, wild enough to fall for it. He wanted to snap, yell and ask her if she was happy now. It wasn’t fair to blame everything on her.

“Where is she?”

“Gone.”

“Her mother’s?”

“No one picks up the phone there.”

“Have you tried her cell?”

“Voicemail.”

She’s silent for a while.

“Do you have any idea where she might go?”

“Far away from me.”

“I’m so sorry. I know it was a mistake, I never should have tried to...”

“Damn right you shouldn’t have, with a husband and two young sons. But I was just as bad for responding.”

Tears well up in her eyes. He doesn’t care. Or does he? He’s almost ready to take her in his arms again and comfort her. Almost, but not quite. He’s hurt too much.

“So, uhm, can I have my bra back?”

Was that all this was about?

“Michael has asked about it. Wondering where it was. It was a wedding anniversary gift.” She stares down at her feet and scuffs. “I think he might be beginning to suspect something.”

He nods and strolls into the bedroom to fish it off the bed. Blasted thing. He gazes at it. Such an everyday piece of cloth. How could it have caused such disaster?

“Take care, okay?” She says. And vanishes back into the house next door. Covering up her tracks before the husband gets home. At least for her life will go on unchanged. He’s lost everything.

She won’t come back. Not ever.

He ambles into the kitchen, picks up a chair, the one she always sat in. The stairs would do nicely.

All that’s left now is the note. He gets his favourite picture of them together out of their album, they had spent hours putting it together and scribbles across the backside:

Peter is a cheater