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Every day I arrive at school, she lies in wait.

“You’re fat. You’re ugly.”

She torments me with knife-like words, cutting me down, slicing into my paper heart.

“You’re a waste of oxygen, a leech.”

She smothers me with her hate. I choke on her insults.

“Nobody likes you. They just pretend to tolerate you.”

I don’t respond, only run away.

Somehow she always finds me.

One day, she follows me home.

When I feel the cold metal of a gun press into my temple, I know it’s her, come to finally end me. 

“No!” I beg, “Please!”

Her smile is sinister as she hisses in my ear,

“Shouldn’t I just pull the trigger? Nobody would miss you. The world would be better off.  ”

I begin to sob.

“It’s not true! It’s not. It’s not.”

But she doesn't take the gun away. She holds me captive with her bullets and barbed words.

As tears stream down my face I let out a final, desperate cry.


My mother rushes in. She finds me alone, a pistol to my head.
My fingers release and the weapon falls to the floor, handle still moist with my own sweat.

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