The Victim's 'Choice'

School is just another torment to me. The other girls have no respect. I'm prodded and provoked both physically and verbally. Bullied.
And I blank it all. Imagine doors shutting them out, windows closing, curtains being drawn- their voices fading. A wall stopping them get to me.
But I can still hear them. However wide my imagination can stretch the wall, they find a way over. Always.
I end up in an office. A letter home.
Thing is, however raw and bitter their words are, no one but me can see past there sugar-honey smiles and pristine grades.

I see them now, walking just meters ahead of me. Gripping my satchel, i try my best to walk confidently but I know I look stiff and awkward. I know I look like the victim I am. All alone. Just Carrie.
Thats how they notice. Why they start.

When I get home the zip on my bag is broken, there's mud on my books and my hair ruffled up and static.
'I don't care.' I tell myself. But a hiccup of a sob escapes.
“Back Carrie?” Oblivious.
“Back!” I shout and run upstairs.
I tidy my hair and dry my cheeks in my bedroom mirror.
Zang, my tabby cat, rubs affectionately against my legs. I scoop him up and kiss his soft, furry head. My beautiful Zang. My reliable best friend. Zang who knows all, even though his knowledge is too precious to tell.
“You have to figure it out yourself.” he tells me with his eyes.
I used to think he was a prince turned, by a witch, into a cat and that if I kissed him and loved him enough, he'd turn back.
Now I realize I'm the one under a curse.

I reach for a book from my shelf. A book with an old cover, bumpy and worn.
With Zang on my lap, purring rhythmically, I escape into a world within stained pages- and away from mine.
The boy is a hero; brave, daring, kind, cheeky at times but loved by everyone. He has many friends and NEVER does he let the baddies get to him. Zang likes this story.
I LOVE this story. If only life were as sweet.
I sigh, inwardly. Close the book and think.
“Carrie! You up there?”
“I'm here mum!”
“Would you come and help with the tea, please?”

For fifteen minuets we cut vegetables in silence. Mum puts down the knife and smiles at me, awkwardly.
“Carrie...I... what happened? We used to be so close. Laugh together. Have fun. Now you sit in your room and read. Can't get away from those God damned books. Carrie? Could we be like that ever again?” she swallows, “Do you think?”
I look up at her aging face.
“I'd like that... Mum.”
She nods and continues her work. I follow suit. Despairing. We'll never be like that again.

Later, under the warmth of my duvet, I silently cry.
Can I go on like this? Go on falling into a hole that seems to never end? Where no one can catch me?
And as I fall, it appears that no one sees- they're all blind.
But so am I.

I throw back the covers and pull on some sandals. Creep down the wooden stairs and out into the biting fresh air.
I run a long the gritty path. The path, up to the cliff.

The world is filled with so many choices. But I don't want to choose any longer. Yes or no? Left or right? Love or hate? Either way, I'm done with my life.

As I think this over, I observe the drop at my feet, my blond hair wrapping, curling and twisting around my shoulders in the rough wind.
Below, are a cluster of sharp, jagged rocks. Beyond them, the sea- which smashes, violently against the stone.
I raise my head to the sky, close my eyes and let the smell engulf me.
Jump or turn away?
Choice.
Step forward or back?
Choice.
Live or die?
Choice.

And then I remember the boy, my own words coming back to haunt me.
“A hero...brave...loved...NEVER lets the baddies get to him.”
Slowly, I resist and I turn away.
Biting my lip, i think of my mum.
Oblivious but hopeful and loving.
I realize, then, every choice we make effects others, that not only my life will be changed but the people IN my life.
Slowly, I walk away.
Open the door to my home.
Remove my sandals, run up the stairs and slip beneath the warmth of my duvet.
I WILL be a hero.
I won't let them get to me, i'll pull through.
I promise.
Hand on heart.