Shattered

Of all the people he hated in the world Jon Black he hated the most. There wasn’t a single thing about the consceded loser that he liked. So much aggravated and annoyed him about Jon, and there he was right in front of him.
Directly in front of him he stood, those piercing blue eyes looking at him hatred in their depths. A fire burned in Jon’s eyes as Jon stared back at him, disgust sparkling in their dark depths. All he wanted to do was grab those eyes and tear them out and laugh at the pain Jon felt, he never wanted to see those eyes again.
How could Jon get up each morning? Jon went to school dressed like a scrub, ugly as humanly possible. It was beyond him how Jon rose each morning, how can he get up and live with himself? Jon’s hair was a big mop of grease on top of his egg-shaped head. Freddy Krueger looked better then him on a bad day. A deep scar ran across the side of his face from a dog bite long ago. Jon had puffy lips that gave him the impression of pouting and those piercing blue eyes were intimidating at times. Yes, how Jon lived day to day was a mystery.
All he wanted to do at the moment was smack that idiotic look off Jon’s face. He wanted to send his head spinning and put Jon on his back. A Metallica line ran through his head momentarily, “ Take a look at the sky just before you die; it’s the last time you will,” a fitting line for Jon. How much he would give to see Jon beaten and lost.
Even the way Jon acted he hated. The way he looked at girls, the way he was always fidgeting. Jon was the single most pathetic kid. What was to like, he never understood how the kid had friends, and it boggled his mind.
He couldn’t take that pathetic look coming form Jon anymore; he had to wipe it off his face. When would he receive a better opportunity, when would Jon be so close again? He swung at Jon and Jon’s had came at him at the same time. A growl escaped his throat as his hand raced to connect to Jon first.
His hand smashed into Jon’s nose and Jon shattered before him. A deafening sound echoed around the room.
Jon looked at his hand; glass shards jammed into his knuckles, blood slowly dripping down his arm and spilling to the floor. Dazed Jon looked up to what he punched, and a whimper escaped his lips at what he saw. The mirror was shattered and blood was stuck on the remaining shards. All around the bathroom the remaining pieces of the mirror were lying about, Jon had punched his own reflection.
At once Jon’s legs gave out from under him and he sat hard onto the floor. A whimper escaped his quivering lip and tears fell down his face. How he hated himself, it was pitiful. He brought his hands to his face and cried into them, blood from his wounded hand running down his face.
Jon cried for himself, for his life, for the way he felt inside. Tears were his only friends these days.