Shatterproof

Shatterproof
By Sean Conklin

He could not let them break him. He would not let them break him. The deepest pits of his soul cried out to fight back. The deepest depths of his mind begged him to surrender, but he would not. Something within him forced him to trek on.
He passed by them every day, despite the things they did. The rocks that struck him from their corner hurt his flesh, but not his soul. He would not bend to them. He wanted to walk that path on his commute every day and he would not let anyone else make him change his mind. He could not give them the satisfaction of changing him. He just couldn’t.
They often shouted at him, bombarding him with horrible ethnic slurs. He did not dare to show any sign of weakness. He stood tall, his chest outward. He worked hard for everything he had. Those men knew nothing about him but the color of his skin, though they tried to break him whenever they could. He didn’t let them.

He often went to work with cuts and markings on his face. His boss was always furious, but he refused to allow him to take action. He would beat those men alone and without action. Eventually they would grow bored of it. He just couldn’t give them a response. He managed to not even flinch when the rocks slammed into his face. Nobody understood why he did it.
The days when it rained were godsends for him. He often prayed for the rain to come. The men were never outside when it was raining. Sometimes they were extra cruel when they saw him next, but the day’s grace was enough for him to deal with that. The words no loner affected him at all. They were white noise, blending in with the rest of the sounds of the world. The rocks always hurt, however, and they seemed to have an endless supply of them. He kicked away as many as he could while he walked, making it seem like they just caught under his foot.

One day something went horribly wrong. They were particularly nefarious this one day, perhaps even drunk, and they followed him down the road farther than they ever had before. His heart pounded as he neared his home. He did not want them to see where he lived. He would not give them free passage to destroy everything he worked for. He wandered passed his house, paying no attention to it as he did. They continued to follow him, now quiet and staring with evil glares in their eyes. They slowly got closer and closer to him.
He attempted to stay in the open, where he could be seen. He refused to put himself in a position to be hurt. He could not stop at a payphone to call for help. They would reach him in time. There was nobody on the street. Few cars passed by, and their lights were too weak to truly see him in the growing dark. When the last of the natural daylight faded, they went upon him.
He did not know what happened exactly. He remembered them striking him. He remembered them beating and banging him. He remembered his clothes ripping and remembered the soft streams of blood flowing over his face. He remembered crawling home, dragging himself with his arms. He remembered his family coming to the door and carrying him inside. On his way to work, he passed them by again, and he remembered what they did, and he kept walking, taking the rocks as usual.