Loser Freak

Somebody tapped me on the arm and when I looked a piece of paper was shoved into my hand. Gay boy it said. I screwed up my nose and the piece of paper.

“Uh... give me that, please,” the teacher said, thrusting her palm towards me. I hadn’t even noticed she’d stopped speaking. I put the note in her hand without looking up.

I heard her sigh. “Look at me,” she said, and when I looked, she sighed again. “Go and wash up, you’re bleeding.”

She said it as if it was my fault. I pushed my chair back and got up. I left the room and didn’t go back that day. My parents were angry.


“What are you building?” he asked, peering over my shoulder as I tinkered with my tools.

I couldn’t be bothered to reply, he wouldn’t understand anyway. So I said nothing.

“I asked what you were building,” he said again. He waited a moment for my response, then when it didn’t come he said, “At least you’re doing something, I suppose. Your mother’s worried you’re depressed or something. You’re not are you? Depressed?”

I picked up a spanner and tightened a bolt, frowning that he wasn’t leaving me in peace. I sighed loudly, hoping that he’d get the idea and leave.

About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)