I boggled, having steeled myself for the worst. The ones I’d found in the glass jug gathered on the desk before me, no doubt wondering why I’d come back empty handed and tearful. After I heard Dad go to bed, I cracked the door open and snuck downstairs taking care to avoid the creaky step.
From behind every nicknack on the mantle, every shoe by the door and every picture on the shelves, a little green light waved to and fro. I fought back the cry of relief and instead scooped them all up in my hands and, making three trips, transported them upstairs. When I reunited them with their aquatic brethren they seemed floored. As expected. They’d been separated for a year now.
The two groups rushed to embrace one another, formed circles hand in hand to dance merrily and exchanged stories in their inaudibly soft, high pitched dialect. I cradled my head in my hands and simply watched them for a while as nostalgia washed over me.
I recalled the little procession on the table, bringing the marshmallows for my cocoa. The cautious faces peeking out from behind the astonishingly well made miniature tables and chairs on the crone’s shelves. If I weren’t so determined not to harbor foolish fantasies I could almost say that I felt her presence.
I slept soundly that night, for the first time in many months. When I awoke, while sitting in bed rubbing my eyes I began to wonder if it had simply been a wonderful dream. Then their bright little faces poked out from behind various books and toys on my shelves.
I doodled them in my binder on the way to school, performing various dances or tasks. Some sawing twigs for firewood, others playing happily on a set of little drums. At stoplights, out of the corner of my eye I could see dad studying my drawings.
Once or twice he began to say something, but stopped himself. I wondered if he meant to apologize for last night. “It’s okay”, I muttered. “I know it’s hard to have a kid like me.” He furrowed his brow, then returned his gaze to the road.
Morning classes went quickly. There was a test, which seemed to upset the others. I’ve always enjoyed tests. It’s the routine drudgery of homework I can’t stand. The multiple choice ones in particular are quite like puzzles, where the wording of each question carries subtle hints as to the answer the author intends.
I always did very well but never interpreted the results as indicative of anything other than my ability to figure out the mindset of the guy who designed the test. Something I could do very easily with writing, but not at all in person.
When recess came, the ritual began. It’s the same three girls every time. Why do they chase me? Maybe just because I run when they do. I once complained to a teacher about it. He chuckled, and suggested I let them catch me. Not sure what the joke was. Perhaps today was the day to find out.
I abruptly stopped in the middle of a modest grassy field just outside the cafeteria. The girls stopped too, looking on in confusion as I’d never done this before. Their faces turned red. Then confusion became anger. Two held me while the other took off my shoes, then pulled my pants off.
I coped by shutting my eyes tightly and hoping it’d be over soon. They ran off with my pants laughing uproariously, leaving me in the field, searching for something to cover up with. I’d picked a bad day to wear Star Trek underpants.
“Don’t react, and the bullies will stop. They thrive on your reactions.” More sage grownup advice that works only in the realm of thought experiment. Very few gathered to appreciate the spectacle as I walked to the principal’s office in my tighty whities. After all, something like this happened to me roughly two or three times a week.
The girls hid the pants well enough that further searching was deemed useless. The principal called my mom so she could bring a replacement pair, . “You know most boys your age would sell their left kidney to be chased by girls every day”. I don’t know how he got the idea that I was in the mood for jokes.
“You must know something about girls I don’t”, I opined. “So far, they’ve been a reliable source of humiliation and not much else.” He shook his head, told me I didn’t understand because I was too young. Maybe so. My mom’s a girl, after all. So was the crone, although it felt strange to think of either having been my age at some point.
Mom arrived with the pants, and scolded me for “losing” yet another pair. I could see her side of it. Pants aren’t free. She and the principal made friendly chitchat as I got dressed. Mostly about me. Nothing I cared to listen to, as I’d heard it all before. They have their own ideas about how stuff like this happens to me and are never particularly interested in my side of it.
I waved as she drove off, then headed back to class. I knew what to expect going in. Even so, it stung. Mr. Conrad did his best to shout it down but there were a solid three, maybe four minutes of laughter until he did. Then came the leering. Oh, what will he do next to entertain us? What enjoyment can yet be squeezed out of him?
I tuned it out and returned to doodling. History class did not require my participation as it’s a strong subject for me and not one I’d ever had to put any effort into for good grades. This retreat was sorely needed. Even without looking I could sense their eyes on me. Faces locked into that maniacal, predatory grin I’ve become entirely too familiar with.
I don’t know what makes me such a tempting target. That’s always eluded me. My last year of elementary passed nearly without incident simply because word got around that I’d beaten up one of my bullies. The others left me alone after that for some reason. I added it to the list of things I’ll never understand about them.
I dreaded the thought of another fight. Would it work a second time? But then I’d have to pick someone to hit. They’d be just as shocked, hurt and alienated as I always am when it happens to me. Visiting pain and fear upon another person just so I can be spared it seems like some perverse sacrificial offering.
Just then I noticed girls ahead of me whispering, giggling and passing notes. One of them I recognized from the field. On the off chance the note included the location of my pants, I snatched it mid-exchange. The girls looked at me in horror. One began to yell, but was admonished by Mr. Conrad to keep her voice down.
I stole a look at it. “Boys we like” at the top, then a numbered list. My name was number one. I puzzled over it until one of the girls leaned over and grabbed it from me. She then tore it into little pieces. The other two were that same shade of red I’d seen before. “It doesn’t mean anything”, she harshly whispered. “Just a joke we came up with.”
Oh. Well, that makes sense of it. What else could it be but a joke? I’d been foolish to entertain any other interpretation. “So I’m a joke to them”, I thought. What had I been before? Was this a step down, or up?
Stay Tuned for Part 4!
Sometimes you have to react, or they will keep bullying you.
Little world peoples means I apple is enough for whole family wow....
I don't know how these thoughts come into your mind. Man you are full of creativity. Our imagination completely controls us, and forever feeds the fire that burns with dark red light in our heart by bringing us the best dreams. I've always had a wild imagination and a tortured soul myself.
Wow, i'm enjoying this, can't wait for the other part. I like the fact that he refused to inflict the same pain he's going through on another person just to spare himself.
From the jolly reunion to the teasing its filled with emotion that you have put in. Yesterday i got worried as to what happened to the little ones but now its more calmer. Thats the sense you put in thats the curiosity you create with those little things. Moreover maybe the girls liked him thats why they kept on chasing him. However the section of todays part i believe was not to beat anyone to make the bullies stay away from you. This shows your heart towards little things that really can hurt inside as you are aware of the feeling yourself also.
Anyways i wander how many more parts are still to come?
But why his dad didn't do anything to make his son stronger and more confident.
It's a flaw of his parents that they didn't help him to change himself to cope with basic school wilderness.
Over the years observing how he comes home with bruises or even without pants. And scolding him for that.
It's really hard for an introverted boy to fight this shit on his own.
And at the same time, it can be easily solved with a slight push from the mom and dad's side. It's definitely can't be left like that.
He will try to find another place where he can keep his calm after a hard day in school. And in the end, hurt himself if it will be too much.
Oh poor boy.. so used to the bad bullies that he has no idea of “these” ones.. even though the boys are usually the ones that start things when they like someone.. :P
Never stop standing up for the bullies
So the girls liked him, that's why they kept teasing him.
That was surprising
But more of the little people
In the room the little fellas were wondering why is he empty handed. After his Dad went to bed, He cracked the door open and snuck downstairs to look for them. And there they all were in every corner, every shoe...They were reunited, all happy started dancing and celebrating. Once at school he did his test, he was always good at it and then the old routine came back. Three girls chasing him, holding him, taking his pants.
Always against bullies.This has true meaning
This deeper...
It does happen very often, when you are a happy soul and you have a soulful time, everytime you wake up next morning, you are like was it a dream, is this happening for sure..Life is not always cruel sometimes happy place too
woww what a thought its really great that you share such awesome posts with us <3 upvoted <3
keep on!!
Lol..a little comic relief.
Little school children and their pranks.
He should unleash his Homunculus on them to teach them a lesson.
He's no longer their regualar prey.
Its a beautiful post.
Upvoted &Resteemed.
It wud have been nervous moment facing the moment when your no. Came first ....the whole thing tore into pieces ........
The girls were after him because he used to run when they run, they even took of his pants, what a twist there was, 3girls taking pent of a boy leaving him naked, full of humour. 😂😂
It does go on identical often, while you are a glad soul and you give birth to a emotional time, everytime you challenge up after that morning, you are like was it a dream, is this experience for sure..Life is not continually cruel now and then content file in addition
You are no little people for us, you are our hero. You come up with such amazing stories for us. Thanks hero.
girls usually don't like boys but the boy here is lucky, and lucky enough that he got 3 girls 😂😉
Hey @alexbeyman, nice piece! Thanks for sharing. I enjoyed your writing. Keep up the good work!
Amazing post.
I appreciate your every post..thanks for sharing this post.. resteemit
u r our champ... not just lil people :)
U have Serious art of writing
And they danced merrily.
I am in love with your skill of writing and presenting it
Already i read that story. This story was amazing. when i read that novel story that time i just feel horror timing. thanks for your share & i want & i wait for next part.
Great writing Post. thanks for sharing this Post.
I appreciate your Post...resteemit.
@alexbeyman Your writing hand is really awesome buddy. I should suggest you launch a book. I will be the first buyer. I just love your concept and your writing style. Waiting to hear from your soon.
its very interesting to read this novel, History subject its boring anytime for me in class :p
i think these girls are foolish maybe like as little people
@alexbeyman you really make the condition so descriptive that it becomes easy to picture the whole scene
You really are a great writer brotha....
the story is good ,, i really like
The extraordinary thing is that, as we approach the 200th anniversary of his birth, on February 7, 1812, Dickens seems to have lost none of his global appeal. Just look at what the world is planning for his bicentenary. More than a dozen literary festivals, from Sri Lanka to Ukraine to South America, will schedule Dickens talks and debates. And universities are hosting international conferences to consider various aspects of Dickens's world, writing and legacy, some of them very esoteric indeed.
The French, for instance, want to discuss "Dickens, European literature and the grotesque". The University of Vechta in Germany has three days of doubtless riveting seminars on "texts, contexts and intertextuality in Dickens".
The Aristotle University of Thessaloniki plans a conference on "crucial thresholds, moments of transition and life cycles as represented and questioned in Dickens". And in Berlin later this month the British Council is gathering a clutch of distinguished writers -- among them David
Nicholls, Philip Hensher and Dickens's most recent biographer, Claire Tomalin -- to answer the question, "What would Dickens write today?"
Indeed, the British Council has primed or promoted bicentenary events in more than 50 countries, from Burma to Vietnam, Ethiopia and Zimbabwe. It is sending the avant-garde theatre group Punchdrunk to Pakistan to create a new work based on Dickens's journalism, but set in the present-day subcontinent.
And a festival of 12 classic Dickens films, including David Lean's mesmerising 1940s adaptations of Oliver Twist and Great Expectations, will be rolled out across 20 countries including China, where writers will talk about the relevance of the great Victorian to 21st-century Asia.
For first time i read this story . Thanks for sharing.
You know most boys your age would sell their left kidney to be chased by girls every day”.)
well i am not chased by girls at all
i think i shohld try with my right kidney though!
I think that has happened to the majority; Some are behind someone they are not and only try to be respected. This writing made me move a few years ago.
This hits home for me. I passed for some similar situation.
I don't understand them, either. Never do. After years and years now, and reading and hearing and stuff.
And still, I don't understand it.