Screenshot 2019 02 19 at 8.42.16 am


United States

Message from Writer

Hi! I am and eighth grade girl who loves to read and write. I have so many books I've read, my favorites are probably, KOTLC, Let the sky fall, and Percy Jackson. I am a swimmer and a runner. Follow me, and I'll follow you!


February 19, 2019

        You see her? The one with the shiny, wet hands from buckets of sweat? Her face contorted in pain and yet so full of concentration.
    No one knows what’s happened with her. No one seemes to care. Her friends are freaks and she doesn't exactly add up to much either. We can see her salty tears run down her face, creating a wet river behind. We can hear her guttural cries in the bathroom, but we don’t know what’s wrong with her. And  I use to not care as well. I’ve had my own problems. I’ve had my own life.
    Last year she touched me. I was in the hallway. The long one with the red bricks lining the floor. She had her head ducked, her chin was touching her chest and her books were full of cut and ripped papers. I was getting books out of my locker. I had just touched the soft binding of my history textbook when I was pushed into my locker by an unknown force. I spun, seeing red.
    “What are you doing?” I cried, practically spitting. My arm throbbed with the pain of a locker slam. It was a thing. Kids pushed other student into lockers for fun all the time. And the person who came up with the name? Well, that was yours truly.
    She looked at me with tears in her eyes. Her lip quivered and her legs wobbled.
    “I was pushed.” She whispered.
    “Someone pushed me,” She answered. My lip curled as I studied her. An uncontained anger rushed through me and I shoved her, using my full weight to get her as far way from my trembling body as possible.
    At the time I had believed it was nothing more than what she deserved. She landed in the middle of the hallway. The other students stopped in their paths and stared. The girl whimpered. I stalked over to her.
    “Get up!” I snarled. She stood, clutching her arm as if it was broken. I plowed into her again. Her skinny frame was sent flying into the lockers on the other side of the hallway.
    “Now you know how it feels.” I said, revenge rushing through me.
    I leaned closer. So close that she could probably see her reflection in my furious eyes.
    I was then that I had recalled hearing a door open. The old fashioned, shiny shoes clicking and clacking on tile. There was a hand on my shoulder before I could move and when I looked up, all I saw were a mass of wrinkles.
    Mr. Balefore. His face was twisted in such rage that for a second I zoned out and It wasn’t  
Mr. Balefore anymore. The hallway disappeared. The students were drowned out. It was me and… My father. His hand was still on my shoulder. I can still remember that to this day. He looked at me with a sneer. I knew that expression well, 
    My fears came rushing in. A belt, the pain, the blood. And my scars. My father’s lips moved but I heard nothing. They moved again and suddenly it was Mr. Balefore again. He turned, marching me through the halls. The other kids watched with wary eyes, their postures uncertain. While usually, people looked at me with high respect, that time it was disgust. Things turned into a blur. We walked through a door marked with the daunting words Main Office. I vaguely remember a phone call.
    “Hi! This is the student services calling. Is this a parent or guardian of Maybell Turner?” A pause.    “Oh, Hello Mr. Turner. We had a problem with your daughter today including another student and we would like it if you could come pick her up.” A long pause that time. I could imagine my father’s reaction. He had probably been yelling and swearing. Perhaps he had called my mom.
    Five minutes later, a snorting, spitting, red faced man, also known as Lawrence Turner came charging at me. Full speed. I wish I could say my father didn’t scare me, but then I would have been a liar. And I did not lie. My parents made sure of that.
    I don’t feel the need to give details of my fathers anger. My body was sore for months afterward. My skin still stings when I stretch it badly. I will alway bear my scars but they simply mean i am a survivor.

    Now I watch the girl from a distance. She changed me too much. And I doubt she even knows. It was my fault, I know that now. But it was the impact of my running into her that made me realize how stupid I was, how blind I had been.  I don’t interact with anyone but myself. I lost my friends. My reputation. My everything, I suppose. I used to feel proud. Now all I feel is my guilt. I have become someone new. I am a closed book. No one remembers who I am. No one cares. I have become her. I have become a shell. An empty outer layer. No emotions show through unless I am alone, and that is my world. My loneliness surrounds me. Time slows. But now I see. Now I understand how she felt. And now I am the underdog. Now I am the loner. And though I might have changed. I might have become someone new, I am still ignored. I am still unloved. But that was always my fault, and that’s the way it is.


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  • February 19, 2019 - 8:31am (Now Viewing)

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  • #KatnissEverdeen

    Oh yeah, I got really exited over the fact that there was a contest so I got writing right away after I read the intstructions and then after I sent it in I re-read the contest rules and stuff and realized I did it wrong...

    3 months ago
  • Christy Wisdom

    This is really interesting, but I'm sorta confused as to what it has to do with a Book Review. It was still a good story, though.

    3 months ago
  • Old Sport

    this is so powerful? i love your writing style, i got really invested in it and the details you use are really well-done! keep writing!

    3 months ago