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Message from Writer

Be who you want to be and do what you want to do. Don't let people tell you who to be. You write your own path. Stay Amazing my friends.

Sticks and Stones

November 22, 2015

    My name is Neil Levitt, I’m 15 and I'm a sophomore at Southview High School. Southview high school is a big school with two levels and 3,492 students. In my opinion it’s more like 3,000 vultures. Once two people fight, the person that loses the fight is picked on by the other students. 
    I’m pretty average I guess. I get pretty good grades, mainly A’s and B’s.  I wear flannels and jeans, even though most people at my school don’t. I have light brown hair and blue eyes, nothing special. Sometimes I think that maybe if I had something unusual my life would have been different. Maybe it would have been better. I mean, I'm not the kind of person to complain, but sometimes I just need to let my feelings out. Hiding them inside is bad for you, you know. I have my problems in my life, yes, but they won't hold me back. 
     "Good morning," said my mom as I walked down the stairs to get to the kitchen. My mom is a great cook, she makes me delicious blackened toast every morning. Of course she knows that she isn't the best cook, but she tries and that's all that matters. At least that's what my dad says. I finished my blackened toast and then waited for my bus on the street in front of my house. I look up and see an opening in the sky full of clouds, the normal weather for my town. It has been unusually noisy because a family decided to build their house right next to mine. I see my coming and I prepare myself for the torture chamber.  
    I'm not very into the whole bus thing. Carpooling is great. Yeah, let's save the environment. I just don't necessarily like the people on the bus I ride. I get on the bus and get tripped not once, but twice. This happens every day. I'm used to it. I don't like the people on my bus and they don't like me. I sit alone and look out the window while I ride the bus. I basically try to avoid eye contact. If I make eye contact I get called names, but I try to ignore them. All I need to do is get to college and out of highschool. Only 2 ¾ years of high school left. Yippee for me.
    I get off the bus last and say thank you to the bus driver. I enter the school with my head down. My locker is all the way at the end of the hallway. I walk down the hall and get pushed a couple times because people are in a rush and can't wait to learn. Just kidding they are on there way to see another fight in the hallway that the teachers are too scared to stop. I can't blame them, if I were a teacher I would be scared of two teenagers fighting with their fists too. Well actually, scratch that one teenager on the ground and one punching him. I'm just happy I've never been in a fight.
     I ignore the fighting teenagers and go to my class. I heard people gossiping about how the bigger guy was Tony, he was held back a grade and the smaller guy was Steven, he gets straight A's and volunteers at a food shelf. I felt bad for Steven, he was a great guy that did nothing to deserve it.
     It was my last class of the day and my teacher was Ms. Abet. I was ready to go home. I had gotten pushed around and had been called names. I can only handle a certain amount of torment without turning into a co
mplete mess. “What is the name of the English writer and social critic that was born on February 7, 1812?” asked Ms. Abet. Nearly half the class raised their hand and I was not one of them. “Who was it Neil?” asked Ms. Abet. I shrugged my shoulders and quietly answered ,”I think it was Shakespeare.” “Really?” asked a kid in the back of the class. “Wow, you’re so stupid,” stated another kid to my left. Other kids just laughed at me. “That is incorrect” said Ms. Abet. This didn't happen to other kids but I guess I'm an exception.
       I signed a pass to the restroom. I was on the verge of tears after that experience. I got pushed into the lockers on my way there and got called many nasty names. I went into the restroom and started bawling. I just don't understand how people could do that without feeling remorse about hurting someone the way they hurt me, Steve and many others. Can't they tell that it hurts? I stared at myself in the mirror with tears rushing down my face. Someone else walked in. It was Steven. He had a black eye. He asked me," What's wrong?" I said ,"You have your own problems, I don't want to burden you with mine."  Steven looked at me and said ,"I do have my problems, but sometimes other people do too." I told him everything that happened and he said ,"You can't become upset because of what someone says or does. They bring you down because inside they feel bad about themselves, but they don't want to admit it."


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