He is again the target. A Victim. Another miserable life to be played with. The laughter of the other children dug into him like a blade into flesh. A blade just scraping bone. Words hurt like darts thrown into a dartboard. But he has no feelings, they told him this. A worm. A bull's eye. Lower then streetwalkers and tramps. A nobody. But all he does is sits there. Absorbing the pain. Absorbing like a sponge absorbs water. His eyes blood shot. Blood of his veins draining.

She always notices him. Alone. Rejected. A loner. But she never hated him. She felt sorry for him. Love. Pity. She was the in crowd. He was the out crowd. She was the bully's Girl. He was the bully's pet hate. A ball in the playground of life. But still her heart bleed, like his nose and his mouth, it bleeds. She wept for him. Tears rolling down her face like a mountain stream. She could never love her bully of a boyfriend. But still she stayed with him. Fear. Fear of being like the victim. Another name forgotten in the dust of society.

The bell rang for lessons. A time for peace at last. He was wrong. No more peace for him. They didn't care about books and arithmetic. All they wanted was suffering. His suffering. But still no tears. Was it the fact that he has no fear? No, he's just smart. He just sits there. Pencils fly across the room. Blood. Drops of blood. Were they intentional? The laughing meant it was. Laughs like hyenas in the grasslands hunting for their prey. The bell rings. Time to run. Home stretch. Get home before they catch him.

The next school day came too quick for him. But again he didn't care. Again he sits. Again he bleeds but this time, he stands. Stands and faces the bullies. A plan? A way out? He walks to the front of the class. Voices muffled in his ears. The teacher orders him to sit down. He chooses not to listen. A single gunshot rings out through the class. He holds the gun. In his blood covered hand. The teacher lying dead on the floor. No escape. He was guarding the only escape. Screams. Wails. But in a matter of seconds they were gone. Red. That's all he could see. They blood of his classmates. The bullies. He stands on the teacher's desk. Gun rose to his head. Fro a second he looked like the survivor of a horror movie. One last shot rang out trough the halls of the school. His body fell to the floor like a rag doll. Revenge was his. This was his way out.