To all the outsiders, the runts, the lonely souls, our Ruthless Readers,
We know what it’s like to be the ones looking in. We know what it’s like to feel isolated, hopeless, and so alone you don’t know where to go or how to get out of the bubble you’ve found yourself in.
There is always love. There are always people willing to welcome you with open arms. We are those people. You have us.
Pop. That. Bubble.
It feels good to be set free.
Fifteen Years old
Silence is the clearest speaker of all. Its words ring loud and true.
I read that somewhere a few years ago etched in a bookshelf in a library. I ignored it at the time because I didn’t understand what the statement meant. Silence doesn’t speak. Silence doesn’t make noise.
But silence spoke volumes when I started high school last year, and that’s when the understanding clicked in my mind.
It’s what happens in the quiet that means the most.
Teenagers are brutal. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. They are bullies, plain and simple. And even worse are the ones who stick around to watch me get my ass beat. Every damn day. No one says a word. They laugh, they point, they watch.
It’s because I’m a nobody.
I’m scrawny, I’m short for my age, I have long hair that’s dirty because I have no money to get it cut. I’m only allowed to shower once a week to save on the water bill because everyone else in the house has to bathe too.
I’m a natural target.
I’m the kid everyone avoids. I’m the kid no one trusts. It’s easy to be an outsider when I’ve never fit into any group, made friends with any kids, or have had a home to call my own. I don’t have parents, and the kids love to remind me every day that I don’t have a mom and dad.
As if I could ever forget that I’ve been on my own for a long time.
My caseworker found me living on the streets a few years back after running away and sent me back to another foster home. It’s my tenth one since I was eight. It used to bother me, not having that sense of family, but I’ve learned not even family is all that cracked up to be. My foster home has ten kids. Our clothes are always dirty. We go days without eating a proper meal. We get slapped around some, so it has skewed my idea of what family is. The foster parents are only in this for the paycheck.
I’ve learned to trust no one because everyone disappoints.
Well, I take that back. There is one person. My foster brother, Mason. He is a year older than me and takes the ‘big brother’ role seriously. He’s a protector. He’s always standing up for me when the kids at school call me a loser, a freak, a creep, a bastard. Other kids don’t make fun of Mason. They wouldn’t dare. Mason is already over six feet tall, and muscular, while I’m pathetic and weak.
It’s not like the kids at school are wrong about me. I’m all of those things because I don’t know how to be anything else, but it’s time for me to learn. Mason won’t be around forever to save my ass, so it’s up to me to make the change, to be my own protector. When Mason turns eighteen, he is going to be out on his ass because the system doesn’t keep adults, and where will that leave me?
Alone.
Vulnerable.
And with no one in my corner.
It’s why I need to find a way to protect myself. A weapon of some sort. Something that’s quick, agile, and fierce. I want my weapon to say, ‘don’t fuck with me’.
Maybe then the bullies will see how serious I am.
I’m tired of always looking over my shoulder. It’s exhausting, and I want to be done being afraid.
Like right now.
“Hey, loser!”
I keep my head down and shrug the raggedy blue backpack up my shoulder. It’s torn, stained, and the straps are barely hanging on to the last bit of thread. I stuff my hands in the hoodie pockets and walk faster. The sooner I get off this back road and onto the main road, the better.
“Hey, freak, I’m talking to you.”
“Yeah, we’re talking to you. It’s rude to ignore us.”
“I bet he’s scared.”
The three of them taunt me, but I know better than to pay them any attention. I’m damned if I do, and I’m damned if I don’t.
My breaths come out quicker. Sweat starts to bead across my neck. I knew I should have taken the other way, but it adds on another twenty minutes. The back road is abandoned, and everyone dumps what they don’t want back here along the sides of the fence that block the road off from someone’s property. Tall weeds stand tall among a few silver trash tins, rusted bikes, and old sewing machines strewn all over the ground. This road is a homeless person’s dream, but horrible things happen here because of the weapons laying around.
This road always has a massive amount of random trash all over it. It’s why everyone in town calls it Miscellaneous Way, because anything and everything can be found. Even bodies.
And I don’t want to be one of them.
If I only had a weapon that could go the distance, that could protect me from a few yards away; then I’d have a chance at escaping these guys.
“Thomas,” Murray singsongs my name, then hits one of the trashcans with the bat he always has in his hand.
The loud clatter startles me. I trip over my own feet, which only draws a big, ugly laugh from the three bullies. I hate this life. Everyone says it gets better, but when? I’m face down in the dirt, rocks are digging into my hands, and I can hear their footsteps getting closer. Nothing about this is better.
I’m a dead man.
I look around for something to protect myself with, but all I see are some rusted knives on the ground next to a busted-up kitchen sink. It’s probably not rust; it’s probably blood that’s been there for far too long. But they are the only thing within reach.
I dig my elbows in the ground and scurry toward the knives hiding in the grass and reach for the closest one. It’s a useless steak knife.
You’ve got to be kidding me. Why couldn’t it be a butcher knife? Something big and scary?
I get to my feet and throw the one in my hand, launching it with a panicked grunt, but the blade comes detached from the black handle, and the threat falls short.
“Oh my god, you’re so stupid. Did you honestly think that would work?” Louis says. He’s shorter than the others, only around my height. I’m sure if he was all alone, he’d turn into a scared dog like me.
Falling to the ground, I gather the last four knives in my hand, ready to use them if I have to. A spider crawls around the blade, then scrambles to my hand. Its legs are light on my skin, a tickle. In a way, I feel like it’s good luck. Unlike most people, I’m not afraid of spiders.
Insects, reptiles, and animals only attack when they feel threatened. Humans attack whoever the hell they want to, when they want to. Or just because they feel like it. It’s why I think out of everything this world has to offer, humans are the most dangerous.
The spider falls off my arm and disappears into the grass, leaving me alone against my enemies.
“What are you going to do with that, Thomas?” Murray asks in a mocking tone, digging the baseball bat into the ground as he takes a step. “Are you going to stab me?”
My hands shake as I slice the knife through the air. “I… I might if you come any c-closer,” I stutter, then lick the sweat off my top lip. The backpack slides down my shoulder into the crease of my elbow, and I drop my hand to let it fall to the ground.