“Brittle Bones”

There are things that cripple us, leading us to believe we’re the weakest link of the bunch. But what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. In our struggle, we come out on top. It’s our power. And heaven help the ones that try to tear us down.

Walking into school today felt interesting. It didn’t feel like the same regular routine type day, it felt as though something new and fresh was going to happen, it was just hard to say what.
Looking around, nothing seemed too different. Perhaps it was the air or some change in lighting. I heard my friends calling me, waving me to them. I headed to meet up with them.
Something you should know about my friends and I is that we are the cool kids, the ones that try keeping the peace amongst the student bodies. If we see someone stepping out of line we make certain we put them in their place.
We heard the bell ring and we hurried to class. It was a little upsetting we all didn’t share the same classes, but it didn’t matter too much. I was the leader of the group, I could handle myself.
I sat down in the back of the classroom and awaited class to start. Before it did, there was this new kid walking through the door in crutches. He looked so weak, it almost seemed like he was trying too hard to look hurt. It disgusted me.
After class started, the teacher called the kid up front the classroom and made him introduce himself.
“I’m James and I have a rare condition where my bones are very weak, that’s why I carry around crutches.”
I scoffed and rolled my eyes. Did he really expect people to believe a story that ridiculous? It sounds like some dumb reason to have people feel sorry for him. I knew what I needed to do to set things right.

A few days later, I was still keeping an eye on him. He didn’t seem like he was acting very crippled. He looked like he was trying to seem weak to get people to do things for him. He would otherwise try, and fail, to do it himself.
He always acted suspiciously joyful around school and loved seeking attention. It disgusted me. I decided to confront him at lunch.
“What do you think you’re doing, punk?” I demanded.
“I’m just trying to eat,” he said, avoiding eye contact.
I approached him further and punched his arm. He shrunk back, holding his arm. He glared at me, his eyes beckoning me to do it again. I did, harder this time.
After punching him in his right arm, my right arm was in a great deal of pain, like I had broken it or something. I used my other arm and punched him hard in the back. I could then feel my own snapping. What the hell was going on?
I fell to the ground, writhing in pain. He stood from his seat and stood over me. He grabbed his head and slammed it against the table as hard as he could. Everything went to black for me.