The last day of school. A day every student anticipates in some capacity. Some are happy too finally have some much-required free time. Some are ecstatic about not having to Listen to reprimands from their teachers and most of them are anticipating a holiday trip with friends or family. the most excitement probably comes from the graduating classes.

Those who can finally close a chapter in their lives to move on to greater heights. there are, of course, exceptions to this rule. one such exception would be the student named Lucas Bennet. To him it didn't make any sort of difference what part of his life he was currently in.

He stood up from his chair, packed his bag and left the classroom. Because he was a whole head shorter then most of his classmates, he just had to lower his head and stare at the floor to go largely unnoticed. Most of the students knew that it was pointless to stop and harass him.

They couldn't extort any money from him simply because he didn't have any and a whole four years of bullying had made his reaction or rather his refusal to give one really boring for them. He still got the occasional nudge in the ribs or kick in the back but that's as far as it would go. Today most of the usual suspects were busy bragging to their friends about their upcoming holiday or just focused on getting out of class as quickly as they could. Lucas had waited until most of the class was empty to leave himself.

There was a pretty good chance he would have been push around ore casually thrown down if he tried to step outside before the majority of the students had left. But even as he exited the school, he didn't take the way home he usually took.

Instead, he wandered around aimlessly through the city until he reached a small park. There was also a playground where he sat down in one of the swings after letting his schoolbag fall to the ground. He didn't really know what to do so he just sat there and thought about the occurrences of the last few days.

When the sun was almost down he begrudgingly stood up, picked his bag from the ground and went on his way home. But only a few meters away from the playground, he saw a girl being harassed by two – presumably - college students. They stood on either side of her to prevent her from running away and she looked uncomfortable in her position. Lucas stood still.

On any other day there would have been no choice. He would just leave. The soul factor connecting him with this situation was an incidental proximity to the event. No responsibility, no acquaintance with any of the involved parties and certainly no misplaced urge for heroism.

If Lucas chose to be himself, he would just disappear out of this scenario without ever having appeared in it. There wouldn't be anyone who would reprimand him for not stepping in. There wouldn't even be someone who would remember he was even there.

The only one who would know was him. At that moment Lucas was afraid. He was afraid of the realization that despite all the things that happened to him and all the goodwill and support he had burned he hadn't changed a single bit.

A little while ago he had thought it would be fine. There was no need to rush. There was always a ‘next time’. There was always another chance to change. More importantly there was always one person standing at his back to encourage him to do better.

Now though, there was no one there. The last person who had really believed in him was gone and he stood alone.

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His chest tightened and an irrational thought drilled its way into his brain. The thought that this would be his last chance. The last opportunity to stop being a coward. The one drastic event that would finally give him the confidence he needed. But more importantly the chance to prove that his grandfather was right.

He. Could. Be. Better.

His hands shivered while he was trying to formulate a plan. He went up to the group of three and spoke up. “I don't think she likes your attitude. She seems uncomfortable. You should stop.” His voice came out in a silent, squeaking tone. He thought it was a minor miracle that he didn't stutter. One of the men turned around, looked at Lucas and said: “The hell you want squirt. Get out’ta here”. He turned around again and resumed speaking to the girl.

If Lucas was honest, he didn't think he'd even get this far. He was tempted to leave it at that, but the same existential dread came over him again.

Lucas took a deep breath before taking a thick, hardcover book from his backpack. He had to be fast to pull off what he had in mind.

He gripped the back of the book and drove one of the edges into the spine of the man standing closest to him with all the force he could exert. The man screamed and fell to the ground writhing in pain. Lucas’s plan was to down the first guy and when the other tried to help his friend up he would grab the girl’s hand and run.

“Son of a bitch.” Instead, the second guy went straight for him, punching him in the face. The force was enough to make him dizzy and send him ass first on the grass.

The man kept kicking him while he was down for a few seconds before he picked up the other guy and took off with him. Lucas remained lying on the ground.

He didn’t have any drive to stand up again. His plan had failed spectacularly and instead of an empowering feeling of self-confidence there was just more pain.

He remained on the ground until the girl entered his view as she bent over to look at his face. She had black hair and dark brown eyes. He thought she looked quite cute. She tried to help him up and say something but instead of taking the hand that was offered to him he shakily stood up himself and ran as fast as he could manage in his state.

The girl called after him but didn't follow.

The way to his home was long but he didn't stop to catch his breath until he arrived. He finally stepped through his front door and slammed it shut behind him.

He fell to the cold, tiled floor. His entire body hurt from the beating and his legs refused to move any further. Once again, he didn't even try to stand up. It seemed so pointless that it was almost sad to have wasted a thought on it.

After a few minutes of self-loathing, he looked into the tall mirror that hung on the wall of the foyer. He finally realized that somewhere along the way he had dropped his backpack and the book he had been holding. Furthermore, he had a light nosebleed and tears were freely running down his face.

After another few minutes he finally stood up and went to the bathroom to clean himself up

A few splashes to the face and some cotton to stop the Nosebleed later he was staring at another mirror. It was the mirror hanging over the sink he had used and something about the reflection in it made him feel even more miserable than before.

He stared at his own face, noticing every single imperfection and blemish. The outline of his head resembled a circle more than an oval courtesy of his chubby cheeks and small chin.

His hair was frizzly and because hairdressers cost money, he preferred just cutting it himself. An uneven bob cut covered the entirety of his forehead and almost blocked his sight. Not because of a fashion choice he had made. He just tried to cover as much of his face as possible.

His muddy brown eyes stared at him with disgust. His button nose was surrounded by a bunch of freckles that extended over both of his cheeks. His mouth was entirely too small, and his chin was as round as it would get.

Every time he looked into the mirror, he fell into a spiral he had a hard time escaping from. First came disgust over his physical appearance then anger because of his position in life, Sadness because of his powerlessness, self-hatred because he never seemed to be able to put in enough effort to change his situation and to escape from that back to disgust.

Even this time he went through this cycle until he screamed and punched the mirror in an effort to break it. It didn't, but his punch managed to loosen the suspension of the mirror and brought it crashing down on his head. It burst into pieces and send him to the floor where he blacked out.