The Bullying He Endured
From the moment William entered school, the torment began. At first, it was just words—taunts and mockery whispered behind his back or shouted across the playground. "Hey, dyslexic freak!" they'd call out, laughing as they saw his face turn red with embarrassment. The mocking was relentless. "You're so ugly, even a blind man would see it!" It wasn't just the other kids; even the teachers turned a blind eye to the abuse. They saw him as a lost cause, a troublemaker who couldn't seem to get anything right. They didn't care enough to stop the bullying—they didn't care enough to even notice.
His belongings were fair game for those who found amusement in his misery. Books were stolen, ripped apart, and thrown away like trash. His lunch would vanish, leaving him hungry, or someone would pour his drink over his head for no reason at all. Each day, his things would mysteriously disappear or be destroyed, and the teachers, as usual, did nothing but shrug it off.
The torment escalated as the years went by. They called him "the dumb kid" or "the mistake," labeling him as if his very existence was an error, something to be disposed of. The whispers followed him wherever he went, even when he tried to disappear into the background. No matter what he did, the bullying never stopped.
He Fought Back Once, and Was Punished for It
One day, during a particularly brutal bout of teasing, William snapped. The insults were endless, and the taunts felt like knives to his chest. He couldn't take it anymore. His heart pounded in his chest as his rage boiled over. He lashed out. He didn't think, didn't hesitate—he just acted. With all the anger and frustration he'd bottled up over the years, he shoved the nearest bully to the ground.
For a fleeting moment, he felt a rush of power. But that moment was short-lived. As soon as the teacher arrived, it wasn't the bully who was reprimanded. It was William. The teacher, who had watched the whole thing unfold, chose to ignore the years of torment and instead focused on his reaction. "Violence is never the answer, William," she scolded, as if his years of suffering were invisible. He was dragged to the principal's office, punished for defending himself, while the bullies were left to continue their reign of terror.
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That day, William realized something harsh: no matter what he did, no one would ever care about his pain. He would always be the scapegoat, always the one to suffer while the real tormentors went unpunished.
He Was Bullied by Everyone—Students and Teachers
The cruelty wasn't just confined to his classmates. William's teachers, the supposed adults who should have helped him, often mocked him in their own ways. They made snide comments about his dyslexia, belittling his struggles with reading aloud or his difficulty following instructions. It wasn't just the students who thought he was inferior—his teachers thought it too. They saw him as a problem to be ignored, or worse, a joke. He'd hear them talk in hushed tones in the staff room, laughing about how he was "hopeless" or "just not cut out for this."
But the students were the worst. The ones who had no fear of punishment, who saw him as easy prey. Every day, they pushed him further into despair. They'd trip him in the hallways, make him the butt of every joke, or shove him into lockers when no one was around. He was a constant target, and everyone knew it. It wasn't even bullying anymore—it was simply the way things were.
The Physical Beatings
It wasn't just emotional and verbal abuse. No, the bullying had a darker, more violent side to it. Some days, it was the older boys who cornered him in the stairwells or behind the gym. They'd shove him into the walls, laughing as they watched him stumble. Sometimes, they'd punch him, just enough to knock the air from his lungs. But it was never enough to leave visible marks—just bruises that faded before anyone could see them. It was a carefully calculated kind of abuse. They knew how to hurt him without getting caught.
They would grab him by the collar and slam him against lockers, their hands tightening around his neck in playful mockery. But William knew it wasn't play. They'd make sure to hurt him just enough to make him feel powerless, to keep him on the edge of breaking. He'd return home with sore muscles and aching ribs, but no one would know the real cause. Not the teachers, not his parents. The pain became a part of him, like a constant, gnawing presence he could never escape.
No one cared. No one saw the damage they were doing to him. And that realization, that feeling of being invisible in his suffering, was the last straw.