By Dawns Light

By Edward Strickland

Welcome to Elm Wood Academy, a private school located in the small community of Bryar's Grove. Here the super elite dominate the hallways of this once prestigious institution.

   Robbie B

• Language: English
• Publisher: Edward Strickland author
• Release date: Mar 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9798990237438

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By Dawns Light

By Dawns Light

Edward Strickland

By Dawns Light

Copyright © 2024 Edward Strickland

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All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

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Printed in the United States of America

Edward Strickland

Whitackers, NC

USA

ISBN: 979-8-9902374-2-1 (Paperback)

ISBN: 979-8-9902374-3-8 (eBook)

Part One. The Bully Beat Down.

Chapter One.

Walk wayward to Bryar’s Grove, a tight knit community nestled deep in the heart of North Carolina. It’s a ‘neighbor knows neighbor’ kind of place, though not all here greet you with a smile or warm handshake.

The small speck on the map, aptly known as the Grove to all the locals, has a small diner and one functioning stoplight. From a distance, it seems as quaint as those Norman Rockwell paintings one might find hanging in a five and dime store. But upon closer observation, one may uncover secrets buried within the town’s history.

A breath of cold air from Canada descended across the eastern half of North Carolina, signaling hot days of summer were drawing nigh. The horizon was cloaked in deep shades of purple and black while the chilly air froze to the bone.

Above the doorway in the high school Science building, a black clock with a painted white face noted the time to be 7:35 a.m. when Brad Fuller shuffled his frail, lifeless, fifteen-year old body through the front doors, humming to himself. Slowly, he made his way down the narrow, paper littered hallway to his locker, number 024.

He opened his locker to weed out his text book from a tangled mess. Pausing there, Brad waited for the onslaught of ridicule to wail upon him like fallout from a detonating grenade.

This had been the outcome far too many years now: Brad thought for one day those class-idiots would tire themselves of whipping the same dead horse with phrases which brought the word embarrassment to a new low. Not for an instant, would Elm Wood’s finest miss an opportunity to air insults towards Fuller and other lost souls.

Welcome to your living nightmare, Brad Fuller thought to himself. This dark school was worse than any environment he could conjure within his subconscious. This was a realm where nightmares were born.

Gathered in the cruel hallway, stood bands of students engorging their self-esteem glaring into small mirrors: a ritual deemed to weed the weak from the strong by determining who was beauty and who beast?

One must become a member of the IT crowd of Elm Wood Academy to render a chance of making it alive during the high school years. Unfortunately, young Mr. Fuller was not part of the socially accepted; he was merely another it, lost in the sea of the ultracool, high school crowd.

The Queen, Shannon Price, smiled, tossing silky hair across sun kissed, tan shoulders, while applying ruby red lipstick to thirsty teen lips.

Shannon began to ponder how many foolish boys she could tease with her bodily charms this morning? Who among them would sell his very soul to the devil to receive a peck on the lips from her? Shannon Price was a true IT girl: all guys wanted to sex her; all girls wanted to be her. Looming six feet tall with shoulder length, jet black hair, flawless complexion, and teen breasts which pointed further north than any compass, Shannon Price was truly a mega-force unleashed upon the downtrodden.

Shannon loved witnessing the pain and suffering of a lost classmate. She thrived in the agony of others while spitting resentment into the dark hollows of those with little self-esteem and suicidal wishes. Brad Fuller fit like a square peg in a round hole, therefore he didn’t bother trying to associate with his fellow students, especially Ms. Queen. He shared nothing of interest with Shannon, for she worshiped tearing students down, and Brad was of a loving nature, believing in fair treatment of others.

Brad would have enjoyed being treated as an equal among his peers, though such would not come to fruition at Elm Wood---far too many bullies to contest. Plus, Brad possessed a larger issue of contention than his fellow constituents. It was there, hanging on his face, jutting out like a sore thumb.

Shannon Price and those who closely followed her Queenship, scared the living day-lights out of Brad Fuller, so when opportunity presented itself, Shannon would always go out of her way to cast him further down, for watching him squirm like a baited worm on a hook always brought joy to her dark heart.

Shannon was a horrible, wicked person and one day, she would have to be dealt with accordingly…

A girl in super tight, Levis jeans, sporting a low cut, pink blouse, which accented deep freckled cleavage, went all the way with Robert Alman, the varsity football team’s quarterback, over the weekend. She entertained her gal-pals, gossiping how Saturday had been the most magical night of her life: her name was Kara Winstead. She was now bound to Robert by love alone, feeling as though she could convey anything to him.

Kara had confessed love to Robert, though he chose to brush her off swiftly, claiming they had shared a wonderful night together and such was as far as he was willing to push things. Yet, like a gentleman, which he was not, he promised to call soon.

Kara babbled to her girlfriends, how it was an endless afternoon ritual of darting to her bedroom, waiting for Robert’s call. A call that would never come…

At least, I have one special night I can look back on, Kara noted, holding a picture of Robert in her tiny hands. For one night, I was his and he was mine. We made magic that cool night, making love underneath the stars above.

You’re such a loser, Kara! Shannon Price sounded out, flipping through her book sac, standing beside her locker.

What are you talking about, Shannon? Kara asked with a sneer.

Shannon turned directly to Kara now, for the time for pussy-footing was over. You think you’re anything special to Robert Alman? He was simply using you for that booty of yours. You were nothing more than a notch on his belt. Believe me, I know. Guys like him, don’t settle down with one girl, sweetheart. They take what they can and move on to the next victim!

"No. You’re wrong! What we shared was special. Robert and me...we connected somehow!

He said, he wanted to be with me, and only me. Was such a lie? Well, has he given you a call since your magical rendezvous?"

Well, no, but he’s busy with football practice and stuff. I know he’ll call when he finds the time. He stays so busy, ya know?

You’re an idiot, if you think it was anything more than two people letting off a little steam. Can’t you let it be one night of blissful sex and nothing more? No strings...no commitment. He’s not going to call you. This, I know for fact!

I think you’re jealous, because Robert did me this time and not you! He got a taste for something good and threw your sorry tail to the curb! So, sorry!

Shannon glared at the young girl standing there with her hands stuck on her hips and baby boobs poking out. You really are a fool, Kara, if you think it was anything more than just sex.

I think you’re a tad jealous of me, Shannon. Didn’t you have a good weekend, too, you miserable drunk?

"Sex is sex, Kara. You’ll see that for yourself, because he’s not going to call. Face it, baby doll!

You were nothing more than a one-night stand, and he’s moved on from you to his next conquest! Women are only good for one thing, according to men, Kara."

Brad Fuller had listened long enough; he knew it was time to get his lanky self, moving towards room 125, before Shannon and Kara chose to include him in their spirited debate. Even Kara hated his guts with ninety percent of her female companions.

Wishing to hear no more and feeling afraid of being harassed in the hallway, Brad slammed his locker shut and with slug-like speed inched his way down the hallway to room 125 with his head hung low and shoulders hunched. It was quarter till eight…

The hallway had been lit up bright with track lighting, yet in room 125, the fluorescents were severe, causing Brad to shield his eyes with his right hand. It was like looking into the face of the sun for a brief second.

His biology teacher, John (the putz) Wymer, sat comfy at his desk humming a fifties tune with hands laced behind him. He was sipping his cup of black coffee, hot and steaming from his morning run to Dunkin Donuts. Brad shook his head, for Wymer was a douche to be around ninety percent of the time. How this guy ever became a teacher was beyond Brad!

Wymer rose from the plushness of a high-back, leather chair to extend a bony hand outward.

A wave of nausea rose from the pit of an anxious stomach as Brad took hold of the thin man’s frail hand. For a mere second, the teen felt movement under the splintery bones, and he imagined, if squeezed hard enough, he could crush the tiny elf-ling’s hand. It would take no great effort what-so-ever.

Wymer’s sickening hand, conjured disheartening thoughts to spawn within Brad’s mind. It was here, where he envisioned John Wymer resting underground in a shallow grave, a corpse, conversing with long-forgotten people in the town’s cemetery.

Wymer spoke, snatching Brad from his thoughts, ushering the dismal teen back into the reality of Elm Wood Academy and sophomore year.

Hello, Bradley, Wymer said in a horrid, crypt keeper, demeanor. So glad you could make it today. We all missed you so dearly, yesterday. Class just wasn’t the same without you, and, I, personally didn’t catch a moment’s sleep last night being so concerned over you and what-not. I was truly lost not having you attend my class yesterday. It hurt my feelings not seeing your bright face in the classroom.

Brad knew a smear campaign when he heard one. Wymer sure was laying it on heavy and thick this morning. But Brad Fuller chose to answer the crude teacher in a calm demeanor.

Yeah, about yesterday. I contracted this stomach bug, which all of a sudden jumped on me out of the blue. You know how that feels, right? My poor stomach was doing summersaults. I spent the majority of my day on the toilet. But, hey. I heard from Sarah Mills, you covered chapter four yesterday, so I skimmed it over before coming to class.

Skimmed over it? You should have read it line by line, Mr. Fuller. You might be sorry, you only skimmed through it. You might have a pop quiz this hour…one can never tell.

I’ll be good, Mr. Wymer. I’ve got it locked down in the ole brain, here. He gestured toward his frizzy head.

It seems to me, you’re under the illusion, you can sail by the seat of your pants, yet you might be in for a rude awakening, Bradley! Wymer laughed at the end of his sentence, looking down at Brad with eyes of contempt. Then, he parked himself behind the desk, where he was occupied with a paper clip and rubber bands. Wymer motioned for Brad to take a seat.

You, friggin freak, Brad muttered under his breath, scooting his way down a narrow aisle, edging towards the back of the classroom where the window was stuck and the radiator hissed. On a bad day, steam would blister the back of your neck, though Brad would choose popping steam over the scrutiny of fellow classmates any day of the week.

Did you say something, Mr. Fuller? I didn’t quite catch that. Wymer noted as a smile trickled off his face. I thought I heard you say something. Did you call me a name, Brad Fuller? Did I just hear you use the word, freak? Perhaps, you’d care to say it to my face.

Brad ignored the ill-mannered, little troll and took his seat near the radiator by the back wall, hoping to evade Wymer, yet knowing better than to wish for good fortune, because with Wymer, safety was an illusion. The small man with beady eyes, possessed the authority to humiliate Brad Fuller in front of the whole class.

To say Wymer was a monster would be a gross understatement: he was nothing short of a full fledge terror, a true hellion of the academic department. If this man and so many like him deserved to be a teacher, then perhaps, Charlie Manson deserved to be a high school principal. Why not?

Brad’s attention quickly shifted from Wymer and his scare tactics as he heard a fellow student passing by in the hallway cry out his cursed name. Look! There’s Woody Wood- Pecker! A hunky kid with clean cut hair and a neat middle part wailed out. It was Robert Alman, the puke. He lived to harass Brad Fuller. Alman, like many others, thought he owned the school, wishing the poor kids to transfer elsewhere.

Robert’s parents were blessed with the ability to make money on everything they laid their hands on. Yet, not once, did he nor his parents ever thank God for His blessings bestowed unto the family. Instead, they walked with pompous disposition and noses tilted in the air disapproving those with less means as them.

Robert Alman might be the star quarterback of the varsity football team in everyone else’s eyes at Elm Wood, but to Brad, he was merely a douchebag, representing another hurdle to overcome in the miserable existence of Bradley Westin Fuller.

Hey, Woody! another student screamed. Woody WoodPecker’s, here, you guys! The boy started laughing and pointing at Brad, while hovering in the doorway of the classroom. Wymer seemed to notice not the taunting within mere feet of his own desk. He sipped carefully his hot coffee and buried his nose in the gradebook.

Yo, bony! What’s up, my long nose brother? Someone else stated passing by. He quickly carried his fatty-bread self elsewhere.

Hey, ski slope. How’s it going, buddy? Sam Evans remarked, taking a seat next to Brad, making the morning suck harder.

The sight of Sam was enough to turn Brad’s stomach inside out. This jerk was worse than Wymer. His favorite pleasure was to slap Brad against the forehead with his massive meat hooks. This seemed Sam’s way of saying good morning to his large, pointy nose constituent.

Good morning, you, big nose freak, Shannon Price remarked, extending long manicured fingers towards Brad’s face. She giggled, licking her pouty lips while running her black finger nails up and down the length of his bulbous nose. Your skin is as soft as baby’s flesh…no blemishes anywhere. Too bad, you’ve got such a huge honker, though. That thing ruins everything! Shannon noted, scaling his nose with her witchy fingers.

The Queen Bee had spoken and wasn’t finished with insults. She was, in fact, only getting warmed up. Then came the attack: How do you live everyday looking the way you do? I mean, I would slit my wrists or something, if I had to live with a nose like yours! You’d be better to wear a paper bag over your head! Do us all a favor and go jump off a bridge! You’re a complete and total loser, you, poor, white, trash!

Easy, you guys. I think he’s a little sensitive this morning. Henry Drake said, ushering over to Shannon and Sam to add more fuel to the insurmountable rage inside Brad’s volatile young mind. We wouldn’t want the big baby to start crying, now would we? Ha…ha! But all joking aside---you are one bony, conflicted fool, alright! Have you ever once seen a naked girl before or do you just sit at home in your squat room all by yourself? I’d bet money that’s what you do. Ya sit alone in your small room, wanting to be like us! But, hey, I’ve got news for you my friend…you’ll never be one of us. We’re the elite, with big homes and even bigger bank accounts. You’ll always be a poor boy, no matter what.

I’d bet ya money, he’s never seen a girl without clothing on, Shannon sneered. You’ve never even been on a date have you, big nose? I know I never see you at any of our parties. Tell me, do you think of me when you’re all alone in your little-box room? Do you think of touching me under my shirt? Wouldn’t you love to squeeze my large breasts in your frail hands? Ha…ha! Loser! I know you think of me when you’re all alone. I creep into your head, don’t I? I rule your dreams, do I not?

Brad couldn’t think straight to mouth a single word to any of them, for his loving parents had taught him to always avoid a fight, turn the other cheek. Of course, his parents didn’t have to coexist with the likes of these three douchebags.

Under duress, burning with searing hate, Brad wished for a handgun of high caliber. A 9mm. or a .44 magnum perhaps would do the job! He smiled, envisioning himself taking aim at the three jackals standing over him. How sweet it would be, to finally have revenge on his tormentors. He could almost hear the loud cannon boom of the handgun and the screams of the dying.

Revenge would be most welcomed…

Now the three bullies hovered over Brad, like blood thirsty vultures surrounding a dead carcass, making Fuller wonder if this was what Hell was like: consistently being tormented by your peer’s day in and day out, never escaping the persecution of your fellow classmates?

Sam made the morning more enticing for Henry and Shannon by withdrawing an object from his book sac. Check this out, you guys! You guys will love this. He laughed, acting like he was going to slap Brad across the forehead. Then he punched Brad hard in his right arm. "Ha…ha.

That’s two for flinching, freak!"

He withdrew the magnifying glass and placed it on Brad’s large nose. Man! I didn’t think your nose could get any bigger, but I stand corrected! Look you guys at how gigantic his nose is now! I mean to say: Dumbo’s got the ears man, and you’ve certainly got the nose. Ha...ha!

Holy moly, Sam! Shannon swiped the magnifying glass out of his hand. You guys! Look at this conflicted fool’s, big honker of a nose! I bet I could use that big nose of yours to sit and spin, baby! I could grind my crotch all up and down that giant mountain you have! Ha…ha…!

Shannon Price was always a foul mouth, little minx. Maybe, you could shift the blame to her character. Either or…Brad’s only wish for her was to catch some form of an STD, living the rest of her life regretting her mistakes.

Shannon was quickly gaining a torrid reputation as the school tramp, for she would sleep with almost anyone she could wrap her long legs around. She was nothing short of trash, pure and simple. It didn’t matter, she was born of money. Her actions spoke louder than words ever could!

There was more to life than sex. Perhaps one day, Shannon would figure such out for herself, though Brad Fuller had his doubts, because once a slut, always a slut! The reality was of course, most people don’t change who they are. They get older and die, and this world seems a better place without them. Case closed!

It was rumored throughout Elm Wood, Shannon Price would become so intoxicated at the senior parties, she would pass out, leaving the door open for any drunken fool to have his way with her. Her clothes had a habit of vanishing off her supple body, and perversions which took place on the downstairs sofa might cause a prostitute to blush.

Older classmen admitted to snapping lewd and suggestive photos of the nude beauty while she lay unconscious on the sofa. Sometimes she made it to the bedroom before the beer and whiskey went straight to her head, shutting her down completely. It was there, she would be used like a rag doll then cast aside like garbage.

I could really do some serious spinning on that big nose of yours, Brad Fuller. Shannon said again, letting the insults continue to roll full steam.

Woody! Your nose is twice the size of your face! Henry Drake laughed, slapping Brad on the back with his heavy hand. Henry’s breath reeked from whatever he had choked down for breakfast this morning. He clearly had a bad case of the zacklies (when your breath smells zackly like your butt). He continued to breathe his stagnate breath in Brad’s face. Man! You are one dweeby loser. I’m betting you’ll never find out what it feels like to be with a girl! Get used to being alone. No girl could ever want you, that’s for sure! I hope you die all alone, white trash!

In unison, Sam, Henry and Shannon truly began berating Brad while others in the classroom noticed the scene starting to unfold at the back of the room. More laughter ensued as Brad fought back tears of humiliation and cries of embarrassment.

Brad would rather take a hot poker in the eye, than give these jackals the satisfaction of watching him cry. So, with all the dignity he could muster, he put on his big boy pants and locked away waves of hate and fiery tears, trapping them deep into the vault of his subconscious. Once there…they began to fester.

One day though, he wouldn’t bind his emotions, nor would he be accountable for his actions.

Brad would show no mercy towards his instigators: he would hurt them in a bad way.

When all seemed hopeless, as if the moment of merciless torment would never draw to an end and Brad would never find a moments peace, the bell for first period to begin sounded out. Thank, God! Fuller thanked the Lord for small miracles as the three turds took to their seats and the humiliation slowly came to an end.

If only for a short while…

Brad stewed in his seat, his mind livid with thoughts of carnage and bloodshed. Shannon Price and her goof-troop had infuriated the teenager beyond words. Had he a knife on him, he would have taken great pleasure in carving up their pretty faces, scarring them for life. He would cry tears of joy as Shannon, Sam, and Henry stood weeping over their mutilated appearances.

Brad considered sticking John Wymer in the lungs a time or two, for witnessing his evil teacher choke on his own blood would be exhilarating.

But Brad employed no knife, no means of exacting sweet vengeance on his fellow classmates or his wicked troll of a teacher. For the moment, he forced his mind to shut out all thoughts of carnage in an attempt to concentrate solely on biology class. He was, after all, an A student. At least, he had a little ray of sunshine filtering through his broken life with such an accomplishment.

It was time for class to commence. John Wymer stood his bony-self up, taking to the podium, striking a large wood ruler on its side, calling for the class to settle down and come to order.

Now for the ones of you who missed out on class yesterday, you’re going to be very sorry you did, for today, I’m giving a pop quiz on material covered. You will either make a 100 or you will all but fail as I’m giving only one question. Some of you really can’t afford another zero in this class! You know who you are!

He paused for effect, letting worry seep into their young minds, as a thin smile lit up the corner of his odd shaped, alien face. He looked like E.T. on crack standing up there so high and mighty, rocking the podium.

When a barrage of mumbling and whining rose through the classroom, Wymer gave the podium another slap. It was clear---everyone in class knew to shut their mouths and face forward.

Welcome to the real world, ladies and gentlemen. In the real world, there’s no room for whining! If you fail this quiz, it will be because you chose not to review your notes from yesterday’s lecture! I can record zeros all day, if I must. It’s no skin off my back. You’re responsible for learning this material.

Now. Shall we begin? He tapped at the podium once more with the ruler. Even for a dried-up, raisin looking, dude, Wymer was able to coax fear into the class, becoming smitten in their distress. He was a little shrimp of a man who prided himself with scare tactics and watching a student struggle under his glare---never would he admit aloud---made him delightfully happy.

John Wymer resembled a skeleton hunkered over the podium with barely an ounce of flesh to cover his extremities. His too pale face, sunk in cheek bones, and deep rings around the eyes reminded Brad of his favorite horror flick, Return of the Living Dead.

Intimidation was the true way Wymer sought to control the classroom. He noted the importance of keeping order, else you run the risk of students walking over you, and for students to command control would lead to anarchy. This was something John Wymer would never tolerate in his classroom.

Wymer opened his mouth to yawn, baring teeth so crooked and stained in yellow residue from too many years of consistent nicotine abuse and coffee runs.

After the class got a grand peek at his horrible teeth, Wymer continued forward with his scare tactics by waving the ruler above his head as if he were about to cast a spell of sorts.

What is the definition of osmosis? Wymer asked the class. Suddenly, everyone perked up, shutting their mouths, as an eerie calm enveloped the room. Somehow the air seemed heavier now in midst of the classroom.

Brad assured himself, it was Wymer’s antics making him feel on edge and he wasn’t experiencing a coronary, though his hand trembled as he tried to grasp his number 2, black warrior pencil, while a tiny bead of salty sweat scrolled down his cheek.

When you finish, you may go to the library and find a book to read. Wymer continued with his spill. "And I mean, you best be reading when I get over there. No fooling around!

Understood? You’ve got the remainder of the period to put something on paper and hand in. Now get on with it. No talking and no more whining!" He slammed the ruler down, driving his point home.

Within approximately fifteen minutes, ninety-nine percent of the classroom had cleared out leaving only Brad Fuller and Edward Sane, Brad’s best friend in the whole stinking world, to endure John Wymer.

Even as a tenth grader in present day 1985, Fuller was able to acknowledge the reality of something being extremely wrong with his biology teacher. It was evident something had gone astray in the wiring of John Wymer’s brain. The little man seemed to get his rocks off on making people feel small and unworthy. Brad had once heard this condition known as short-man-syndrome by his father.

As for the man’s breath, it reeked of a vile, pungent stench, as if he feasted daily on cow dung and flossed his teeth with horse droppings. To Brad, Wymer’s breath was like hot garbage.

Hate filled with an atrocious, nauseating breath seemed to mark a bad combination for any teacher, but this was best as could be expected for Brad, Edward and two others of Brad Fuller’s awkward little clique.

Long ago, Brad had abolished his faith in the Lord above, turning to the world instead for answers, for it dawned on him, if God was just, how would He allow such torture and persecution to exist? Were Shannon Price and her loathsome crew destined to have the upper hand in everything?

From his vantage point, Brad couldn’t see where God was in charge of anything, and so, Brad began to ponder what could he have done wrong to anger the Almighty? Perhaps there were no answers to be found in religion or secularism.

Often Brad wished not being of this cruel world. Many nights had he waited for Death’s icy grip to come and take him to the place where shadows dwell and the sun shines not. Yet even Death had Its own agenda, thereby refusing to steal the young teenager and end his suffering at the hands of others.

Brad was convinced, there was no hope, no God…only the taste of sweet revenge and how one day he would claim his moment to shine.

We’ve got to make those fools pay! No screwing around from this point on! Brad Fuller wailed, sinking further down on the soft edge of Edward Sane’s full size bed. Ben Green was also present, shaking his red head in agreement with Brad. Yes, someone needed to dispense justice on the elite ones, for it was time for to stand ground against Shannon Price and Robbie Brian.

It was four o’clock…school had let out an hour ago. The torture had come to a halt for now, but tomorrow, another day to walk in fear. With Edward and Ben at the foot of the bed, Brad told the tale of how embarrassment walked into Wymer’s biology class this morning: You missed it earlier today, before class started! Brad explained. They were on me like white on rice. They didn’t pause to take a breath, and like vultures circling fresh kill, I stood not a chance in hell of escaping persecution!

What did those sucks call you today? Edward asked the distraught teen.

You know, the usual: Ski slope, Big nose, Woody Woodpecker! But Sam made the whole situation harsher when he withdrew a magnifying glass from his book sac. Shannon Price and Henry Drake put in their two cents worth. I know this is wrong and evil in thought, but I wish for their deaths daily. I know my life would be much easier without those douche bags in it!

Didn’t Wymer see what was going on in the classroom? I mean, where was he, when all this was occurring? I bet, he had his alien face buried in the gradebook, huh? Ben asked.

You know Wymer never gets involved, when it comes to Shannon Price and her lackeys. He’s scared he might actually lose his teaching position from the school board members. As it stands, Wymer is the biggest wuss I know of. He lets Shannon Price and the rich ones do as they please. I betcha a dollar, he’s getting paid, under the table, to look the other way! As far as I’m concerned, John Wymer could fall off the face of the planet too.

I don’t see anything wrong with your nose, man. It’s just like everyone elses; it’s full of boogers and snot.

Those guys are just being jerks. They’re being the true douche bags they really are, Ben noted to his friend. I wish they would die off too. So, I guess that makes me sick too, then.

Here’s the thing you guys: I know I have a large nose; I don’t need people constantly reminding me of the fact every day. Listen, here’s something no one knows: I’m saving my money to undergo a rhinoplasty. Because, I would kill to have a nose like either one of you.

I’ll trade you my zitty face for your nose any day of the week! Edward said, slapping his friend lightly on the back. Your face is ten times clearer than mine will ever be. I’ll never have a girlfriend looking this hideous. I’ll likely die a virgin, never knowing what it’s like to have someone love him.

Yeah, I get that, Edward, but at least, you guys don’t have to wear coke bottles on your eyes Ben stated to his buddies. Everyone in my family has bad eyesight, so like them, I’m destined to wear corrective lenses the rest of my life. I know, I can’t see squat without my glasses, that’s for sure. I’ll probably be a four-eyed, little geek the rest of my days.

Have you looked into wearing contact lenses, man? I hear those things are pretty up and coming this day and time. You may could ditch those glasses for good. Then, you could be quote, unquote: normal.

I’ve talked it over with my eye doctor. Unfortunately for me, they don’t yet have a contact lens available for someone who has astigmatism. Whenever my doctor tells me to bring my finger as close as possible to my nose, I always see double. So, for me, it’s wear these coke bottles or wander the world blind.

We each have our own personal demons to face, but those maggots make it harder to carry on. Sometimes I think, I’m going to implode with the rage and hate bottled inside me, Edward remarked.

Wouldn’t it be nice, for once in our lives, to witness those suckers getting what they so richly deserve? I could think of nothing greater to plant a smile on my big nosed face, then to see those creeps knocked off their self-proclaimed thrones. I’m talking pure bully bloodshed here, fellas! Brad stated.

Man! That would be like having your cake and eating your ice cream too, Ben agreed. A smile lit the corner of his mouth. Maybe, we could take control of the school. Everyone would bow before us. They would have too, right?

At least you two might have it made in a couple of years. But me, I’ll be stuck with my problem, til I find the means of rescue.

What do you mean Ben and I might have it made? Edward inquired.

I mean simply this: one day Edward, your face will clear up, and you will have your pick of the litter of girls. As for you, Ben, one day science will evolve and produce a contact lens for astigmatism, so you can lose those glasses once and for all, and Emily, well…she’s perfect the way she is, wouldn’t you agree?

You’re really going to have a rhinoplasty? Ben took the liberty of shifting the subject.

It’s the only way, I will have peace in my life. You guys don’t understand what it feels like to walk into places and have people stare at you like you’re a creature from another planet! I didn’t ask to be born this way!

What’s the price tag for such a procedure, bud? Edward questioned his distraught friend. "It’ll run me around five thousand dollars to have it done the way I want. I can’t wait to walk

freely into a place and have people look at Me, not my big nose. There’s so much more to me than what people see. If they would only give me a chance."

Yeah, I hear, ya. Then: "Do you have anywhere close to five-grand