Story that aint good, but has smthing important to me

The little child was stuck in the corner crying, head between his knees slowly sobbing softly at what life decided to offer him. The cold wind of the night slowly made it through the thin fabric of his clothing easily, chilling the flesh and bone under it. The boy was all alone, not knowing whether any one loved him, or whether anyone even cared what happened to him. He sat their like he did every night for the past four months and slowly cried himself to sleep.
He got up the next day slowly getting ready for the firs day of school school, listening to his father shouting at him to hurry otherwise he would be late. He got ready walked over to his best friend’s house, the only friend who didn’t know and who he thought would also runaway like the others, every night he prayed that he wouldn’t come to know fearing that he would be truly left alone.

They went to school in his friend’s car, his friend playing the same old Eminem song and talking to him as usual, this was probably the only highlight of his day, the only time someone actually spoke to him. They reached school just a few minuets early quickly rushing to their new classes. He reached his class, quietly sitting at his place everyone acting oblivious to his presence, no one talking to him, even looking through him as if he were invisible. He let out a quiet sigh closed his eyes and began thinking about what had gone wrong.

“You fucked up freak, stay away from us!” a stout boy shouted at this short slightly overweight boy. Another landed a nicely aimed punch on his face; he fell back crying not because of the pain, but because of the look of contempt he saw in his eyes. The stout boy looked even larger from the floor; he came towards the little boy and slowly spat on his face, “You’re a little psycho, know that? Only a psycho would write something like this.” Slowly the stout boy passed the piece of paper to all of his classmates, some looking at the boy on the floor with mirth after reading it. The boy looked at them all in a state of confusion and fear, looking at the piece of paper, wishing that he had never written anything in it. In that paper was a story written about a boy who killed himself after being denied love, the story seemed common enough but what separated it from the rest was the graphic image that it was presented with. “From today onwards no one will talk to this little fucker for ever! Understand?” that proclamation made by that stout fat boy had completely changed his life from then on…

He slowly laughed quietly as he was transported to the real world, laughing at that day; the day life decided that he should be alone. He looked around his classroom seeing the same old faces ignoring him as usual. Every one had changed their attitude towards him after that day, thinking that he was an untouchable and deserved to be with other untouchables, people who were to be ignored at all costs in fear that they too would become “bad boys” like them. A bad boy, he thought, a bad boy was what he had become after expressing his views on paper after his first heart break. The first two months from that day were tough, being empty, being looked through, being all alone. At nigh he would whisper the girl’s name he loved, crying wishing that she never refused him. He would at times try killing himself through various ways, but would get scared and would start crying again.

Finally one day he had the courage to pick up a small blade and tried to slit the vein on is wrists, but nothing happened, he tried going at it again and again, every slash going more furiously than before getting stronger at every slash. Fury engulfed him; his eyes started getting red from the tears that were forming in them. “Why isn’t this stupid thing working?” he shouted out. He fell on his knees, laughing mirthlessly at fate. No matter how hard he tried the skin would not break, there were just white scratches where he had tried…As he was laughing he suddenly felt a sharp pain on the side of his face, he looked up to see his best friend standing there with his hand formed into a fist and a scared look on his face… “What the fuck is wrong with you? Have you gone loco? What would happen to your parents if you were gone? What the fuck would happen to me?” his best friend the only one who stuck with him knelt down and wept…

Five years had passed from that day, he had changed, he was no longer alone he had a beautiful girl who loved him more than anything. She knew everything about him and loved what he wrote. He had true friends, people who liked him for what he was. His new friends were better than his old ones; one in fact got him back to writing and another encouraged him to try his hand at poetry. He looked at all the people who had ostracized him when he was younger, and laughed at them. They could no longer ignore him as he had forced himself to be accepted by all, some thought he was odd but all of them were of those kinds who tried to be what they weren’t, and they were no longer important. His best friend was soon going to leave and he was entering his final year, before his friend left, he went towards him and hugged him. While hugging him he felt something being slipped into his pocket, after his friend left he took it out and had the greatest shock of his life. In his hand was the very same piece of paper that he had written his story on, it had been patched up with tape where it had been torn. He looked through the entire story and saw something written in his friend’s and his girl’s handwriting, “Your best work yet!”

He started laughing, laughing in happiness, for friends and love…