A Vanquished Enemy

Thus far, I have used this blog almost exclusively as an autobiographical outpouring. I intended for my other blog, Random Rejoinders, to provide me an outlet for my creative writing. Unfortunately, my schedule has not allowed me to keep up with the other blog, which means I have not devoted much time to writing creatively. I have therefore decided to use this blog to incorporate that creative writing. Although some future stories will be blatantly autobiographical in nature, there may be other stories that embellish, exaggerate, or work from just a tidbit of autobiographical truth. And so, without further ado...

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. No characters are based on real people, whether living or dead. Any resemblance to a real person is pure coincidence.

I was a chubby kid in middle school. A chubby kid who daily wished he could avoid everything associated with middle school. But my parents dutifully woke me up at the crack of dumb so that I could traipse to Midland Middle. I'd never get to high school if I didn't go, they told me each morning. I told them I was fine with that.

The bane of my existence at Midland was a kid by the name of Aaron Gray. Taller than most, though slim, and with a flat top haircut, Aaron was the official bully of the eighth grade. And not just of the eighth grade; his influence lingered throughout the cold blue-tiled hallways of the entire school. It was all I could do to avoid him and his clique.

Nice bod, they'd scream at me. Faggot's too good for us, they'd continue after I tried to head in the other direction. They'd follow up with any combination of grabbing my books, kicking me, or emptying the contents of my bag on the blue tile. An utterly demeaning existence.

Suffice it to say, I elected Aaron and his followers my sworn enemies.

I survived my final year at Midland. Barely.

After three months, high school beckoned. And I did something I cannot to this day believe that I did. I joined the football team. No one in my family ever played football. My parents were pacifists, for God's sake. But I had to prove myself. I had to show my peers - and more importantly me - that I could do it.

I showed up the first day and saw him. Aaron Gray. Already dressed in his pads, he took one look at me and began to laugh. The look in his evil green eyes made me hate him even more. I wanted to lunge for him. Strangle him. Something. But he would have beat the utter crap out of me. So, I staggered into the lockerroom convinced that this would be my only practice. Out on the field, Aaron had placed a bullseye on me. He aimed for me any chance he got. And he clobbered me. I could barely stand after that first practice. I decided never to return after the first one.

I went home that evening and talked to my father. Remember, a pacifist at heart. Though a pacifist, he told me that if I had decided to play football, that I had to be true to myself and stick with it. I hated the advice. I wanted so badly to let my father's words fall on deaf ears. But I couldn't. The next day saw me in football pads. And the next. And the next. Each day, taking the mental - and now physical - abuse from Aaron.

Then one day in early November, I walked into the lockerroom and saw a number of my teammates sitting in a stupor. I could sense a vague sadness settled within that room. An assistant coach saw the confusion on my face and explained that Aaron had been in a serious car accident. He explained that Aaron's legs were shattered and that both lungs were punctured. It didn't look good.

In fact, Aaron passed away only three days later from his wounds.

All I could think was...

Thank you, God.