Hi guys! Brave here! My and my friend are writing a book for this contest and we're looking for you're opinion. If you see any typos or mistakes or parts that don't make sense or sound weird or aren't needed please tell me, thanks!
(Hopefully there's not a maximum word count)
So, without further or do!
“Being kind is more important than being popular, smart, funny or good at sports. Always remember that.”That’s what my grandfather always used to tell me. “Value kindness more than anything else in life.” I thought through this as I adjusted my glasses onto my nose. I prepared myself for the vicious taunting I knew I would receive the instant I arrived at school that day. The brutal assaults, verbal and physical. All the names: four eyes, ultra-nerd... they never stopped. I didn’t know how much longer I could take it. Every day I walked to school with slumped shoulders, hat positioned so no one would recognize me. I had mastered the art of hiding myself, purely out of fear. As I walked past the school gates, I shivered and said to myself what my grandfather had told me, and prepared myself for the torment I was sure to face. I held back my tears as I reminisced about ‘Good ol Gramps’ as I called him. It had all gotten worse since last year, when he had died in his sleep. I missed a month of school after that, and I haven’t felt the same since.
I walked past Eric, my #1 bully. Well, I guess it was more like ran: if I was capable of running. I thought I was safe, but I was of course wrong.
“Hey four-eyes,” Eric called out. Eric wasn't friendly, he was unapproachable. Every now and then he would say things like "Hey, stupid" or "Hey, super nerd, did you do my homework?" Those were his friendly days.
“H-hello,” I muttered, slowly turning to face him. I kept my head down, trying to avoid looking into his piercing blue eyes.
“Hey, look, Mark, four-eyes is here!” he called out to his best friend, and partner in crime, Mark Adams.
“Hey, pal!” Mark greeted me, cruelly, as he approached me. I could tell in his manner, today, he was taking control of the torture. He had his days of glory, just as all recognizable school bullies did. “You know, we’re playing this game around school, where we flick other people when we see them. Just another fad. Here, it works like this,” he exclaimed, flicking off my glasses. “Sorry! I forgot one crucial rule... no head shots. Later loser!” he called out through laughter. I dropped to my knees and felt around on the pavement, thumbing my way through the rubble, closing my eyes to avoid getting the throbbing headache I knew I would receive if I attempted to look around. My vision was in the first percentile for 13 years old, so you can imagine the absolute blur I saw as I opened my eyes without my glasses. My mom said I wasn’t “responsible enough” for contact lenses, but I would be much more comfortable with them. CRUNCH! Oh, no, no, no!!!!! I thought to myself. I finally found my glasses, in shards, broken up in at least five pieces. It was times like this when I felt that I shouldn't be alive; I shouldn't exist. That my purpose in the universe was just to amuse the bullies. I choked back tears and reached into my pocket, and took my phone out. I had luckily developed the skill of memorizing where all digits on the phone were, without making an error. Due to my loneliness and depression I had no friends, no life! I would do pointless things just to amuse myself. I would do things like trying to remember my telephone digits or try to type without looking. I punched in my mom’s number. The phone rang twice, and then she picked it up.
“Hi, mom,” I whispered.
“Hi, Alex,” she replied cheerfully. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”
“Well, my glasses broke again,” I muttered, feeling the tears in my eyes.
“Well then, it sure is good we have a spare now, isn’t it?” she said in her usual cheery tone. “I’ll swing by and drop them off, then write Mr. Williams a note.”
“Thanks, mom,” I said.
After I ended the call, I appreciated how two people would always be beside me; My parents. They were always there for me, they always would try to help me. They would visit the school principle every week to check on how I was but it never helped though.
Humanities came easily, but up next was my dreaded class, one I believe was invented to torture me: gym. I feel that was created to ruin my life just as much as the bullies were. And they teamed up in third period, with Eric and Mark colliding with the already horrid gym time. I pulled back on my light brown, short cut hair, purely out of habit, knowing nothing was actually happening. It started out with warm-ups, and got worse from there. We were doing a basketball unit, the sport in which my talent for being bad is at it’s worst, or, I guess, best.
“Alex, blue team,” said Mr. Ryans, matter-of-factly, tossing me a jersey.
“Eric, green team,” he announced. “You too Mark.”
“Green vs Blue on the far court! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!!!
“I got four eyes,” called out Mark. Mr. Ryans glared at him. “Excuse me,” Mark corrected himself, clearing his throat. “I meant: I will guard Alex.”
I just stood there, as he zoomed past me, scoring point after point on me, without me even making an effort. I intentionally stayed guarded to avoid touching the ball. Unfortunately, Mark realized this, and intentionally left me open. I turned away from the ball as it came, but it was no matter. Mark drove his shoulder in to me, knocking me onto the ground, hard. “Oops,” he said, putting his hands up. “Foul on me.”
No one checked to see if I was okay, which I wasn’t. I felt miserable, non-existent. I felt as if I had the value of dirt. The instance I had the strength to get up, I couldn’t hold in the tears any longer. I sprinted out of the gym, tears pouring out of my eyes.
“ALEX,” Mr. Ryans called out after me. I didn’t hear him. Didn’t think. Just kept running.
By far, that was the worst day of my life. Sometimes I just want to die, days like this, I want to run away forever. Months have passed and nothing has changed except one thing; I think I truly understood what my grandfather meant. I think he meant that we should never try to fit in, we shouldn't change our ways because of peer pressure, or feel alone when we get bullied, we should always stay true and be kind to each other. We are all equal. The next day thoughts were whizzing past my head. Stand up to them! Stand up to them! You are strong, you are brave, courageous. No, you are not pathetic, you have a purpose in life. And it. Is. To. Be. You.The day I realized it’s true meaning, I felt like I belonged to something, I was someone, I am alive and I shall live. And on that day I understood something. "Life goes on."
Well, this is our story. Hopefully you like it.
(Hopefully there's not a maximum word count)
So, without further or do!
“Being kind is more important than being popular, smart, funny or good at sports. Always remember that.”That’s what my grandfather always used to tell me. “Value kindness more than anything else in life.” I thought through this as I adjusted my glasses onto my nose. I prepared myself for the vicious taunting I knew I would receive the instant I arrived at school that day. The brutal assaults, verbal and physical. All the names: four eyes, ultra-nerd... they never stopped. I didn’t know how much longer I could take it. Every day I walked to school with slumped shoulders, hat positioned so no one would recognize me. I had mastered the art of hiding myself, purely out of fear. As I walked past the school gates, I shivered and said to myself what my grandfather had told me, and prepared myself for the torment I was sure to face. I held back my tears as I reminisced about ‘Good ol Gramps’ as I called him. It had all gotten worse since last year, when he had died in his sleep. I missed a month of school after that, and I haven’t felt the same since.
I walked past Eric, my #1 bully. Well, I guess it was more like ran: if I was capable of running. I thought I was safe, but I was of course wrong.
“Hey four-eyes,” Eric called out. Eric wasn't friendly, he was unapproachable. Every now and then he would say things like "Hey, stupid" or "Hey, super nerd, did you do my homework?" Those were his friendly days.
“H-hello,” I muttered, slowly turning to face him. I kept my head down, trying to avoid looking into his piercing blue eyes.
“Hey, look, Mark, four-eyes is here!” he called out to his best friend, and partner in crime, Mark Adams.
“Hey, pal!” Mark greeted me, cruelly, as he approached me. I could tell in his manner, today, he was taking control of the torture. He had his days of glory, just as all recognizable school bullies did. “You know, we’re playing this game around school, where we flick other people when we see them. Just another fad. Here, it works like this,” he exclaimed, flicking off my glasses. “Sorry! I forgot one crucial rule... no head shots. Later loser!” he called out through laughter. I dropped to my knees and felt around on the pavement, thumbing my way through the rubble, closing my eyes to avoid getting the throbbing headache I knew I would receive if I attempted to look around. My vision was in the first percentile for 13 years old, so you can imagine the absolute blur I saw as I opened my eyes without my glasses. My mom said I wasn’t “responsible enough” for contact lenses, but I would be much more comfortable with them. CRUNCH! Oh, no, no, no!!!!! I thought to myself. I finally found my glasses, in shards, broken up in at least five pieces. It was times like this when I felt that I shouldn't be alive; I shouldn't exist. That my purpose in the universe was just to amuse the bullies. I choked back tears and reached into my pocket, and took my phone out. I had luckily developed the skill of memorizing where all digits on the phone were, without making an error. Due to my loneliness and depression I had no friends, no life! I would do pointless things just to amuse myself. I would do things like trying to remember my telephone digits or try to type without looking. I punched in my mom’s number. The phone rang twice, and then she picked it up.
“Hi, mom,” I whispered.
“Hi, Alex,” she replied cheerfully. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”
“Well, my glasses broke again,” I muttered, feeling the tears in my eyes.
“Well then, it sure is good we have a spare now, isn’t it?” she said in her usual cheery tone. “I’ll swing by and drop them off, then write Mr. Williams a note.”
“Thanks, mom,” I said.
After I ended the call, I appreciated how two people would always be beside me; My parents. They were always there for me, they always would try to help me. They would visit the school principle every week to check on how I was but it never helped though.
Humanities came easily, but up next was my dreaded class, one I believe was invented to torture me: gym. I feel that was created to ruin my life just as much as the bullies were. And they teamed up in third period, with Eric and Mark colliding with the already horrid gym time. I pulled back on my light brown, short cut hair, purely out of habit, knowing nothing was actually happening. It started out with warm-ups, and got worse from there. We were doing a basketball unit, the sport in which my talent for being bad is at it’s worst, or, I guess, best.
“Alex, blue team,” said Mr. Ryans, matter-of-factly, tossing me a jersey.
“Eric, green team,” he announced. “You too Mark.”
“Green vs Blue on the far court! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!!!
“I got four eyes,” called out Mark. Mr. Ryans glared at him. “Excuse me,” Mark corrected himself, clearing his throat. “I meant: I will guard Alex.”
I just stood there, as he zoomed past me, scoring point after point on me, without me even making an effort. I intentionally stayed guarded to avoid touching the ball. Unfortunately, Mark realized this, and intentionally left me open. I turned away from the ball as it came, but it was no matter. Mark drove his shoulder in to me, knocking me onto the ground, hard. “Oops,” he said, putting his hands up. “Foul on me.”
No one checked to see if I was okay, which I wasn’t. I felt miserable, non-existent. I felt as if I had the value of dirt. The instance I had the strength to get up, I couldn’t hold in the tears any longer. I sprinted out of the gym, tears pouring out of my eyes.
“ALEX,” Mr. Ryans called out after me. I didn’t hear him. Didn’t think. Just kept running.
By far, that was the worst day of my life. Sometimes I just want to die, days like this, I want to run away forever. Months have passed and nothing has changed except one thing; I think I truly understood what my grandfather meant. I think he meant that we should never try to fit in, we shouldn't change our ways because of peer pressure, or feel alone when we get bullied, we should always stay true and be kind to each other. We are all equal. The next day thoughts were whizzing past my head. Stand up to them! Stand up to them! You are strong, you are brave, courageous. No, you are not pathetic, you have a purpose in life. And it. Is. To. Be. You.The day I realized it’s true meaning, I felt like I belonged to something, I was someone, I am alive and I shall live. And on that day I understood something. "Life goes on."
Well, this is our story. Hopefully you like it.
