The Bullies Won’t Win

By Anna-Margaret Moreland

Three girls are sitting on a bench in a playground at break-time. Girl#1 is checking her make-up; Girl#2 is fixing her hair and Girl#3 is openly texting. Jessica approaches other girls. She is wearing no make-up; her hair is pulled back into a bun and she is carrying a bulky schoolbag on her back using both straps.

Jessica: [smiling brightly] Hi girls!

Girl#1: [gives Jessica dirty look]

Jessica: [slightly nervously] Would it, um, be okay if I, um, maybe sat with you?

Girl#2: Listen, Jennifer.

Jessica: [smile falters slightly] It’s Jessica.

Girl#3: [to friends] Like we care!

Girl#2: Well Jessica there’s not much room for you.

Jessica: [smiles wistfully] I’m small. I won’t take up that much space.

Girl#1: Listen, you just don’t fit in with our image. Go hang out with the other weirdoes like yourself!

Jessica: [alarmed] How don’t I fit in?

Girl#3: Well for starters your hair – I mean were you going for the ‘I’m-still-in-primary-school look’? Also what’s with the giant bag? Or the fact you’re wearing your skirt at your waist and your shirt’s neatly tucked in?

Girl#1: [bluntly] And then there is the fact that you’re wearing zero make-up. You look positively sickly.

Girl#2: [to friends] You don’t have to be so mean. I heard she doesn’t have much money.

Girl#1: [gasps] Oh please don’t tell me you live in a… [scrunches up nose in distaste] a council estate!

Jessica: [looks like a kicked puppy] What’s wrong with that?

Girl#3: [rises and grabs Jessica’s arm] It doesn’t fit with our image and its people like you who bring down our school’s reputation! You’d be better off someplace else unless you want us to make your life a living hell.

At Jessica’s house in her sparse room – there is a bed, a bedside table, a lamp, a chair and a second-hand TV. Jessica sits with her back against the door. Her head is in her hands with her hair half-hanging out of its previously perfect bun and dangling around her face. Her blazer lies ripped at her feet. There are cuts on her arms and a bruise, in the shape of a handprint, is slowly forming on her left cheek. She raises her head displaying her red-rimmed eyes, blotched skin and tears trailing down her cheeks. Jessica stands up and walks to the edge of the stage.

Jessica: [to the audience in an unemotional and detached voice] That was the beginning of it. The beginning of the past three months of name-calling; hiding litter in my bags and locker, throwing things at me, pulling my hair and pushing me to the ground to kick me continuously. They basically made me a laughing stock of the entire school. The beatings and constant harassment got worse if I cried. And then it was worse still when they saw the marks on my arms that I hid from everyone. They laughed and jeered at me; telling me to cut deeper next time. Thinking it over, I can see that it would be an escape. I could get away from it all. Be free. [look turns peaceful]

A slamming of a door is heard. Jessica turns to look at her closed bedroom door. Her peaceful look turns disturbed, then thoughtful, finally resting on resolved.

Mum: [calls from ‘downstairs’] Jessica, you home honey?

Jessica: [turns back to look out at audience] [in a steely tone] No! It may be an escape but it’s the way to run away from my problems. I need to face them. [takes deep breath] I need to talk to someone about it. I need to tell my mum about what I’ve been hiding from her these last few months. I won’t let them win.

Jessica exits, curtain falls.

The End.