A GENTLE HAND A PAINFUL KICK

I was sitting in my wheelchair at the school playgrounds, next to the red, double entrance door. That way, I didn't have to struggle as much to get inside the school building. The school I went to was a big, five-storied building painted in yellow and white., with a big, green container on the right side, and a broken dustbin and a green bench on the left side. The whole play ground at school seemed to be built in a wave-like fashion, making it hard for a boy who was dependent on his wheelchair to move around without help. The sun was shining, and most of the students were running around in T-shirts and shorts, playing soccer and such. I looked at them, playing. I envied them, but at the same time, a part of me got happy, seeing them so high-spirited. True, I didn't like it when people bullied me, and from time to time, I was really angry at some of these happy, carefree kids, for treating me like shit. But sometimes, rarely, but it happened, I got happy, seeing them play, even if I couldn't join them. (I know it sounds strange) I was thinking about a Japanese song called "Please don't go away", by Faye Wong. I smiled, as I remembered the lyrics. The words in that song, the melody, everything felt so soothing.

Suddenly, I felt my wheelchair get pulled backwards, and I was looking straight into the face of the number one bully in class. "How's it going, drop-out? haven't heard you scream in a while." Every muscle in my body tightened as I got filled with contempt for this asshole. "Let go of my wheelchair." I asked him, not being able to do anything else in that situation. "I cannot kill time that way, can I?" He giggled gleefully. I fell silent with this. I knew he wouldn't listen to me, anyway. I heard the familiar sound of the supports on the wheelchair, that prevents me from hitting my head if I lean backwards, be kicked off, and the asshole pulled at the wheelchair again. I fell out of the wheelchair, hitting my head on the ground. I felt dizzy, and a certain sickening feeling started building in my throat. The back of my head felt sore from the fall, as I looked into his eyes. I tried to get up, but he pushed me back roughly. Then he bent down, and ripped my pants open. There they were, the needles in my legs that would make my legs get longer. My dad always screwed on them once a day, making the needles drag their way through my legs. They got about a millimeter longer every day. I was a few months into the operation, and the dragging of the needles through my legs had produced long, deep cuts that bled alot. I realized what he was about to do the second he'd ripped my pants open. I tried to get up one last time, but he just pushed to the ground again. He started kicking my sore legs, and I screamed out. "How's that, drop-out? Haven't felt like this in a way, eh?" He laughed, and resumed the kicking. I threw up as the pain worsened with each kick. My eyesight got blurred as angry and inferior tears leaked from them.

Suddenly, the kicking stopped, and I heard the bully yell out for some reason. I tried to catch my breath from the beating, my legs hurt more than they'd ever done during this operation so far. "What the fuck is your problem?!" I was too tired to look up, but it sounded like my best friend's voice, what I could hear of it, at least.

I felt two firm, but gentle hands lift me up and set me in my wheelchair. "Torstein?" I could see him more clearly now, as the pain in my legs faded away. He's big, messy hair, his arm stretched forwards, a caring hand on my shoulder. "I'll get you home, mate, don't worry." I smiled happily. I wasn't scared. Not anymore.