Catse2000: It's actually been a long time since I posted anything fruitful on Fiction Press. After looking through some old short stories I wrote, I decided it wouldn't be that bad an idea to share the short stories I've written for those that might like to read them.

So, this is going to be a series of short stories based on ideas that inspired me. They're meant to open the mind, improve inspiration-and hopefully move the reader. And of course, if you really liked the story, or have some ideas or experiences you'd like to share-feel free to post them in the comments! You might inspire my next story, or someone else's for that matter :)

Enjoy!

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Change Me - Story 1 - Hope

I'd seen her many times on my way home from school, but today was the first time I'd seen her here, in the hallways. I was a little shocked to see her cleaned up—her tangled mess of hair brushed to a somewhat organized layer on her back—and a clean uniform on her thin bony little body.

Her lip hung open sort of dumbly, and her eyes were wide and staring—but it was definitely her. My mind shifted through the trunk of memories I kept there, trying to find a hint or a clue as to why she was here wearing the uniform, but it didn't find anything. I hadn't heard a word of the poor homeless girl joining our school.

They must have lowered the tuition—I thought, hugging my books closely to me as the school bell rang. She wouldn't have gotten in here otherwise.

Then again, she barely eats. How did her family have the money to bring her here in the first place?

Sponsor. That must be it.

I walked with the sea of other girl students on our way to our first class of the day.

I actually put that poor little girl out of my memory for a little while, as school work and other daily tasks took up my mind.

It wasn't until Lunch that I remembered her.

I had purchased my usual wheat bun with salad and was on my way to my usual seat under the school's Oak tree, when I saw her again.

She sat by herself, huddled on a bench outside the cafeteria. She had nothing with her to eat—a part of me had expected to see a brown paper bag or something, but she had nothing.

It occurred to me then that she probably didn't have food to bring with her. Whatever program got her into this school must not have put aside the funds to buy her lunch everyday. She'd probably go through the day without a bite to eat.

I stared at my own meal, for a moment determining the possibility of sharing it with her.

But I decided against it. Even if it was the nice thing to do, I didn't want her following me around like some sort of stray dog. She could puppy-eye someone else into giving her scraps.

I felt bad. How many other people would consider giving her food. It's not like I didn't have the money. Mother gave me a good allowance every week.

Maybe tomorrow I'd see if I could buy her something and hide it under her bench or something. Make sure she ate at least tomorrow, without letting her know it was me.

Lunch ended and I went back to class. I forgot about her again until school ended, and caught a brief glimpse of her leaving the school grounds.

She was walking with no shoes, and for a moment I wondered if I had seen her wearing any at all today.

I'm sure she was. They wouldn't have let her go to class without any shoes.

Maybe she left them here at the school for some reason. Maybe she was afraid other people on the street would take them.

I pushed it from my mind and texted my mother I'd stop by the store on my way home. I made sure to take the long route, because I didn't want to pass the spot where she and her father begged for money.

For the next week I caught similar glimpses of the homeless girl to and from school. There was a rumor that someone had taken her shoes that first day, but a teacher at the school managed to get her a new pair without anyone being any wiser to it.

On another day she was missing her jacket and another teacher gave her a tough spanking to remind her how important her uniform was.

I brought extra money to buy her lunch, but she didn't really appear at the Cafeteria for the most of that week, and I didn't want to buy the extra and have know one to give it to, so I kept the money on me.

It wasn't until another week had passed that I realized she was being bullied.

It should have occurred to me the first day she left without her shoes. Homeless she might have been, but she wouldn't have been so careless as to lose something so important—especially considering she was getting an OPPORTUNITY to attend our school.

I saw the first real instance of her bullying when I stepped out of class to use the restroom. Three girls had her pinned in the corner, just before the stalls, and were taking turns slapping her to see how long it would take before she started crying.

It hurt me then to see it, but it was only me to defend her. I couldn't do anything even if I wanted to.

And the girls beating on her were notorious bullies. They smoked on school grounds, and rumor had it they beat a girl so bad she couldn't walk anymore. They looked at me as if I'd be next if I tried anything.

I washed my hands quickly and left.

When I got home that day, and my brother asked me how the day had gone, I told him about what I had seen.

He immediately chastised me.

"You left that poor girl in there to get harassed! Shame on you!" He declared.

I flinched at the tone in his voice. "But what could I do? There's just me!"

"So what, you let her take the abuse while you hide like a chicken? How is that much better?"

"It's different for boys." I said. "Girls are meaner."

"Meaner? Oh really?"

"Yeah." I said, but my voice sounded whiny. "They have long nails, and they pull your hair. You don't know what girls are like."

My brother gave me such a look of doubt, that I felt guilty for even trying to defend myself.

"And the bullying for boys is different? Tell me the last time someone punched you in the gut just because they could."

I looked at my shoes. "You, when I was five."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "I'm being serious here."

"It's not the same." I replied, trying not to look him in the eyes. "Boys usually do the same things. They're predictable. You can learn to fight that. Girls aren't. They brainstorm day and night on how to get even with you. They're creative."

"Then you be even more creative." He said. "That little girl already has a tough life. She doesn't get to eat during the day. She probably doesn't have a roof over her head when she sleeps. And now she has the opportunity to go to school, and she has THAT to look forward to every day. What do you think happens next to a girl like that?"

I didn't want to answer. I didn't want to think about it.

I'd heard the cases of kids that were bullied for too long, and couldn't take it anymore. Just a year ago, a boy in the district next to ours jumped from a roof and fell to his death. They said he was bullied by other boys in his grade, and no one had done anything about it.

I thought of the homeless girl, standing on the edge of our school building, staring at the city scape. Imagined her just taking a casual step off-

"You'd want someone to help you if you were being bullied, right?"

I would. I'd really want it.

I thought about what he said all through the evening, and it dug a little hole in me all day at school the next day.

At lunch I didn't see her again, but I found myself buying an extra wheat bun anyway. Even if she wasn't here, I'd make sure she got it. Someone has to help her. And it seemed no one else would.

I carried it in my bag all lunch period, and then figured I'd give it to her when I saw her at the end of the day.

But I didn't see her. Not all day and not at the end of the day either.

I walked home, a little dejected. I knew my brother would chastise me about it when he heard I didn't do anything. There wasn't anything I could do. I tried to find her.

I'd just have to do better tomorrow.

That was until I turned the corner from the school and saw her bent down on the floor, her head practically pressed against the cement of an alleyway by a bully's foot.

The bully, a tall girl I knew as Kazue, glared at the girl with such distaste.

"You're a disgrace. To attend school with someone like you is just gross." She said.

Her friends giggled. One threatened to pour the contents of her can of peach juice on the girl. Fear ran up my spine, but I found myself staring at the homeless girl. She was staring back at me.

For a moment, I was lost in her glassy eyes.

She shed no tears. Her face wasn't wet, and her lips weren't even turned in a frown.

In fact, when she saw me, she gave a very tiny smile, like she didn't even know she was being hurt.

I thought of her standing on the roof of the school again, letting the wind tug at her hair-taking a step into nothingness—

I fisted my hands around the straps of my back pack.

No.

She doesn't deserve that.

Without thinking, I dropped my bag next to my feet, and kicked it away. My back grew rigid (like I'd seen my brother do before when he was defending himself against his friends) and faced them.

"Leave her alone!" I shouted, but my voice was so shaky it sounded more like a loud squeak.

The girls all glanced at me, and Kazue took her foot from the homeless girls head.

"What did you just say?" She asked, brushing past her friends on her way to get to me.

I looked behind me. This route had a lot of people. She wouldn't try to bully me in public would she?

But even as the fear welled in me, I looked at the girl again, and found resolve.

She doesn't deserve this. NO ONE deserves this.

"Leave her alone. She doesn't deserve to be b-bullied." I said. My voice still shook, but I felt it was stronger this time—more confident.

Kazue was now two inches away from me.

"Who says she's getting bullied, huh?" Kazue said, shoving me hard in the shoulders. "Huh?"

I pointed at the girl. "She obviously doesn't like it."

"And so that makes me a bully?" She smiled cruelly. "Girls, am I a bully?"

"No." Said the girl with peach juice. "You're more like a cop. Keepin' the justice."

"Poor girls like her need to be taught a lesson. School is no place for the homeless. She should stay where she belongs! On the streets." Said the second. She suddenly kicked the homeless girl in the side, and she grunted loudly on the concrete. The air from her nostrils kicked up a whirl of dust.

Panic fueled me.

"Stop it!"

I tried to run past Kazue, but she grabbed my arm hard and yanked me back to the street.

"What's your problem, huh? I already told you we're not bullyin' the girl. Now run along and this cop doesn't have to arrest you, right?" She pushed me away, and turned back to her friends and the homeless girl.

I watched with watery eyes as the homeless girl just stared at me.

Those eyes lacked life. They lacked any sort of faith. She knew from the moment I came here, that I wouldn't change a thing.

Somewhere in those dark eyes, she'd just accepted that this was what her life was.

That just made me even angrier.

"I. Said. Stop." I declared.

Kazue paused in her stride and slowly turned around to face me.

"What did you just sa—"

Before she had a chance to finish her statement, I ran up at her with a balled fist, swung it back like I'd seen my brother do, and clapped her right in the cheek.

She stumbled back a moment—dazed-and I raised my fists like a boxer.

Fear didn't run in me anymore. Adrenaline did.

My mind was running in circles.

No more. No more. No more.

No more bullying.

She turned to me again, a little surprised that I'd tried it and ran the palm of her hand along her cheek.

"You little bitch—" She said.

I aimed for her gut this time and she caught my fist.

"Now you're gonna learn what happens when you fight with me."

My Mom was horrified when I showed up to my door, black and blue with a swollen eye, a dirty uniform, and a new best friend.

She raised such a fuss about what had happened to me, that I think the entire neighborhood could hear her through the walls.

My brother saw me, and he cracked a proud smile and patted me on the head. When he saw the homeless girl, he put his hand out and asked her for her name.

"Kyoko." She replied, a little startled that he had asked, and bowed politely.

My brother waved it off and invited her in to sit on our coach.

Mom called the school to complain, and I brought out the first aid kit to see what we could do about her cuts and scrapes. My brother brought a bag of ice for my eye.

When it was all said and done, and Mom had raised her fit, Kyoko was invited to stay for dinner and we ate.

I learned a lot about her during that time, and was very surprised.

She had been homeless until a month ago—but her father had finally managed to get a job somewhere that didn't mind him not having a High School Diploma. The money wasn't the greatest, and they weren't rich, but after saving money for an entire year, they'd managed to put enough money together so she could go to school.

Her father had insisted she get her education, even though he hadn't, because he didn't want her to grow up and live the way he had.

And even though she couldn't eat lunch every day, she could at least eat dinner at night, and she was very grateful to at least know there was a meal waiting for her when she got home.

My mother had sympathy for her, and told her she could come to our house anytime.

She thanked us with a sincerity I don't think I'd ever experienced up close.

After dinner, my brother offered to walk her to her house and I went too. I wanted to see where she lived. As we walked, we told jokes and pointed out things we'd seen at certain places. She was surprisingly knowledgeable about things. Read pretty much anything she could get her hands on from magazines to books. When we got to her house, she turned to me with the most innocent smile I'd ever seen, and gave me a hug.

"Thanks for talkin' to me." She said. "Even if you don't tomorrow, I'm glad you talked to me today."

I didn't get a chance to respond as her Dad came out. He bowed his thanks to us for walking her home, and we waved to her as we left.

As we were walking back, my brother elbowed me with a grin on his face.

"You look horrible." He said. "Those girls really did a number on you. You shouldn't have fought them head on like that."

"But you said—"

"Does it hurt?"

I set my hand on my face and nodded. "Yeah. A lot."

"Good. Remember that pain."

I found myself glaring at him. "What for? It really hurts."

"Yeah, it does doesn't it. But you know what?"

"What?"

"Hers hurt more. And if you hadn't helped her when you did, she probably would have those wounds too. Sharing it at least makes it hurt less."

I was quiet for a long time, thinking about what he said. I'd never thought about it that way, and I couldn't say that what he said was right or wrong. I certainly didn't want to get beat up every time I helped someone.

But at the same time, I couldn't replace the feeling of satisfaction I felt at having DONE something. I also couldn't get the words she'd said out of my head.

"Thanks for talkin' to me. Even if you don't tomorrow, I'm glad you talked to me today."

Why wouldn't I talk to her tomorrow? What a silly notion.

And then it occurred to me. The things I took for granted, where the things she couldn't have. I thought everyone should be able to communicate to each other, even if the things they said weren't friendly or appropriate. But how many people actually talked to her in a day? How many people bothered to help her in any way? How many people actually told those BULLIES to back off?

It was a PRIVILEGE for me not to know pain. A PRIVILEGE to know conversation. A PRIVILEGE to have food, and clean water, and a bed to sleep in. Not a given.

In growing up where I had, I'd forgotten that.

My brother knew I'd get hurt if I defended her, but he also knew I'd learn what a PRIVILEGE it was to be able to not say anything, and yet not get hurt.

Unlike her. Unlike Kyoko.

A resolve built in me that day. We went inside and I began thinking about what I would do tomorrow, and the day after.

I didn't want things to end like this. I didn't want her to be isolated again.

So on the next day, I woke up early, and walked the short distance to her house.

She was so surprised to see me outside, she almost went back in.

I waved to her, and told her I wanted to walk to school with her.

Then, when she got to the gate, I gave her a piece of toast I'd stolen from breakfast.

She didn't want to take it, but I insisted that Mom gave me too much breakfast and she should have it. And hey, on the days she had too much breakfast, she could give me some too.

We walked to school together, and when the bullies saw us they frowned, but I didn't care. There were two of us. Give us time, and there might be more. Bully us then.

We separated at the first bell for classes, and at Lunch I bought her a wheat bun. She insisted she'd pay me back. I waved it off and said she'd buy me something later.

For that entire week, we got to know each other a lot more, and lo and behold, we had a lot of in common. By the end of the year, the bullies stopped messing with us. There wasn't much they could do, when every girl they bullied ended up as one of our friends. It actually became something of a thing really—kind of like a club without a title.

Kazue, the main bully, eventually left the school. I guess she couldn't handle so many eyes staring at her every day, just waiting for her to make a move. Or so many people so willing to give her what she gave me that first day I fought with her.

I'm not going to say I didn't get beat up again. There were many more days after I befriended Kyoko that I went home with lumps and bruises. But every time I just put an ice pack or a bandaid, and I knew tomorrow would be different.

You should have seen Graduation.

Kyoko was Valedictorian, first in our class. A real genius. And compared to her first days at school, she had an entire team of girls that saw her off with flowers and cards.

She cried and cried and must have hugged all of us a hundred times before the ceremony was over. Her Dad was there too, and he took as many pictures as he could.

I still hear from her today. I'm married now, with three kids, but she still finds the time in her busy schedule to call me on my birthday.

She's one of the richest people in the world right now, opened her own company and has become a conglomerate. No one would have ever known that homeless little girl would have made it so great.

When I tell my family about her, they laugh at the antics that happened. About the black eyes, and the missing teeth—the big grins and then we share photographs of all of the things we did together.

My brother just smiles, and pinches my cheek, and says—"Look what you did."

"I didn't do anything, it was all her." I said.

He just shakes his head.

"Nope. You gave her the one thing she needed the most, but could never have."

"Oh yeah, and what's that? Food. Friendship."

He looks me in the eyes.

"Nope." He says."She could have had those if she tried hard enough."

He frustrates me and I cross my arms.

"What then Mr. Smarty-pants?"

A twinkle enters his eye, and he points one finger in the air.

"Hope." He says."You gave her Hope."