I think I should put a disclaimer on this one, which happened in sixth grade. It's violent, disgusting, and one of the most humiliating things that ever happened to me at school. This was incredibly traumatic, and I really suggest that you don't read further if you think it might disturb you. It's kind of long, so I'll spread it out over a few days.
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In sixth grade, I was already the weird kid that everyone either fucked with or avoided entirely. I was far less than five feet tall and the shortest kid in sixth grade. I also had started to avoid using the restrooms if possible, but sometimes, when I had no other choice, I made an exception and risked a visit.
Usually, I waited until the middle of a class, so I could be relatively sure that there wouldn't be other kids in the bathroom—or, more importantly, there was less chance of running into a kid that would threaten me or chase me out. But, unfortunately, waiting doesn't always work out.
For lunch, I ate a roast beef sandwich I'd brought from home. I'd made it myself and piled it high because it was one of my favorites. I put a little mustard on it, too. I ate every last bite of it in my isolated spot by a tree on the edges of the lunch area (a place I'd chosen because it was far from most people and close to the teacher's lounge, so it was relatively safe).
My first class after lunch was history, and by the time I made my way across the campus, I knew something was wrong. My stomach started rumbling pretty badly, and I started sweating. Still, I went into the classroom, hoping it would go away. As soon as I sat down, I knew that wouldn't happen. I raised my hand and left to find the closest restroom.
It was right after lunch, and class had just started, so I figured I would be alone, which I was at first. Good thing because my insides just poured out of me as soon as I sat down.
But right away, I heard footsteps, and two boys walked in.
One of them called my name.
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