bullying causes - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
I'm your bully. I don't hate you. I don't feel anything toward you one way or the other. To me you're a tool to vent my frustrations on, have some fun with, feel superior to. When I tease you I get a surge of power I just can't get another way. My mother likes coffee, my father loves a beer, I have you to make me look good.
Why you? Why not? You're small, scrawny, no friends who'd stick their neck out for you. With that over emotional high strung nature you're a gift. I call you something lame and we've got entertainment all day just watching you suffer. Am I sorry? Do I feel guilty? No, not really. It's just nature, right? Strong vs weak, and if anywhere in this concrete hell is still a jungle it's the schoolyard.
I see the new kid up ahead. If Tink and Bozza weren't here I wouldn't bother, but gotta keep up appearances I guess. So I call him all the same names we did yesterday plus a few more I got from some YouTube comedian. The boys laugh like they think the words are mine and of course I take the credit. I get to be the "hero" all over again, providing the real entertainment in that crap hole of boredom and showboating. All those low level administrators seizing their one shot at power; all of them frustrated we don't love them in return. They stomp on us, we stomp on newbie; someone's gotta get it in the neck or we'll all explode. He's the sacrificial lamb and I'm the bastard with the bloody knife.
As I walk to school I hear my old man talking like he's right next to me. "You useless son of a bitch. Just like your brother. Eat and shit, that's all you're good for. Should've let you drown." I raise my hand to make sure his spittle is gone from my cheek, the memories of going under in the lake two summers ago swimming back into my mind. That's when I see Nancy Piker and before I know it the words are flying from my mouth.
"Nancy Piker, we don't like 'er. Round as shit and smells of it. Go home Piker, you stink!"
Then I watch as the tears start, as she wipes her eyes my own hurt eases. Now I'm the boss. Ain't that how this world works?
"I'd miss you if you went. Do you know how hard it is to find a great victim like you? You're always so open, always wanting love. All I have to do is offer you the smallest hope of affection and you leap at it unguarded. I strike, feign remorse as you wilt, give you time to recover and do it all over again. Why do it? Because I love it. It's power - the only thing better than money."
I was almost ten when I figured out the true cause of bullying in schools, but who's gonna listen to some kid? Anyway, I'll tell you the story, let you decide if I'm right or if I'm a bit cracked in the head. We had the best classroom teacher, she was so awesome. We got our work done and there was still had time to relax and laugh. No-one got bullied, it was more like being part of a big family than a classroom.
Then one day our teacher was sick, we didn't know it, but she would be out for weeks. Her replacement arrived like she'd come to wage war on us. No speaking was tolerated or it was names on the board, minutes standing outside the room and whole class detentions at recess and after school. We lost our appetite for work and kids who had always been sweet to one another, caring like siblings, turned on the nicest kid in the class because he wore old sneakers. That kid was, and still is, my best friend since kindergarten. That's when I knew, you put that much pressure into a classroom, where do you expect it to go? They can't take it out on the teachers, so the most soft natured kid gets it. The next day I wore the oldest and smelliest sneakers I could find and sat next to my buddy of five years, if they wanted a slice of him they'd have to take me on too.
Kids aren't naturally mean, they're just kids - but put in a teacher who bullies and puts stress on them and watch them change. Glib slogans are easy, leading by example is hard.
Terrence was a bully. He towered over the first years and took their lunch money. He teased the fat kids and anyone he suspected of being gay. He didn't care if they were or not, just so long as his crew laughed. They weren't really his friends, he thought of them as mates but if he ever had a problem these were not the people to bare your soul to. They hung with him because they enjoyed the thrill if power. And to be honest, he liked it too. It gave him a feeling of security he couldn't get another way. Whenever he was abused at home or the teachers gave him another failing grade he could just shut down, lock it out. He was someone who commanded respect and only a fool would mess with him.
The old woman just sat, sat and listened to the tale of her granddaughter, Tabi. Times had changed so much and so little. The technology was all different but the tale was the same. High-school was awesome for the “in” kids and hell for the rest. She raised a withered hand and stroked Tabi's back softly like she was a kitten. She felt the heaving and shaking through Tabi's union-jack t-shirt. Her eyes were red, puffy and snot steamed clear from her nose. The old woman passed a tissue before speaking in her slow and measured voice. “You have one good friend, Tabs, that's good. It's all most folks can hope for. Teenage girls can be very cruel. They can hate you for being too pretty, too smart, too popular with the boys, looking different, being fat, or just because they want to pick on someone. We all love you and school doesn't last forever. In a few years they'll be out of your life and we won't. Then you can make mature friends, ones who aren't raging bags of hormones.”
Cindy was different. She walked with downcast eyes and her thick bangs almost reached her nose. Her uniform was a size too big, sleeves flopping over her hands and skirt falling a too low on her hips. She had spent the morning rehearsing scenarios she knew would never happen, but regardless of the futility she did it from waking right up until class. Then she sat trying to control her breathing and prevent her face from turning beet red; but the breaths came quicker and her cheeks warmed regardless. "Psssst, Cindy doll, I hear Barbie's gonna kick your ass." It was Clara, the wannabe class idol who chewed gum and wore short skirts. Clara leaned forward on her desk and reached out for Cindy's long mousey hair, clamping the still warm gum to the strands. Then she sat back and glanced around the room to bask in the grins of her classmates. She was the queen. At home she ruled the roost until her father retuned, then she would retreat behind her mother for protection.