This web site contains stories of physical, mental, emotional, and sexual child abuse.

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I cannot even describe the terrible embarrassment I was feeling, as I stood totally defenseless. My feet were almost off the floor and I was too afraid to move a muscle. Both his large hands were now around my neck. I began to choke as the high school bully pressed me up against the metal locker.

"Let him go," shouted a girl, who happened by.

Slowly, his hands released from around my neck and I was able to catch my breath. I stood back still against the locker, watching the crowd of kids as it grew larger and larger.

"Kick his ass. He's one of those freaks from the orphan home," hollered one of the boys.

"Let him go," repeated the girl as she took one of her books and drew it back as if she were going to throw it at him.

The bully immediately let go of me and grabbed the girl by the nose. He twisted it as hard as he could and then pushed her backwards. She stumbled and fell, dropping her books. Everyone started laughing when her dress flew up over her head. I came off the locker and lunged at the bully. I began kicking him in the leg as hard as I could. Several of his friends grabbed me by the arms and held me against the lockers. As the final bell rang, the bully walked over and slapped me across the face as hard as he could, blooding my nose.

"After school, you are as good as dead, creep," he said as he and his friends laughed and walked off down the long hallway.

Slowly, the hallway cleared and all became quiet. Still breathing hard, I sat down on the floor and wiped my bloody nose on my shirttail.

"Are you okay?" asked the girl.

"Yes, I guess so," I said.

"You scared?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied.

"My name is Carol. What’s yours?" she continued.

"I'm not allowed to talk to girls," I advised.

"Why can't you talk to girls?" she questioned.

"I just can't say why. It's just a rule at the orphanage."

"Well, that's a stupid rule," she said as she started walking away.

"Roger," I said in a low voice.

I sat watching her as she disappeared down the long hallway. There was blood all over my hands and shirt. So much blood that I knew I could not return to the classroom. I sat wondering what I should do. I could not report the bully to the Dean's office, because that would make things even worse. There was no way I could stand up to the bully. I was just too small. If I told the orphanage what happened, I would be beaten for being in the wrong, no matter what.

It was always that way. There was absolutely no one in the world I could turn too for help. I just sat with my head resting on my knees. I think I was 12 years old at the time and I had never felt so alone in all my life. I can honestly say that was the second time in my life I had considered the possibility of suicide.

I did not wait for the school bus. I was too afraid to face the bully. Not so much because of what he might do to me physically. It was how he would embarrass me in front of all the other kids. So I decided to walk back to the orphanage, which was about five miles away from Landon High School.

Sure enough, Mrs. Winters, the head matron, slapped me across the face with a polo paddle for leaving the school early.

When I returned to school, I walked around for days just waiting for the bully to track me down. I just about died when I walked into my mechanical drawing class and saw him sitting at one of the tables. It took everything I could do to keep my legs from buckling under me.

"Please dear God. Please let me not be scared," I thought.

Using the high tables for support, I made my way to my assigned stool and I sat down, placing my face in my hands. My mouth was so dry that I felt as though I might choke.

"Please dear God. Please don't make me faint," I kept saying over and over to myself.

Once in a while, the bully would look over at me. Then he would look away when I stared back at him.

As the class continued, I became more and more calm. When the teacher left the room, I walked up to the front of the class to sharpen my pencil. When I got back to my seat, there was a folded note lying on my table. I opened the note and read it. It was from one of the girls in my class. She had written, "I like you very much."

"Somebody really likes me?" I thought.

I looked around the room to see if I could tell whom the note had came from, but no one appeared to be looking at me. All at once, a girl two seats over looked up and smiled at me. I smiled back at her.

"I like you too," I wrote on the note.

I folded the note up and held it out for the boy next to me to pass back to her. All at once, the note was snatched from my hand.

"What do we have here?” asked the bully, who was now standing beside me.

"Give me the note!" I screamed.

He laughed and started to open it. I jumped down from my stool and swung at him as hard as I could. The punch landed right in the middle of his face. Blood squirted everywhere. The bully fell to the floor and lied motionless. I grabbed the note off the floor and out the door I ran. I ran, and I ran and I ran as fast and as far as I could. I ran until I could run no more. I knew that I had killed the bully.

Well, I was caught several days later and taken to the juvenile hall. It turns out that I did not kill the bully after all. I had only knocked him out. That was the last day I ever attended a public school. I never made it past Grade 7. The bullies name was Bill Burns. He was the son of the mayor of Jacksonville, Florida.

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