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It was getting to be just a bit too much.

You've always had a bit of trouble making friends, despite your generosity and blatant modesty. Elementary school was alright, your dad always told you that if you were nice to people, they'd be nice in return, and there were a few kids you had befriended. None of those friendships had lasted very long. Maybe a month at the most. It was like they got bored of you after a while; like an old toy that gets forgotten under your bed after receiving a new one. You could deal with that though, you liked change too.

Middle school, however, that was when the older grades liked to tease you about being nearly friendless. They'd call you childish names like 'four-eyes' and 'buck-face'. But that was okay too, you just took it like nothing was ever wrong, mostly because you were used to it. It still hurt though, just the slightest little bit. Then you got your own computer on you 12th birthday, and met Jade, who introduced you to Rose and Dave. They accepted you. You found total solace in just talking with them.

They accepted you.

After a while, you stopped caring about real life friends, because you had your new internet friends. No one questioned you, so you went about your normal life. It was when high school reared it's ugly head that you began to question these people. Back in your younger grades, you thought it was just mindless teasing, with no real basis to it. Now you're in the 9th grade, fresh meat, and you guess you've never really noticed how much of a dork you looked like, because frankly, you had no clue. And it seemed like right after the first day, after the orientation, that a bulls-eye was stuck on your back for everyone to see. Names like 'four-eyes' and 'buck-face' had turned into insults like 'faggot' and 'homo'. You were absolutely sure you weren't either of those though. These were even more baseless than the ones from middle school, and you wonder if these teens had just gotten less mature over the summer.

But you still took it. Because it was normal, just a tad more severe than usual.

So soon enough, this big group of burly boys (you think a few of them were in the rugby and football team but you weren't sure) decided to test your fragility.

Mentally and physically.

At first it was only the name-calling, and the poking and prodding in the halls. They'd knock the books and papers out of your arms in the middle of a crowded hallway between classes. Sometimes they nudge you into a locker or a corner, or a garbage can that hadn't had it bag replaced in God knows how long. Sometimes you'd fall into it, and it took a bit of pursuasive explaining to the secretary to let you go home. Or even just a whiff of your oversized sweater that almost always, without fail, took the brunt of the rotten smells.

You took all of this without so much as even a dirty look to your offenders. You took it like a gentleman. A true gentleman.

They didn't like this.

Slow but surely, it got worse and nudges in the hallways turned into pushes, and then into really hard shoves. Shoves that were alarmingly close to poles and stairs and sometimes into open lockers. It was an old stereotypical situation, getting shoved and locked into a locker. But you were small enough. And then they'd leave you until they remembered you were still there, which more often than not was way past the last bell of the school day.

The name-calling was much more frequent, and much more socially offensive, but your neutral peers didn't say a word about it or against it and teachers had no clue. Well, either that or they just didn't care.

American school systems. Fuck yeah.

You still remember that one time you had been 'accidentally' knocked off balance and plunged nose-first down the concrete flight of stairs outside your school. Papers flew, books tumbled, and cue cards scattered like snow. You had been taken to the hospital that day with a fractured arm, three broken ribs, and a near-shattered shoulder.

The only upside to that was the fact your dad didn't let you go to school for a week.

He also got you a proper backpack.

And hey, new stuff was always a bonus.

It didn't really look new after 3 months of use though.

It had been hidden, lost, caked in dirt and garbage, and just heavily worn. You tried to take such good care of it, as it was just so helpful in carrying everything to and fro, but of course these people wanted nothing but to get you to the breaking point.

You were having none of it.

But soon enough, the passive-aggressive shoves had turned into full-on beatings that weren't under the watchful eyes of school officials. They called you terrible things and left all their marks on you. All over you.

And it hurt.

Your name is John Egbert and you're finally nearing your breaking point.