*****warning*****
This is part of a new novel, full of grammars, spelling errors and punctuations. But let me know if you liked it.
Getting an education was the only thing that their mother expected of them, regardless of how they were – learning will lead to a better future, was her mantra. Phuc, the second boys, followed their mother’s faith in education to the “T”. Phuc, a brain of the group, slim, tall desperately need of glass; quite and reserve, more of a girl than a boy. He liked to help Kieu cooking and clean around the house. While An and Vuong would rather be dead than seen cleaning up, except for food on the dinner table; Phuc was content following Kieu around, did what he could, and Kieu never had to look far for help. When most of the chores were done Phuc could be seen doing his homework, and his favorite subject was math. He was so good at it, that Kieu, five grade his senior, had to ask to be tutored. And kids in the neighborhood would pay him to do their homework. People who were lucky enough to interact with Phuc would agree, a child prodigy was in the making. However, being all brain and no brawn had it disadvantage, Phuc became the school mascot for nerds, and thus became the school bully-magnet.
He was so desperately need of glass that he squinted everywhere he walked. Worse off, when the sun set, and the neighborhood turned to dusk, barely see, afraid of falling and hurt himself, he hunched toward, and often bobbed his head back and forth to catch sight of where he was going, as results, bullies nicknamed him Chicken Boy.
In the hall, outside the school, kids picked on him; called him by his nickname, made fun of the clothes he wore, which was a worn out and patched up blue trouser and darken from sweat white shirt, the only piece of garment that was presentable in his possession. With no means of defending himself Phuc just stood there. When tired of push around, the bullying got worsen, to the point of physical abusive. Each day Phuc went home with either a black eye, or bruises painted all over his body. Afraid to confess for fear the wrath of Mr. Thieu, Phuc remained tight-lipped; when asked, he made up story of how he felt while walking home from lack of proper eye wear.
Phuc lived in fear, until one afternoon, An came to the rescue. Surrounded by 5 students, lead by Trung, a neighbor’s kid, the group pushed him around like soccer ball. Chicken-boy, they called him. Tucked their hands into their armpits, flapped their arms, circled Phuc. They tormented him. Then they shoved him forward, punch him in the gut followed, they tortured the poor boy.
“Leave me alone,” Phuc pleaded, trying to get away.
“Leaving?” one of the bully titter, replied “but we haven’t got started.”
“When are you going to lay your egg?” The bully snicker, followed with a kick in the rear. Phuc fumbled to the ground, a punt followed in his ribcage, sent him a few feet away. Pains radiated through his body, Phuc only option was holding the wound to lessen the discomfort. Heaved heavily, he tried to get up, the throbbing in his chest thicken, he felt back into the dirt. Dust puffed into the air, Phuc wanted to get up afraid to get his shirt dirty, but the sting took the better of him.
“You mother fucker, leave him alone,” An screaming toward the posse.
Trung turned around to face the oncoming rescuer. Before his eyes could spot a trail, a hard punch landed square on the nose. He stuttered few feet backward before falling on his rump. Blood pour out his nose, felt on to his shirt, dye the white shirt full of pink polka dots. Bewildered, Trung pulled his hand to wept his nose, smeared his face red in the process. He looked around, feeding his brain with information, gasping at what was happening, finding answer why second ago he was stand up making fun of the brainiac, now, laying on his butt with throbbing pains in his face. Finally registered the scene, he picked him up running away, calling to his mother. The others tough guy at the sudden lost of its leader; a snake lost its head, confused scattered in all directions – one in such of a hurry banged himself against a branch and felt unconscious on the ground.
Tended to Phuc’s wound, An couldn’t help himself but laugh out loud at the ironic event as hurried bullies scattered into a self inflicted injury. But the crackle soon turned whimper later that same evening, when Ms. Tung complained to Mr. Thieu – you don’t know how to raise your child, she creamed in front of gathered onlooker.
Comments