Not a victim. Not a bystander. This is about the bully. Rhoda. A murderer.
Of course, I'm not saying that murder can ever be justified but I am trying to get across the point of view of a bully in the situation.
Hope you enjoy reading it- please provide some kind of criticism because I always find writing stories harder than poems. :D Always happy to return the favour! :)


4. Tanya, In the Bathroom, with the Sink

In the dying days of July, my simple life was over.

My SATs exams had been taken and my results had come in. 4s and 5s. I wasn't disappointed. But then there wasn't much to be pleased about either. I wanted someone other than Daddy to acknowledge me. My results were not a comparitive or a modal value but they were still treated as such. I remember a swelling scene of ruddy cheeks, gingham shirts and little grey shorts and skirts swarming around, everywhere. Tanya sauntered over to me, after she recieved her portion of congratulaions. She ran her cool, soft little fingers with her proffesionally trimmed nails over my forearm and whispered, ever so cooly: "You're Mummy will be proud when she finds out your results. Oh. Wait. She's burning in hell." And with that, she gave my arm a firm pinch before digging her own nails into her hand and yelping out in ear-splitting pain, her deft little finger pointed at me whilst a flourish of fresh tears fell down her face.

But that's not what the teachers wanted to hear. They wanted to know how Tanya had come over to give me a celebratory hug but I had lashed out in an uncontrolable fit of monstrous fury and had clawed at her. And of course, it was because of my mental scaring from my deeply troubling child-hood. So, by not punishing me, the teachers made me an untouchable. Not even a part of the hierarchy. And Tanya had been blessed.


Of course, it wasn't nessecary. Any of the snide cruelty. Just a recreational activity. An indulgence of the human satisfaction. The group continued to venture the length and width of the playground, just to uncover me. They laughed at me... but I wanted to be forgiven for whatever it was that I had actually done. They would take me round to the small winding cove at the end of the field, and force feed me dry leaves and pull my plaits. But it was funny. Of course it was... but I felt that wrath...

For weeks before the end of Summer term, the Year 6 disco was the small talk conversation piece that everyone would bring up. Each child recieved an invitation with a dress code of formal wear. Tanya did not hesistate to inform us of her £120 pink satin number with real swarovski crystals adorned on the sleeves that she would wear on the night. The evening before, Daddy laid me out a small white dress with silver straps that would be perfect. So Daddy saw me off at the school on the night and said that he would collect me at 8:00.

I was reserved at first, screwed to the shadowy corner, my hand stuck in a packet of crisps. But, half way through, Sasha and Leo jangled over to me and demanded that I come and dance with them. I obliged. Wendy and Ursula stuttered behind Tanya as they frisked around the hall, trying their best to not supress their giggles. But I didn't care. I didn't know many of songs, but I swayed a little and lived.

Then Wendy clamped her hand around mine and led me away.



"Hey, look... I'm really sorry about what's been happening recently." She purred. "Me and Ursula really want to be friends again. So, how about we go to the bathroom and talk it over?" She knew my reply but pursed her lips and widened her eyes curtly. "I... um, yeah, I..." I stammered.


And I walked. Lamb and the butcher.


The bathroom was dark.  









Tanya's voice was dominant through the cackles. Of course. "My Mummy and Daddy say that anyone who kills themselves goes against God and will rot in hell." She hissed in my ear, spitting violently. I heard the screach of a tap turning on and the sound of water gushing out was destinctly audible. "Like mother, like daughter, right? So I reckon I'm doing God a favour." She clamped her hand around my mouth before I could scrabble up and pinned me down whilst she scratched my arm.

She bit my skin until it split and blood trickled out. 

She tore the hemming off of my dress.

She scolded my face with splashes of boiling tap water.

And, with a sickening, mind-numbing crack, she stepped on my arm with her meticulously positioned heel, on a clear mission to break my arm.

But it didn't have to stop there, did it?

What would be the fun in that?

Go on.

Live a little.


The taps stopped screaching. The scratching stopped. The laughter ceased. Singed. My beautiful dress was sodden and ripped and one of my socks had been peeled off. "Go on, Tanya." Ursula.

"Go on, I dare you. Show her a lesson." Wendy.

"Yeah." Tanya. "Yeah. Why not?"


I think the water was cold. Or perhaps that was just the fear. But it clung and stuck and pulsated around my face. Tanya gripped my head with her hands and pushed. I was drowning. Failing. Dying. The water tasted of blood and warmth and sugar. But no tears. No not ever.

Now what would be the point in that?


It rung in my ears and it rung and it rung and it rung. Buzzing. Engulfing. I kicked. I flailed. "You seen Mummy yet?" They laughed and they screamed, going in for the kill. Because they had killed me. At that moment in a dark room, Rhoda Henley died- she lives with the dust and the pipes and the pain. And what is left is me.

Mr. Picks knocked on the bathroom door. Ever the gentleman. "I heard voices in there, come on out girls. Come and enjoy the disco." So they left.

Rhoda lay dead, dispersed upon the tiles.

And I returned to the shadows.






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