Ernest Pludnik

My entry for the bullying competition. It is different to the whole high school/ work place/ cyber bullying scenario, and i hope it will satisfy any who read. As per usual, lie/ favourite if you wish, although just knowing that people have seen it will suffice.


3. Reminisce

I didn't belong. Walking towards the great stone steps, i knew that i didn't belong. It was obvious. The others were just so... big. They stood around the campus, talking about music i didn't listen to and films i didn't watch, wearing clothes i couldn't afford, and even their bags were different. They wore them on the side, or had one strap around developed shoulders. My bag was pink. Yes, pink. My Dad said it didn't matter, that no-one would care about what colour a bag was.

But I could see their mocking glances, their pointing, sniggering. And as i approached the steps, one of the larger boys stood up and crept behind me. The force of his push was incredible; i literally flew, yes flew forward, and my face met the cold stone with a sickening crack. He then grabbed my bag and wrenched it from me.

I swivelled around, squinting through the stream of claret exuding from cuts on my face, and saw the boy opening my bag and emptying the contents onto the ground. His face was twisted in maniacal pleasure, as he tore bits of paper up and stood on my lunch. A single cigarette hung loosely from his thick lips, a plume of smoke undlating towards me. I gagged at the smell. His friends were in hysterics; one of them was literally crying with laughter. Then the boy stepped towards me.

'Are you gay?' he mocked, throwing his friends into a raucous laughter.

I stood up and reached for my bag, but he pushed my hand away.

'What's your name?' he asked, his voice low and menacing.

I didn't want to answer, but I knew that it would be worse if I didn't. I stared at him, noticing his blank expression, like a snake readying itself to strike. His hair was slicked back, a few strays hanging in greasy strands, bordering a pale face of yellowing skin stretched across protruding bones.

'D-David Marshall,' I feebly muttered.

He smiled, revealing crooked, discoloured teeth.

'Gayvid? You said your name is Gayvid?' he smiled to his friends, who repeated the name whilst sniggering.

'No, Davi-'

'Gayvid Marshall, with the pink bag! Do your parents know you're gay? I bet they don't love you. I bet they didn't even want you.'

The hostility of his words literally stung. How could someone be so bitter, and so cruel? I inhaled deeply and ignored him and, just as I had bent over to pick up my things, he pulled my trousers down, revealing my underwear to about fifty students. I don't know if the word embarassment has ever fitted a situation better, but needless to say my school life never improved from there.

Over the next two years, he continued to mock, tease, and spread rumours about me. I found out his name, but nothing else. Ernest Pludnik. The name itself dripped with evil, and made bile rise up my throat. He would see me walking in the corridor, and would whisper to his friends, and then they'd trip me up, or steal my belongings. A favourtie of theirs was to wait until a teacher was nearby, provoke me mercilessly with taunts and insults about my family (i mean, what had they ever done?), and then smirk smugly as I was chastised for attacking them.

Undoubtedly, the most abhorrent instance was in P.E, when Ernest hid my clothes, and I was forced to wear soiled, acrid garments six sizes too small, from the lost and found bin. Imagine walking home in clothes laden with stains, stretched painfully against my skin, revealing my smooth ankles and pale midriff. He'd returned my clothes with various messages about my sexuality. And, on the last day, he actually attacked me. He saw me walking to class, and so he chased me, with five friends in tow, to the P.E shed. I needed two towels just to mop up the blood. I convinced my parents that i had joined the wrestling club, to account for my injuries, but the truth was, i'd never been so close to suicide in my life. That's what bullying does to you.

And now here he was. Lying in front of me, as hideous as the day I met him. His abuse took its toll on me, and so i had trained, harder than anything I'd ever done in my life. I studied as well, of course, and ended up joining a professional branch of the CIA - far-fetched, I know, but that was the truth. I'd entered as a data inputter, and now, three months on, I was in the field as a live agent. Our teams' first target was a drug and arms dealer, and when I saw who it was... something in me changed.  

I pulled out my gun, and aimed it at his head, lining up the reticle with his wrinkled forehead. With my finger poised, the phone rang.

'David? David, do you have him?' spoke Sarah.

'Yes, Sarah. But i'm taking him out-'

'No! We need him alive- we have strict orders to-'

'Sarah, this guy made my life miserable. For years his name made me feel physically sick. I'm taking him out. Today, I kill Ernest Pludnik.'

'No wait, David, his name's-'

I put the phone away and steadied my aim. My mind flashed through everything he'd done, and as i remembered, a single crystalline tear rolled down my cheek. Then I flexed my finger, drawing it back, feeling the jolt of recoil reverberate through my arm. Blood sprayed from his skull in a crimson fountain, his head lolling to the side. He was dead. I had killed the man who had driven me almost to taking my own life. I stepped forward, and reached inside his jacket, pulling out the large bag of money, and his wallet. I searched through the wallet, looking for more evidence, when his driver's license fell out. On it, a faded picture of Ernest was bordered with a name.

A name, not of Ernest Pludnik, but of James McArthur. A different man.



Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...