Six Feet Underground

Gerard roamed the crowded halls, trying to get out of the way of the jocks and preps, but still make it to his next class, Math, on time. He didn't think he would make it, he wasn't even close to the room. He was on the other side of the school.
'Why won't they just leave me alone?' he thought as another jock pushed him out of the way, which caused him to bump into another jock and that one pushed him to the ground.
Gerard pushed himself up off the floor and gathered all of his books that were scattered on the floor. Before he could grab his notebook, some one picked it up. To his horror, he found that it was in the leaders hands.
"Oh, did the little drunk fall and drop his things?" he sneered.
Gerard gritted his teeth and glared at the jock.
"What are you trying to do? Vaporize me?" he laughed. Everyone in the hall laughed along. "Let's see what the drunk has writen, shall we?"
Shouts of approval rang through the halls. Most had abandoned getting to class to watch the humilliation process.
Gerard lay on the floor, hate bubbling under his skin, much like a pot of water does after being set over a flame. He growled under his breath as the jock began to open the book.
"He died! He fucking died! I can't belive it, he said he would never leave me. And what does he do? He goes and kills himself. He promissed me he wouldn't do it.
I found him. On the floor. Blood around him. A note in hand. It said not to hate him. I can't help it. He left me here alone. I have to walk this damned earth for the rest of my life alone, empty. My wrists are raw from itching. I am against cutting but itching is the closest thing.
Mom is worried. She wounders why I wear long sleaves. I can't bear to tell her. It would break her heart and then she will leave me, just like Mikey did. No one loves me.
Jocks at school suck. They push me around and call me a drunk. I can't help it. I love the taste of the stuff. The feeling of the liquid running down my throut. It all comes with the depression. The pills do nothing. Just a thing to label me with. I've stopped taking them. They make it worse. They make the itching worse.
They make the urge to drink worse.
The drugs never work. I'm just another lie in there books. They try to clean me up, but I just fall harder.
An empty fifth of Jack lies next to me. It's gone, wasted just like the others around my room." he stopped there.
The hall was quiet. Gerard looked down, remembering the night vagely when he wrote it. The memories brought back the itching. Simutaniously, Gerard started to itch his right wrist, enjoying the pain that was brought as his nails ran over the scars from the times when he scratched a little too hard.
He could feel everyone's eyes on him, burning holes into the back of his head.
"So it's true? You are just another drunk?" the jock spat. "Your brother did kill himself because of you?"
All of his built up anger seemed to burst. He flung himself on the jock, punching and hitting him with all his might, releasing all of his bent up anger on him. He had it. He had it with the names, the beatings, the itching, the drugs, the drinks, the bullies, the regrets.... the guilt.