Wait, What's Your Name Again?

I yelped as my face hit the pavement. Blood dripped from the holes my snake bites were nestled tightly in, even more coming from the gash in my cheek. They brought a knife this time. And they used it.

It was just another school day. The same as usual. I was beaten down by two kids I've never even talked to. I don't bother to stand up for myself. I'm used to it. And I deserve every flash of pain that coursed through my broken body.

They were right. I was useless. I was ridiculous. I was a mistake. I was only a fag to them. And to myself.

I'm gay.

I never meant to be. When I turned 13 I realized why I never paid any attention to girls. I was too busy staring at all the guys. When I told my parents what I felt, they were disappointed. They labeled me. They hurt me, though they never made a mark.

These guys were different. They were violent. Strong. Evil. They didn't care. As long as I was breathing the next day enough for them to beat me even more they were fine.

I didn't tell anyone. I didn't even have to.

They saw. They knew what they were doing to me. Some would walk away, acting as if nothing was going on. As if I wasn't being abused right in front of their eyes. Others would watch and encourage them. They'd yell out praise to the two, and shout insults at me.

I didn't mind. I agreed with all of them. I was sick of all my bullshit, and I knew that I was a disgrace to everyone who knew me. Or even looked at me.

When I was curled in a ball, clutching my stomach that they kicked thoroughly, gasping for air and crying, they spit on me and walked away.

I was alone again. And I was fine with it.