Diary of a Hairy Beast

That entry was more of a background story; at the moment I attend Sweet Meadows primary school, a school that is anything but sweet. Bobby Fenton, one of the big year 6’s always takes my lunch and pushes me over, but that was nothing compared to what happened today.

I arrived at school on time and I hurried into the dreary classroom. I was wearing my new glasses which Mum had reluctantly bought after Bobby broke my previous pair. I was also his personal punch-bag.

“Morning Beast!” Bobby shouted, banging in the door of the classroom. His gang of friends laughed liked hysterical hyenas, pointing and laughing. “It takes someone quite pathetic to be laughed at by a teacher, doesn’t it Hairy Beast?”

On the outside I would seem unfazed as I continued unpacking my school bag, but I was fighting back tears and a lump was forming in the back of my throat. The bell rang, Bobby ran off and I slumped onto my chair in relief.

“Right class!” Mrs Bumpages bellowed, she was normally a PE teacher, but our class was one of the lucky few to be blessed with her as our teacher. I mean that in a completely sarcastic way. “The marks are in for the mid-term tests, and I have to say they were disgraceful! You are all failing and I don’t think there is going to be anything I can do about it! You all make no effort in my class, you will never get jobs!”

This sounds like a very unrealistic thing for a teacher to say, especially all at once, but that is how horrid she is.

She marched through the rows of desks, slamming the test papers onto our tables. I saw mine in her hands and I crossed my fingers, praying that I wouldn’t feel the brunt of my Dad’s anger for a bad result. He was angry when I succeeded, saying: “No son of mine will be a nerd!” Which is a horrible thing to say because I believe there is nothing wrong with being intelligent. When I get one or two questions wrong he screams: “You failure! What did I do to deserve this?” I will never make him proud.

The paper was smashed onto my desk and the result screamed at me in dark red ink. 5/70. Mrs Bumpages glared at me with her soulless grey eyes and moved on. I sighed to myself for I knew this was coming. I flicked through the paper and saw that most of my answers had been crossed out or rewritten. It was Bobby Fenton. His Mum is a teaching assistant at school and when she was working after school, he had access to the staff room. He had done this to me many times before, but this couldn’t have happened on a worse day. This was the test that the ends of year reports were to be based on.

The rest of the day was a blur, partly due to the fact I was upset and secondly one of Bobby’s gang pushed me into a door and I got concussion. My head was literally swimming, but Mrs Bumpages refused to send me home, as she believed I was pretending. My new name for her shall be Mrs Grumpages. That suits her more.

School ended and I hurried out of the grounds. I don’t have a doting Mum to pick me up from school every day; I have to walk a mile by myself. But it’s ok once you get used to it, after all I have been walking to school by myself since I was 5. School was hellish for me, but I would rather spend a lifetime there than at home.

I returned home just as the sky was turning dark, chills ran up my spine from the icy winter wind that sliced my cheeks like daggers. I fumbled in my pockets and grabbed the house key, turning the key slowly in the lock.

As I stepped over the threshold, the smell of beer was potent. Dad had been drinking again. The hallway was littered with glass bottles and I bounded up the stairs before anyone could notice I was home.

“Who’s there?” A voice grunted from downstairs, Dad. “No one comes into my house!” There was a loud bang, the noise rung in my ears and I bolted into my bedroom. Dad had a gun.

“I’m coming up there!” He boomed, I could imagine his huge, tattooed body stomping up the stairs, nursing a bottle of beer in one hand and the lethal weapon in the other.

“It’s only me Dad!” I shouted. “I just came home from school.”

He barged into my small bedroom; gun in hand, breathing heavily. I stood against the wall, shaking with fear.
“How dare you sneak around in my house! “He screamed, his face inches from mine. As he spoke saliva flew from his mouth like venom.
“I’m sorry Dad, I didn’t realise…” I began as I shook like autumn leaf. He edged closer.
“You will respect me!” He screamed. “I have fed and clothed a pathetic creature and I deserve respect!”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “It won’t happen again.”
“You’re spoilt!” He announced. “You need to be disciplined, to be taught a lesson!”
“Please, Dad…” I begged as he began to breathe heavily with fury. He raised his huge hand high into the air and it collided with the side of my face. I fell to the floor and my head smacked against the dirty carpet.
“Don’t disrespect me again.” He mumbled to himself and stormed out of the room. And I lay on the floor for hours, crying to myself.