Her Name Was X
I lived in a war zone. Country soil. The bullying raged at school. It followed me back home, waged between parents and siblings. There was no peace. Only the same shit day in, day out. Maybe that was why I needed her.
Little pieces of green and white paper traveled across my high school. The notes slipped into the hands of the bullies. Notes dropped on desks. “Leave her alone.” “I wouldn’t mess with her, if I was you.” “Stop bothering her.” Signed X.
“Did you write this?” I shook my head. “I know that you wrote this.” I shook my head again. “Who the fuck is X?”
X was my answer. She was my protector, and for awhile, she protected me. The bullies were unsure of her existence. Was she out there? Was she watching them, warning them to stay away from me? Her protection didn’t last long, and I knew that it wouldn’t. But at least in school, it gave me a short peace, and I was allowed to just exist. Even when the bullies circled again, they were hesitant, looking over their shoulders. Only the real bastards didn’t care, but in the end, they got what was coming to them. They made the mistake of driving past my house, doing the Nazi salute, and my father witnessed it. The principal crucified them the next day. If only they learned, but bullies never will.
As for X, she might have taken a step back, but she never left my side.
