This one was a hard one to write and I did end up editing it quite a bit. I think the main reason was because this is actually a true story, only the names have changed to protect the...guilty!
This actually happened to me when my family moved from London. We were living in what I can only describe as being a socially deprived town/village that had a number of undesirable kids living in it. They had nothing better to do than exert their authority over any one they could. I'm convinced I was not their first victim.
Of course this all happened about thirty years ago and i'm sure the make up of how schools handle bullying has now changed but for me my school could give a rats ass about what was happening to me. I was being verbally and physically tortured to the point where I was going home with torn clothes and open wounds.
In the end my sister was the one who saved me from a becoming their plaything. I found it ironic that it took a five year old to fix something the adults couldn't (or wouldn't).
It did happen a long time ago and its all pretty much water under the bridge, or at least that was what I thought until I came to write this. I struggled and the only I can think of why was because on some level I think I had blocked the entire incident from my mind so I struggled to feel it again. In the end it took me an entire evening to back track my past and remember that feeling of helpless terror that comes when you don't know literally what is lurking around the corner. But I can still see that final fight as clear as day in my mind. I can even tell you it was an overcast day.
They say writing about your experiences is therapy. I can see why. This is the first time I have written about it fully since it happened. I'm glad I did.
The Imaginary Scrapbook
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