Misconcieved
10-23-2007, 05:15 PM
A small boy's flesh soaked up the sun's warm rays as they passed into the small room. The sun warmed his fair skin as a soft sigh emitted from his slightly parted pink lips. Sunlight filled the interior of the room as the boy's piercing blue eyes fluttered open. His eyes were filled with sorrow, despair, and depression. Memories of kids teasing him floated through his mind and upon he realizing that he was going to have to deal with those hardships once again today, he felt a single tear fall down his cheek. He quickly refrained himself from allowing anymore tears to drain his face, for at any moment his mother could come barreling through the wooden door that led into his room. As he sat upright on his twin-sized bed, he rose two fists to his tightly shut eyes and rubbed them gently. After doing so, he swung his skinny legs over the side of his bed, sending a sea of black blankets to hit the fuzzy cream-colored carpeting. He forced himself up off the bed and trudged over to his closet. He rested one of his feminine hands on the cold metal doorknob, twisted it lightly, and pulled back on it. The wooden door slowly opened as his eyes scanned for some decent articles of clothing to wear today.
After browsing for a few more moments, he finally settled on a pair of light blue skinny jeans, a black t-shirt with a white electric guitar printed on the front, and a white belt. The boy slipped off his current wardrobe, put on a fresh pair of black boxers, and then tugged on the clothes that he picked out just a few moments ago. He walked over to his mirror dresser and scanned himself over. He let out a soft sigh and looked down to his pale feet. He wasn't happy with his appearance. Certain moments he wished he could be someone else, someone who wasn't picked on so harshly. Possibly someone with an appearance that appealed to the senses, also. That was just the way his mind worked: always nitpicking at himself. His mother considering him his own worst critic, but he disagreed. His peers were his worst critics. He rose his head to glare at himself for a few more seconds before allowing words to escape his luscious lips. "As good as I'm gonna get."
The boy drug himself out of the room and his feet led him to stand in front of his somewhat large staircase. As he placed his foot on the first smooth wooden step, a chill circulated through his body. The stairs felt like ice against his two bare feet. Instead of slowly making his way down the stairs like he had planned, he sped up to a fast jog. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, he met eye-to-eye with his discouraging stepfather. "Douglas," the man said as he glared into the boy's sad baby blue eyes. After a small time frame passed, the man nodded towards Doug and brushed past him, rushing up the stairs. When Doug was around his stepfather, Jeffery, he felt intimidated. The man was 6'6, forty-two-years-old and had muscles bulking out of his arms while Doug was but only 5'4, seventeen, and his weight was just shy of one hundred pounds. And to make matters worse, the two weren't fond of each other. Doug had a grudge that would be held against the man forever. How could he influence his mother to drop his father, simply so he could have her for himself? In Doug's eyes, Jeff was a sick man and needed thrown into a mental institute immediately. Jeff, on the other hand, just had a strong dislike of children and teenagers.
A strong scent filled Doug's nostrils. The smell had a mix of sugar and cinnamon to it. The smell brought memories of his father back into mind. His father had used to always make the best cinnamon sugar pancakes that Doug's taste buds had ever been graced with. The boy hadn't indulged these pancakes since the last day he saw his father a few years ago. This smell arose Doug's curiosity. His mother couldn't cook pancakes if someone was holding a gun to her head and Jeff had already passed him by. It couldn't have been his older brother considering he was halfway across the country attending college. Doug crept into the kitchen, peering into the kitchen before he arrived in view of whoever was currently in there. When he saw the figure of his father slaving over the stove, he let out a shriek filled with joy. He ran into the kitchen as fast as his tiny legs could carry him and jumped upon his father's back. "Dad!" the boy called out, beaming. "Dougie!" his father hooted as Doug jumped down onto the cold white tile and wrapped his father in a tight bear hug. "Why are you here?" he asked excitedly. "Your mother asked me to come pay a visit to you. I hear you've been having difficulties in school with your peers and she wanted me to help," his dad commented as he freed himself of Doug's tight grasp. That was just a nice way of saying he knew that Doug's mother didn't care about him, so he figured he'd come and help with whatever problem Doug was dealing with. Although, Doug was unsure of how his father knew of the problem, but he was just glad that someone was here by his side.
The two took seats at the nearby wooden table, the pancakes divided among the two. Each man had a white glass plate resting in front of him with two pancakes sitting upon them for the two to devour. "So what's going on in school, son?" his father asked as he rose his fork to the fluffy pancakes and chopped a tiny piece off. He placed the piece in his mouth, his taste buds absorbing the sweet mixture of cinnamon and sugar. "I don't know, I've just been getting picked on a lot," Doug responded as he brushed his shaggy black hair out of one of his eyes so that one of his eyes was free and staring down at his pancakes, while the other was covered up fully, the tip of his hair ending in a dull point low on his cheek. "Well, are you allowing them to?" his father asked, taking another bite of his pancake, returning his brown eyes attention to Doug. "I guess so, but what can I do? I don't want to go to the principal, then I'll be one of those gay goody-two-shoe tattle tales," Doug informed him, indulging a bite of his favorite food. "Stand up to them, tell them that if they don't quit being jerks, you'll make them," his father said with a wink as he ran a tanned hand through his short jet-black hair. "Dad, those guys are five hundred times my size," Doug shot back. "And I'm not exaggerating," Doug said as he slightly tipped his head down. "Son, it's not what's here," his father said as he tapped Doug's right bicep. "It's what's in here," he said, placing his index finger on Doug's black shirt right where his heart would be. His father picked up his and Doug's empty plates and trotted back into the kitchen to clean them up, leaving Doug to think about what he had said.
Doug sighed, thinking his father's advice was completely useless, and he pulled himself up off the chair and slipped on his black converse shoes that rested next to the wooden chair he had been sitting on. His feet drug against the rough tan carpet as he led himself out of the cream walls and into the open area of outside. He breathed in the fresh air that surrounded his body as he took off to the nearest bus stop. He walked along the cold cement sidewalk and plopped down on the red bench that sat next to the dark blue sign that had 'BUS STOP' printed in bold, white lettering across it. He played with his hands until he felt a figure hovering over him. Doug rose his head to see the over-sized form of the leader of the bullying crew, Vick, standing above him. "Well hello there Mr. Not-Wanted," Vick commented with a sly smirk as he glared at Douglas. When he spoke of Doug being "not-wanted" he was referring to how his father left him. That was the way that everyone at school saw it, Doug's father leaving him, while only Doug knew the whole truth behind the story. "Please stop, Vick," Doug said as he stood up off the bench to be as close to eye-level as he could get with this 6'2 beast. "What're you going to do, get your mommy to come beat me up?" he snorted with a entertained expression in his green. "Oh wait, she doesn't like you either," Vick teased as he stuck his bottom lip out at Douglas giving him a poor rendition of a puppy dog pout, then shaking his head slightly to get some of his shaggy light brown hair out of his eyes. His words shot Doug like a bullet. His mother never spoke to him, never cooked for him, never attended any of his award ceremonies, and neglected him to the highest extent. So when Vick threw these words at Doug that was the last straw he could take. Doug launched his tiny fist at Vick with so much power, fury; it even took Doug by surprise. Vick fell to the ground with a loud groan before he pulled himself up off of the hard cement. Once up, he wiped the sea of the red blood flowing out of his nose away, and then launched his own fist at Doug. Much to his surprise, Doug caught the fist and threw it right back at him with as much force as his own punch. Vick fell back onto the ground, lying there limp. A smile of victory prided Doug's face as he took a seat back on the bench, now understanding the words his father had spoke to him.
What Doug's father was implying was that no matter what your weight is, what your height is, or how much muscle is in your body, you can take someone if you are truly determined to. The person that looks like they would have the advantage physically might not always win, because the other person could want the win much, much more. If you go into something without determination, you're going to loose no matter how much your skill outweighs the other persons and Doug truly was truly determined. He wanted to prove to Vick that he couldn't pick on him like that and because of that, he showed Vick that he wasn't going to be coward and stand back and take whatever he threw at him, no, he was going to fight and win. He might not have had the strength in his arms, but he surely had it in his heart.
After browsing for a few more moments, he finally settled on a pair of light blue skinny jeans, a black t-shirt with a white electric guitar printed on the front, and a white belt. The boy slipped off his current wardrobe, put on a fresh pair of black boxers, and then tugged on the clothes that he picked out just a few moments ago. He walked over to his mirror dresser and scanned himself over. He let out a soft sigh and looked down to his pale feet. He wasn't happy with his appearance. Certain moments he wished he could be someone else, someone who wasn't picked on so harshly. Possibly someone with an appearance that appealed to the senses, also. That was just the way his mind worked: always nitpicking at himself. His mother considering him his own worst critic, but he disagreed. His peers were his worst critics. He rose his head to glare at himself for a few more seconds before allowing words to escape his luscious lips. "As good as I'm gonna get."
The boy drug himself out of the room and his feet led him to stand in front of his somewhat large staircase. As he placed his foot on the first smooth wooden step, a chill circulated through his body. The stairs felt like ice against his two bare feet. Instead of slowly making his way down the stairs like he had planned, he sped up to a fast jog. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, he met eye-to-eye with his discouraging stepfather. "Douglas," the man said as he glared into the boy's sad baby blue eyes. After a small time frame passed, the man nodded towards Doug and brushed past him, rushing up the stairs. When Doug was around his stepfather, Jeffery, he felt intimidated. The man was 6'6, forty-two-years-old and had muscles bulking out of his arms while Doug was but only 5'4, seventeen, and his weight was just shy of one hundred pounds. And to make matters worse, the two weren't fond of each other. Doug had a grudge that would be held against the man forever. How could he influence his mother to drop his father, simply so he could have her for himself? In Doug's eyes, Jeff was a sick man and needed thrown into a mental institute immediately. Jeff, on the other hand, just had a strong dislike of children and teenagers.
A strong scent filled Doug's nostrils. The smell had a mix of sugar and cinnamon to it. The smell brought memories of his father back into mind. His father had used to always make the best cinnamon sugar pancakes that Doug's taste buds had ever been graced with. The boy hadn't indulged these pancakes since the last day he saw his father a few years ago. This smell arose Doug's curiosity. His mother couldn't cook pancakes if someone was holding a gun to her head and Jeff had already passed him by. It couldn't have been his older brother considering he was halfway across the country attending college. Doug crept into the kitchen, peering into the kitchen before he arrived in view of whoever was currently in there. When he saw the figure of his father slaving over the stove, he let out a shriek filled with joy. He ran into the kitchen as fast as his tiny legs could carry him and jumped upon his father's back. "Dad!" the boy called out, beaming. "Dougie!" his father hooted as Doug jumped down onto the cold white tile and wrapped his father in a tight bear hug. "Why are you here?" he asked excitedly. "Your mother asked me to come pay a visit to you. I hear you've been having difficulties in school with your peers and she wanted me to help," his dad commented as he freed himself of Doug's tight grasp. That was just a nice way of saying he knew that Doug's mother didn't care about him, so he figured he'd come and help with whatever problem Doug was dealing with. Although, Doug was unsure of how his father knew of the problem, but he was just glad that someone was here by his side.
The two took seats at the nearby wooden table, the pancakes divided among the two. Each man had a white glass plate resting in front of him with two pancakes sitting upon them for the two to devour. "So what's going on in school, son?" his father asked as he rose his fork to the fluffy pancakes and chopped a tiny piece off. He placed the piece in his mouth, his taste buds absorbing the sweet mixture of cinnamon and sugar. "I don't know, I've just been getting picked on a lot," Doug responded as he brushed his shaggy black hair out of one of his eyes so that one of his eyes was free and staring down at his pancakes, while the other was covered up fully, the tip of his hair ending in a dull point low on his cheek. "Well, are you allowing them to?" his father asked, taking another bite of his pancake, returning his brown eyes attention to Doug. "I guess so, but what can I do? I don't want to go to the principal, then I'll be one of those gay goody-two-shoe tattle tales," Doug informed him, indulging a bite of his favorite food. "Stand up to them, tell them that if they don't quit being jerks, you'll make them," his father said with a wink as he ran a tanned hand through his short jet-black hair. "Dad, those guys are five hundred times my size," Doug shot back. "And I'm not exaggerating," Doug said as he slightly tipped his head down. "Son, it's not what's here," his father said as he tapped Doug's right bicep. "It's what's in here," he said, placing his index finger on Doug's black shirt right where his heart would be. His father picked up his and Doug's empty plates and trotted back into the kitchen to clean them up, leaving Doug to think about what he had said.
Doug sighed, thinking his father's advice was completely useless, and he pulled himself up off the chair and slipped on his black converse shoes that rested next to the wooden chair he had been sitting on. His feet drug against the rough tan carpet as he led himself out of the cream walls and into the open area of outside. He breathed in the fresh air that surrounded his body as he took off to the nearest bus stop. He walked along the cold cement sidewalk and plopped down on the red bench that sat next to the dark blue sign that had 'BUS STOP' printed in bold, white lettering across it. He played with his hands until he felt a figure hovering over him. Doug rose his head to see the over-sized form of the leader of the bullying crew, Vick, standing above him. "Well hello there Mr. Not-Wanted," Vick commented with a sly smirk as he glared at Douglas. When he spoke of Doug being "not-wanted" he was referring to how his father left him. That was the way that everyone at school saw it, Doug's father leaving him, while only Doug knew the whole truth behind the story. "Please stop, Vick," Doug said as he stood up off the bench to be as close to eye-level as he could get with this 6'2 beast. "What're you going to do, get your mommy to come beat me up?" he snorted with a entertained expression in his green. "Oh wait, she doesn't like you either," Vick teased as he stuck his bottom lip out at Douglas giving him a poor rendition of a puppy dog pout, then shaking his head slightly to get some of his shaggy light brown hair out of his eyes. His words shot Doug like a bullet. His mother never spoke to him, never cooked for him, never attended any of his award ceremonies, and neglected him to the highest extent. So when Vick threw these words at Doug that was the last straw he could take. Doug launched his tiny fist at Vick with so much power, fury; it even took Doug by surprise. Vick fell to the ground with a loud groan before he pulled himself up off of the hard cement. Once up, he wiped the sea of the red blood flowing out of his nose away, and then launched his own fist at Doug. Much to his surprise, Doug caught the fist and threw it right back at him with as much force as his own punch. Vick fell back onto the ground, lying there limp. A smile of victory prided Doug's face as he took a seat back on the bench, now understanding the words his father had spoke to him.
What Doug's father was implying was that no matter what your weight is, what your height is, or how much muscle is in your body, you can take someone if you are truly determined to. The person that looks like they would have the advantage physically might not always win, because the other person could want the win much, much more. If you go into something without determination, you're going to loose no matter how much your skill outweighs the other persons and Doug truly was truly determined. He wanted to prove to Vick that he couldn't pick on him like that and because of that, he showed Vick that he wasn't going to be coward and stand back and take whatever he threw at him, no, he was going to fight and win. He might not have had the strength in his arms, but he surely had it in his heart.