Life is such a fragile and delicate item for a 12-year-old child to hold in the palm of his hand. In that same hand he has the potential to change the world. Put his mind to his work and with his hands will mix chemicals to cure diseases , with those same hands he would help a struggling woman out of a fire as a firefighter. In his hands, he holds his world and everything he could do, but just as equally he has the ability to crush it like a clear hollow glass ball. It’s extremely easy to crush or crack glass because it’s empty and to most people meaningless

The aftermath of crushing this glass ball would be keeping the multiple cuts and scars from it being shattered in his hands and arms. The boy had many reasons to choose the shattering effect. This boy, a bright eyed 12-year-old boy, threw away his hollow and empty world just because of the people around him. He threw away the world because those people convinced him he didn't deserve to live a normal happy life. As I entered a new middle school life, I could just feel the heat coming off of the people around, like everything I did, everything I wore and how I looked was judged. This boy, being me, figured out he wasn't scared of death or hell, because he already was there and the demons he would face in hell would not even close to compare to the demons he was already facing. He faced these demons on earth, in one school.

As for the most memorable day, many do exist in my life of middle school, but a few do stick out more than others.The school to me, looked like a castle that was tall, tan and facing the greenish blueish Lake Winnebago.The first day,the first hour I arrived at that school I was so hopeful and happy. Being a cool September day, the orange and red leaves rustled and twirled through the wind. The air I breathed in was cool and crisp. A mixture of the smell of freshly raked leaves, and the beach on a day too cold to dive in. I will forever remember that smell because it signified the start of school, start of a new day, and start of a new life in hell. I walk into the doors, looking forward to my first class of middle school.

Goodness! I thought to myself.

This school is so huge! I have no idea where any of my classes are let alone who my teachers are. I don’t want to ask anyone, I feel kind of shy today. But why not, right? I mean this is a school and everyone at my last school was more than happy to talk! I was walking down the air conditioned hallway while trying to look for someone friendly to ask a few questions to. The hallways felt like what could be corridors. To me, these halls lacked the definition of the word small. It was just my first day and I was rummaging for my schedule. Checking my pants pockets, backpack pockets, to no avail I couldn't find it. As I walked, I noticed almost no one had a smile on their face. I stuck out more than a dying rose in a fresh batch of newly cut roses.

“Hi there! Nice to meet you. What’s yo-“he cut me off and pushed me into a locker. Not as hard like a huge clunk, but enough to make an impact and feel it.

“Watch where you’re going fat a**.” he stormed off into the classroom next to us. I wasn't sure what I did wrong. Or what he meant by that name. I looked at myself.

“I’m a fat a**? Wow that was kind of mean. Well whatever. He was probably having a bad day and I got in his way. It’s all right.”
To be honest, he wasn't one to be making fun of anyone either. He was about the same build as I used to be but just a tad bit thinner. His face and body defined the saying “white as sour cream”. His face was ripe with freckles. His brown hair was short and neat but still styled. The clothes he wore basically said that he was sporty, egotistical and self loving. This middle school bully had many friends at the time who he knew from previous years and that was the reason no one bullied him. I respect the privacy of others too much to even say his name, so let us call this child Billy. Luckily for his sake, he was not lost in a school full of jerks, me on the other hand arrived confused and out of it.
Being dropped into a foreign setting without a map is how I felt. Mainly because after looking around I was still lost. After about ten minutes of scurrying around the school, I eventually found my class. It was an English class and ironically the same guy who pushed me was in that class. Learning about how to write really benefited me in the future because writing would be my escape from reality.
“Alright class! It’s our first day here so because we are going to spend the next year with each other lets learn each other’s names!”
Our English teacher was an interesting lady. Tall, big hair, sharp glasses. Everything you would stereo-typically think of an English teacher. As we went around the classroom the nerves I felt were apparent. The feeling of sweat from the heat of their beading eyes looking at me was obvious. It was almost my turn to stand up and introduce myself. I wasn't really a nervous person but I didn't want to get called any more names. Getting called that one was enough for the day.
“Hi.”
I stood up as our teacher looked at me with one of those looks like it was my turn.

“Hey, nice to meet you. I’m 12-years-old. I like to listen to music and act crazy. I’m fun and random and I’m more than excited to start this year off!”
I looked around the room and my peers for this next year and they stared back at me like I was an alien on earth. All of their introductions said things such as they liked football or just their names. Mine on the other hand was a bit longer and more detailed.

In all honesty I wasn't the most tiniest kid. Taller than most, thicker than a few but by no means was I as fat as these kids would think. My weight at that time was about 200 pounds and i was 5’9. So maybe not the most extremely in shape 6th grader, but not what most would look like to be obese. Not many kids had thick curly hair that poofed up to look like a miniature Afro, but I did. In hindsight, it may have been a good idea to style my hair like everyone else’s so i didn't draw any more attention to myself than needed. Too much unneeded attention was drawn to me for many reasons, my name being one of them.

My name is the name of an Egyptian ex-president that my dad named me after. His interest in foreign politics striked me as intriguing. My dad hailed from Morocco, which is located in the northernmost part of Africa across from the Mediterranean sea. My mom lived in Chicago until my brother was born. She’s one half Mexican and one half American thus making my nationality Mexican-Moroccan-American. Most kids at my school were either American, Mexican or Asian. But finding a kid who looked like an Arabic kid in a swarm of mostly white kids must have been quite interesting for them.

“What kind of stupid name is that? It sounds like some terrorist name? So you’re a fat a** and a towel head? Wow, look at this product. What kind of parents would even want a child like this? God, I feel bad for your parents. You’re a weird kid and not to mention ugly and fat.”

The classroom at that point felt like a prison. I couldn't move, think, speak. The pictures and quotes teachers had around the room to encourage students appeared to be the only positives in that classroom. Dark blue posters enamored with stars as the backdrop saying things like “ If you shoot for the moon and miss, you're still amongst the stars”. That is a saying I truly don't believe because if you try and fail you still failed and you are among other failures, not stars. A teacher is supposed to be one to discipline when needed, teach us what needed to be taught and have us acquire the knowledge to pass.To me this teacher lacked the skills of real discipline, especially when it came to the bully, Billy.

He truly knew no boundaries. I wasn't aware of what I even did to piss him off or why he had a problem with me. Billy bullied me all through middle school with no end in sight. I couldn't figure out why, and to this day I still never knew why he always targeted me.
“Billy! What in the world are you saying! That’s extremely disrespectful. You need to march yourself down to the office immediately.”
Our teacher replied to his comments sharply and in an inclined voice to try and show the authority she thought she had over him. You know when teachers cringe their eyebrows to show disappointment and frustration in a student? That is the exact look my teacher gave him. Except when she cringed her forehead wrinkled, her dark brown eyes through her glasses reminded me of lasers because they quickly darted at Billy and didn't stop staring him down. She was the authority in the class and she made sure we knew it. From her consistent black blouses she wore that had the look of pure business to the fact she had about five different colors of the same brand of eyeglasses that showed style yet also a straight to work approach. The whole class turned to complete silence and then as this bully was leaving class, he stuck his head through the doorway and pointed and laughed.
“Fat a** towel-head mother f***r.”
He left class laughing. In that moment, that’s when the class started laughing. The loudness was like a tiger’s roar of nothing but laughter.



“Alright class, let’s get to work. Now take out your notebooks and copy this literary analysis chart I have written on the board for you.” I was in utter shock.
Did she not see what just happened? Did she not acknowledge the fact he said those things to me? That day I will never forget because it was the start of 3 years’ worth of instances like that.
The fact that a few kids laughed because my nationality is different than most and commenting,on my weight doesn't seem like things that make a kid hate their life. I know,but see, after years of different variations of abuse it gets to someone. My whole middle school life lacked consistency. It never stayed positive all the time. I came into middle school like a pair of a pair of new shoes. Once I got there, I thought my positivity was going to last forever. As like in new shoes when they have a certain shine and sleekness about them that you think will never fade. As the years went on my outlook became more and more dull and faded like new shoes after running in them for so long. After that prolonged time of having those shoes, they began to wear out and give in to the rips and breaks that occur on the soles. Like the shoes, I was completely worn out. I gave into the terrible words people had called me. I believed them because when you’re told certain things all the time over an extended period of time, you start believing what the words are saying to you. My 8th grade year is a prime example.



Picture this: You’re walking in the vanilla white hallways of your school, the month is October and when you arrive into the doors and through the halls the warmth is almost instant. You are finally in 8th grade and the excitement you hold inside yourself that you’re the oldest is bursting like fireworks on a cool fourth of July night. In your minds you think you’re the kings of school because you’re the oldest. For most people it was the best year because they thought they owned the school and almost achieved high school status. During lunch hour most people would go outside in the dirt covered field and play kickball or talk among their groups. The school sat next to Lake Winnebago which generally is an ugly sight to see or swim in, but when you've been inside a school learning about history and algebra, sitting next to this lake truly is a relaxing break. The lake smelled terrible though, like dead rotting corpse of fish. Probably because there appeared to be multiple scattered around the shore, but nevertheless the view of the lake, sky and clouds is what made it worth the smell.
Most people had many friends and many memories of joy their 8th grade year. Not me though! I truly suffered throughout the year but it occurred on October 15th, the second most memorable day of my life. I was walking in the hallways, and I accidently bumped into the same person who has been bullying me since 6th grade year. I wasn't watching how I was walking and I accidently bumped him. Worried and scared would be understatements to how I felt.



“HEY YOU!” He looked at me with the worst death glare I've seen.



“What did you just do to me? You bumped me. You think you’re cool or something? You think you’re as good as us? You must think after all these years messing with us you’re going to be something in life. Let me tell you one thing, you are an annoying, stupid, ugly f***ot a**, fat f***k who truly doesn't deserve to be in this school. Let alone alive. Go jump off a bridge and do all of us some good. People like you, people like you are the reason this world is terrible and going down the drain. If this world was relieved of terrorists and fat people then we all would live in peace.”
Billy and his group of friends all started to laugh. It wasn't just a laugh; it was like a maniacal sound from their innards. Billy, being the dominant leader of the group because of his size and stature abused me the most with words but his tiny lanky friends loved to join the group. Five people, including himself stood there like a spider waits for its victim to die completely before feasting on this unsuspecting flies insides. His friends appeared to be similar compared to him. Pale white, dark brown or dirty blonde hair, suited up with sports apparel and the same exact egotistical smile assuming they were gods great gift to this earth.



“In fact, you know how emo people cut, why don’t you go do that? I mean doing that is better than eating food and polluting your ugly self. Also, to end the terrible threat you cause to society, why don’t you go and kill yourself? You know, you being non-existent anymore? We wouldn't see you, your family wouldn't miss you, and the non-existent friends you have wouldn't care.”
I looked at them, teary eyed and feeling the worst I ever had felt before.



“Okay.” I reply simply as I walked down to my locker slowly and just full of self hatred to collect my homework and personal belongings from school.
As I walked down the hallway I couldn't help but still hear those words echo through my head. “You don’t deserve to live” they didn't say that exactly word for word but that was the main consensus. I had been having just a terrible day in general, but what they said, it truly pushed me off the edge. Three years of the same abuse from the same people is an extremely hard feat to deal with.



That day of school, I faintly remember we had a good amount of homework. Arithmetic, Social Studies and English, so after this episode I had with these people, I went and gathered my homework and such from my locker. The city bus always picked me up and dropped me off at my bus stop near my home. So there I stood, waiting for the bus to pick me up from school. The pole appeared green, rusted and tall with the blue and white sign saying the times the bus arrived and departed. A big pile of leaves and a willow tree behind where the stop was made is where I waited. Sitting under the tree and thinking of billions of things. The tree was the only thing that showed any weeping or sad emotion that day, and to think it was just an inanimate object. The weather was one of those days where it was getting darker earlier at the end of each day. It left a weird three dimensional aura around the school that made it look like it was coming alive. I looked at it for what I thought would be my last time and when the bus arrived I stepped onto the platform, showed my monthly pass and sat in back. In my head I had many thoughts. Should I listen to them? How should I do it? What is there to use? A good amount of planning was taking place in my head. I looked out the window to what I thought would be my last sunset and I was satisfied. The sun was setting behind the lake, and the sun’s rays hit the lake so perfectly. I was content because I knew I’d have seen the most gorgeous part of natural beauty, the sun and the lake intertwined. To see nature at its perfection is a trait I will always hold dear, mainly because of that day.



I get off the bus at my stop and start to walk home. The thoughts of what they said, the faces they made and the adrenaline I had started to rush through me. They looked like a herd of lions about to feast on a bigger yet weaker gazelle. The look of satisfaction and happiness they had on their face as they said those words is a face I shan't ever forget because a human being taking joy in the pain of another is an absolutely horrible way to live. I arrive at my house, hoping it was empty.



“Hello, anyone here? Zachary? Mom?” I shout into my house to make sure my brother Zachary or my mother isn't there.
I head to the mirror in my bathroom to take one last good look at myself and mumble the words “To spend eternity in hell will be nothing compared to what I’m going through. Good riddance to bad company.” My bathroom enamored the smells of a clean forest and a mixture of different sprays and perfumes. The walls were covered with a bland white color with different decorations such as pictures or quotes hanging up on each wall. One quote read “if is to be, it is up to me”, that quote was inspiring, but not inspiring enough. Looking from each of the four wall panels to the next you would only see a pure creme white foundation glazed with dents and small broken pieces of wall fragments. The house we rented was generally old and beat up so everywhere you would look existed cracks and dents in the walls. My bathroom had to be the neatest room of the house. We had a laundry clothes hamper next to the exquisite platinum looking sink. The bathroom also remained the most fancy room in our house.

“We are ending it. Everything, I’m truly done with the pain, I can't endure any more of how these bullies treat me.” I used the word “we” because I used to be my only friend so when I needed someone to confide in, myself would be the only one there who cared.
I found an old rusted shaving razor in the medicine cabinet that my dad used to use. Next to the razor appeared an orange bottle of prescription pills. I poured the bottle of pills into my hand and they overflowed. The chalkiness and white powder stained my left hand. I examined them carefully, the shape and width of each one. The size of the pills made me less afraid to swallow them all. I was quite the curious kid, so the wheels in my head started turning. I was in the process of trying to decide a quick and pain free overdose or slow and painful vein cutting. Those are thoughts no 13-year-old should ever have to face.

“If I use the razor, my mom might still find the blood even if I wash it off, and rust does have bacteria. On the other hand pills also can cause liver failure, and I just want to be in a permanent coma or instant death so its no guarantee I’ll die instantly. If my veins are completely cut that's almost an instant stop of blood flow so I’ll just bleed to death. Yes, simple and easy cutting is the way to go.” I paced back and forth looking at myself in the mirror which doubled as the medicine cabinet.

I looked into my own dark brown eyes, they were bloodshot and red from crying. I was still in those moments of deciding but then I had a thought I wanted people to know how I died so they felt terrible and bared the burden of my pain on their souls. The more physical pain for me, the more emotional burden for them and I chose the slow way. The razor felt like a sharp relief to the pain I was going through. The amount of pain it caused me was nothing compared to the emotional pain I had stored in me.The bleeding was almost instantaneous. Many people have had scrapes and cuts from things on accident but when you see what you’re doing and can’t bring yourself to stop, that’s something entirely different.
Gently, I place the plastic white headphones in my ears to drown the sounds of my painful moans and groans. The iPod I possessed truly was my best friend because it felt what I felt and it played songs similar to my emotions. Maybe it was the playlist I had on, or maybe it was the fact that it knew me, I don't know. One thing I do know is that the last sound I remember was my blood curdling cries of emotional agony being expressed and the song How to Save a Life by the group called The Fray. An ironic song, wouldn't you think?
“I hope you’re happy! I truly hope you’re there smiling somewhere knowing that everything you have done to me has brought this up. I’ll see you in hell but I’ll be there to save a seat just for you.” I strike the final cut and then everything goes black.
I awake. Where am I? I ask myself. All of a sudden I look around; I’m still in my room. Many people have tasted blood to heal a wound or something. It tastes salty, metallic and just in general a bad taste but you could never imagine what the stench of raw human blood smells like. I woke to my sheets scarlet red. There were trails of blood the places I moved around in my sleep. I inhale deep to see if I really am alive. I will never forget that smell. It smelt like rotting animal flesh mixed with old clothes, it made me gag after I inhaled.



Why, tell me? Why am I still here? it turned out I didn't cut deep enough.
At that moment I had to hurry and put everything in the wash. I went to school that day like nothing happened. That’s how I spent my 8th grade year, like nothing ever happened.
I sit here, now six years after that eternal hell. Wondering how I’m alive? How I made it through? It is truly insane how people could drive one innocent child to wanting his existence gone off this shallow earth. To be honest, I truly do resent some of the teachers at that school. I told them what was going on, how it made me feel, what they were saying and doing. You want to know what they told me? They said its “normal”. Its normal for middle school hazing, it’s normal to feel that you hate your life, and apparently it’s normal for a child to want to kill themselves. If that’s their definition of normal then I would never want to be normal like that. What did the teachers actually do about the bullying? They told me to ignore it. Yes, because it’s just so easy to ignore verbal abuse.

To be one hundred and ten percent honest, I’m glad I am still here and alive. I wouldn't want to be one of the kids in the obituary that people would look at and feel bad for. If I would have gone all the way through with everything, I wouldn't be the emotionally strong and physically tough teenager I am today, living this semi-happy life. If I could talk to the person I was before, I would tell him just one thing; don’t give up, because life is truly a fragile object and takes many hits but how you repair the cracks and the shatters in that glass object is up to you.