stay behind the line.

the kids were playing dodgeball with nerf balls while he sat on the sidelines. did he still wanna die? yeah, he still wanted to die. he didn't give a fuck about any of these people, and they sure didn't give a fuck about him. at least, that's how he saw it. there were the girls, standing as far back as possible, and they'd throw their nerf balls so weakly that it'd easily get caught on the other side. the coach would yell, "you're out!" and make it seem like it was a bigger deal than it was. then there were the boys, throwing with all their might, trying to be the champs, trying to impress the girls.

he sat it out. he didn't feel like trying to be a champ, or trying to impress anyone. he just wanted to be a worm that could crawl back into its hole, or even better, a bird who could just fly wherever the fuck he wanted. he grew sick of living among the people, breathing the same air they breathed, susceptible to the same diseases they could get. the coach called his name to get up for the next game, and he'd get up, aware of being in his cold, empty shell of a body. he was just bones in a sack, and now some assholes were gonna throw yellow and purple balls at him.

coach blew the whistle. "hurry up! hustle!" she said to him. he tried to silence her with his mind. he could do this thing with his ears where he could make them pop and sound like a car's engine, so he did that. it was one of the more useless powers he had - making the world completely silent. when he didn't wish he was dead, he wished he was deaf. he'd think about those moments in movies where everything was just completely silent, and he'd wish that everyday could just be like that all the time.

coach blew the whistle again, and the game got started. balls were being thrown all around, and he stood in the corner toward the back, wondering what the point was. it was called physical education, so where was the actual education? how did throwing a yellow or purple nerf ball at another human being "educate" him, make him a better, well-adjusted citizen? it didn't. the coach was stupid for subjecting him to such a dumb game, and his classmates were even stupider for participating.

one of the girls on the other team lobbed an easy one at him. all he had to do was move forward a step or two, and he could've easily caught it. hell, even he knew that. but he just stood there. the ball bounced and hit him in the knee. his teammates gave him shit for it. "what the fuck is wrong with you?" "catch that shit, retard!" and despite the fact that they were yelling at the top of their lungs, the coach just pretended like she didn't hear a goddamn word they were saying.

the same girl lobbed another, and this time, he caught it. that time, nobody said anything. it was like he could do something right in life, and nobody would give a fuck, but one tiny mistake, or small display of indifference, and they'd crucify him. he watched his teammates throwing their balls, and he wondered what was wrong with him. why couldn't he just get into it, be stupid like them, and be so focused on something so pointless and inconsequential? they looked intense, ready to pounce, ready for anything, and he envied them. he wanted to strangle them.

he threw his ball weakly, hoping someone on the other team would catch it, but nobody even noticed. it was then that he realized no one was paying attention to him at all. he figured then that he might as well try something. he wasn't sure what had come over him, but before he could process it, he had grabbed a purple ball by his feet, and he was running for the line. he darted past the line, and threw it right into another kid's face. the kid was stunned, but when he came to, he threw a ball right back at him. "what the fuck? stay behind the line, you cheating faggot!" the coach ran over that time, thinking a fight was inevitable.

but instead, he retreated back to the sidelines. he sat there again, content and disqualified, and just a little bit humiliated.

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