I had an anxiety attack today in school and felt like terrorizing my blorbo as revenge against the world.
Read at your own risk. I suck at writing emotional stuff.
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He sat there, half finished worksheet infront of him, contemplating. He had dealt with these people from the entirety of last year and almost an entire quarter. Keith had been tolerant for so long.
"Hey dude, could you be quiet? You're distracting."
Keith had finally asked. He had never been so demanding of his classmates before. He usually let it slide because he didn't want to do anything about it but today, he couldn't. He was stuck in a noisy classroom full of douchebags and he was fed up.
The boy looked him in the eyes, a sour look on his face and spite in his eyes. By far, he was the worst one of Keith's classmates. The boy was an instigator and never thought to shut up. Keith had never once heard him shut his mouth.
"What makes you think you can talk to me?"
That fucking asshole really said that. Keith was just about ready to stand up and sock this kid in the face. This boy had the entitlement of a king, I tell you. It's a miracle that his fragile ego has survived this long.
Keith sighed and looked back at his worksheet. He hadn't expected much. Being nice about it can only get you so far. It's better that he stop before he reaches his limits. He shouldn't get into a fight over some kid being annoying. He knows to pick his battles.
The worksheet was easy. Keith knew the concept before they'd covered it in class. The teacher was walking around, trying to get students on task. She was also failing miserably. Nobody had shut up and Keith couldn't focus enough to finish the worksheet that should only have taken 5 minutes.
It had been 15 minutes. The boy hadn't shut up. Keith was tired. He tried to be nice through gritted teeth. His fists were balled in anger. It was so hard not to throw Keith's rock hard textbook at this kid.
Again, the boy looked at him. It was an annoying look. Keith tried to breathe calmly but it's hard to while looking at such an ugly face.
"Why're you balling your fists like you're gonna do something?"
"What? It's not like he's gonna do anything."
Keith was on the verge of attacking this boy. How do you keep your composure when you've essentially been called a chicken by someone that horrible? It was agonizing sitting there, slowly losing his ability to keep calm, anger becoming more apparent with each sound exiting his mouth.
Keith had reached his breaking point. He couldn't take it. He'd been peaceful for so long. He wanted to throw something. He wanted to hit someone. He wanted to hurt anything.
Mindlessly, he stood up, holding his heavy textbook and binder. He threw it halfway across the room. He would've thrown it at someone but he managed to control himself. Everybody's voices, their yells, their concerns, they were muffled, drowned out by the ringing in his ears.
He went and picked up his stuff, his teacher not doing anything while he moved through her chaotic classroom. He sat back down and felt a waterfall of words leave his mouth while he sat, too tired to stop himself.
"YOU'RE SO FUCKING FUNNY CHRIS! REALLY, IT'S HILARIOUS WHEN YOU DON'T SHUT THE FUCK UP AND FAIL THIS CLASS! YOUR HUMOR IS IMPECCABLE! YOU KNOW WHAT'S BETTER THAN YOUR HUMOR?! WHEN YOU DON'T TALK! WHY CAN'T YOU SHUT UP?!"
"You're not my mom. You can't make me."
"YOU KNOW, YOU'RE MUCH MORE APPEALING WHEN YOU SHUT THAT STUPID LITTLE MOUTH OF YOURS!"
The teacher finally stepped in. Keith could feel tears running down his face. Why was he crying? He wasn't upset yet his lip quivered. He probably looked like an idiot. The teacher took the boy to the office and left Keith to cry in the classroom, surrounded by more assholes who just learned that they can get to him.
