This story was inspired by a song Mark Willis performed in 1998, written by Allen Shamblin, about his daughter’s bullying experience…
Their eyes were fixed on the empty desk.
You did this to me!
Despite their best efforts, they could not block out the voice.
You did this to me.
And they had.
The environment in high school was cruel enough, but when someone was different they were targeted even more.
Why don’t you just kill yourself? No one would care.
She walked differently, talked differently, and wore a scar on her right cheek that told a story.
You should have died.
Every word was a blow, a hit to the ego.
Highschool could be cruel, but this was on a new level.
She was bullied not with fists, but with words.
Every day, she faced them, and when she got home, they were there too, on her computer.
Why can’t you just die?
The words, the messages, the taunts broke her until she was left with nothing.
Don’t Laugh at Me, she had tried to scream.
Don’t get your pleasure from my pain.
Those words from long ago should have given her hope, but they didn’t, or maybe they did, but the taunts were more powerful.
You should have died that day.
A freshman year accident, an innocent mistake, rumors, and a life forever altered. A laughter stolen.
She had been on top of the world then, popular, everyone wanted to hang out with her, until they didn’t.
Her ears rang with taunts; her heart was broken by cruelty.
She drove her car, of that old bridge, into the water.
Kristianna.
They knew her name, what they had done.
Her death was as certain as if a gun had been found and the trigger pulled.
Once again, everyone stared at the desk, almost seeing her scarred cheek and those metal braces on her legs.
They had done this to her, killed her.
Their empty desk mocked them once again. They were seniors this year, she was too, but she wouldn’t be at graduation.
There was an echo, and they each heard her say:
Don’t Laugh at me,
Don’t Call Me Names
Don’t get your pleasure from
My pain.
And that’s what they had done, gotten pleasure from her pain.
And now she was gone.
Her tomb an old Chevy in the water.
However, they had learned a hard lesson.
Sticks and stones
May break your bones
But words may break
Your Spirit.
© Michelle Renee Kidwell
April.18.2020
Revised April.13.2024
About the Creator
Michelle Renee Kidwell
Abled does not mean enabled. Disabled does not mean less abled.” ― Khang Kijarro Nguyen
Fighting to end ableism, one, poem, story, article at a time. Will you join me?
Keep reading
More stories from Michelle Renee Kidwell and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Like Letters Written in the Sand Part Fourteen
It had been magical for Anna-leis and Clarence to spend time at the beach where they met, because that had been the place where they had met. After meeting him for the first time, she’d been so short, not hiding her disdain for most reporters, but she soon realized Clarence was an exception. The compassion he showed her was genuine, not a ruse. In the past few months, he had proven that over and over again. It was without a doubt his compassion that made her fall in love with him.
By Michelle Renee Kidwellabout a year ago in Fiction
Echoes in Her Eyes
I was staring at my aunt’s photograph again, the one I always kept on my desk, the one where her eyes seemed to hold both fire and sadness, when a strange pressure filled the room as if the air itself was listening to my thoughts. The light from the window bent strangely across her face, catching in her eyes like trapped sparks, and the room felt tight, as though the walls had inched closer. Dust floated slowly in the air, frozen in place, as if it were afraid to move. I whispered her name, wondering what she felt on the day she chose to stand up for herself and for all Iranian women. The world around me shattered into silence. The silence rang in my ears, loud and absolute, swallowing every sound I had ever known.
By Audrey Sabetfarda day ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
This is sad Michelle. When I was a kid and someone would say something unkind to me, my mother would tell me sticks and stone will break your bones, but names will never hurt me. After that kids just said that back to the people who called them names. It made us mad more than anything else. You are a good writer Michelle however, how about keeping things a little more up beat. Well Done However.