The first couple of months were doable. He didn't have much, or any, friends in that school. Just a group of 'other guys' to which he shared some space and time, in class and at lunch hour. It took him quite a while to adapt to the new situation. He was quite skinny, too polite, raised well by his parents, a bit too well he guessed and he still had a 'childish' side in him. He was young for his age.

For those obvious reasons (he was clearly not at the top of the social hierarchy), 'they' turned against him. 'They' were a group of four to five guys. He wasn't sure back then what he had done, or didn't do, to them. What he was sure about was that he didn't have a proper defense, not in any way, shape or form. The moment 'they' turned against him, was the moment he turned into 'prey'.

The months that followed consisted of being chased by this pack of wolves in and around school, in class, on the yard, on his way to and from school; there was never a moment to catch a breath, never a moment where he could come to his senses, no protection or help at all from no one. He was alone, he was spit at, got cornered, kicked and beaten up on a daily basis, sucked up the worst insults ever, had threats every other day or so, even to his life, and got publicly humiliated in several ways, was laughed at for the usual, stupid reasons, was ignored in various, humiliating ways, the list went on and on.

Never

Ever

A

Single

Moment

Of

Rest...

Look over your shoulder, 'cause they're coming for you.

He was prey, he was hunted severely, even up to the doorsteps of his safe harbors. It felt like he was being tossed in a trench and for some reason had to work his way through that pile of mud and shit that was called 'school'.

When the guys had stopped in front of him during lunch, made fun of his hair once again by calling him 'a mutated spinach head', he snapped completely.

He somehow jumped on top of the table, planted one of his feet in his face, in hindsight with so much force that he had the profile of his shoe almost carved in his skin. A fully-crowded room turned silent in a moment's notice and some three hundred pairs of eyes stared at him, standing on that table. His predator laid on his back, as he had fallen backward from his place. One of the teachers dragged him from the table and angrily almost threw him into the principal's office, where he was ordered to wait. With that action, he confirmed his belief that teachers are the worst sort of traitors towards children. Finally he stood up for himself, only to find that he was cornered again and had to pay the price; in the form of a harsh conversation with the head of the school screaming at him that 'violence was not allowed in school' and 'what the hell he was thinking kicking that poor boy in his face with the soles of his sneakers'.

All the while he shouted at him he was thinking; why did he stop? He should have smashed the entire damned table in his face for what he'd done to him... make him swallow the stupid chairs too. But moments before that, between the fore-mentioned table and the principle's office, hid 'heroism', vanished in thin air and him, he could mumble not much more than an apology.

...

His dream ended abruptly, as he was shaken back into reality. His eyes opened, Gar's eyelashes faintly batting against his lids when he blinked. He laid on the bed, debating whether or not he should get up. His muscles felt weak, just like his energy. Gar let out an exasperated sigh, groaning as he rolled off of the queen-sized bed he had been occupying.

"Gar!" Dick's voice cut through the train of blurry thoughts. "Gar, come down, dinner's ready!"

"Coming!" He called back, mustering up all the strength he had left in his body and gripped the edges of the bed, getting to his feet. His legs were shaky underneath him, barely supporting his weight. With a tired grunt, his haunches landed back again on the rumpled mess of sheets. He took this moment of relief to look out the window.

The trees stood starkly in the winter morning like x-rays of their summer selves, only in reverse; black on white. They looked so forlorn in the frigid early evening, with already the short winter daylight fading. It was beautiful anyway.

"Coming," Gar called back, just in case Dick was wondering if Gar had fallen asleep again. Slipping on the pair of old, worn sneakers at the door by dragging them over with his toes, he got to his feet and turned the doorknob, stepping out into the hallway. He neared the staircases, taking in every inch and corner of the house.

The first things he heard were Christmas carols sounding off a speaker, jolly tunes and melodies that somehow made his heart race with happiness. And as the air grew warmer around him, enveloping him in a tight embrace, he made his way down the flight of stairs for the first decent meal he had had in quite a while.