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School seems to physically repel me. Even the thought of the hellish prison that they dared to call a safe and happy environment for growing adolescents made me want to hurl. The daily routine he become nothing more than an embodiment of dread, that pulled at my guts day by day, squeezing and twisting until I felt like throwing up the contents of my stomach into the boy's toilets. Sitting in a classroom gave me pounding headaches, as if someone was knocking, tapping bony knuckles against my skull constantly until they managed to dent my skull, leaving a hole that my consciousness would slowly drain out of. Thankfully, I had never actually passed out in school; if I did, then quite frankly, I doubt I'd ever heard the last of it.

World News Headline: That Emo Loser Faints In Maths - What An Airhead!

I suppose my mind and body squirming and squealing as a mere reaction to this place was unpleasant, but not impossible to deal with; all that wasn't real, it was all chemicals and hormones - little buggers, but that was hardly it.

I was a piglet in a slaughterhouse to those senior boys with barely fifteen teeth between them and enough facial scarring to drive a make-up artist insane. The Killers, I believe they liked to call themselves, however I doubted that they'd be too keen on that name if they ever gained the mentally capacity to hear of the band of the same name, one of my favourite bands in fact. They wouldn't like that at all.

The group of four boys; Vince, Skully, Ash and Zachariah, were brutal, no doubt, but painfully stupid, (Zachariah could barely even spell his own name) which meant they weren't too much of a hassle- okay, that's an understatement, but they knew no better means to make my life hell than homophobic slurs, shoddily put together insults on my style and the good old beating me to a pulp. Fun, fun, fun!

Skully, or Sam if you wanted to call him by his birth name, seemed to have brewed some deep dwelling hatred for me throughout middle and elementary school, when he was just as much of an outcast as me and was stupidly jealous of the fact that I had a brain, this was when having an IQ over twenty wasn't something that required a weekly scheduled beating and was somehow in fact even praised by someone over than those weird perverted teachers that had an awfully uncomfortable habit of chatting up the kids that looked like they wouldn't be missed. Steering clear of Mr Stanley was a much of a regular thing for me as avoiding 'The Killers'.

In all honesty, Skully's preteen jealousy was most likely irrelevant by my junior year and he'd simply got sadistic enough to get his kicks out of shoving me into lockers daily. They were dickheads to everyone, but Skully seemed to enjoy diverting the group's attention towards me.

They would hardly grab enough degrees as a collective to work in McDonald's right now, so they really weren't that much of a threat. They'd need a witty ringleader if they really wanted to get at me, because if I avoided them at school and waited half an hour before walking home on a Friday, their feeble attempts at ruining my life were easy to avoid.

-

I pulled my hoodie up, shielding my face in some attempt to blend into the crowd of busy students. Ploughing through the confused Freshmen, giggling Sophomore girls, those Senior pricks and generally just fed up Juniors.

I was quite short, so I had to walk on my tiptoes, pushing myself up to a decent height, to avoid being pushed into a toilet bowl along with a group unsuspecting Freshmen. I almost felt sorry for them. Almost;I had myself to worry about here.

"Hey-" I pulled my hood back slightly, peering behind me. I panicked, noticing the four of them smugly perched on top of the lockers. Ash tapped Skully and his finger wavered in my direction. "Is that Iemo?" I pulled my hood down and picked up my pace, still making an effort not to draw too much attention to myself, but wanting to get into my homeroom without a black eye.

Skully's laugh echoed through the hall, sending chills down my spine, which felt like it was going to bend back in on me and I collapse into a heap on the ground, leaving the students to trample over me as they scurried aside as 'The Killers' came in to assess the mortality of their victim. They'd chuckle violently and dump my limp body in the toilet, they probably strip me naked first, after all, the more humiliation, the better. They be in tears over my scrawny frame and would surely take great pleasure in drawing a massive cock on my back in black marker pen. They'd sign it individually of course, each leaving their own lovely personalised hate message as Vince got out his mobile and called someone messed up to rape my body as he filmed it, ready to put on Facebook. It'd get at least a hundred likes and I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

"As if that's him. Where are his girl jeans?" Thank everything holy I'd put trackies on today.

"He probably couldn't fit his gay boner in them. Faggot!" Intelligent, Zachariah. In fact, I think you may have just lowered my I.Q., hats off to you!

-

I made it to homeroom intact and claimed my usual desk in the corner, hiding under my hood and preoccupying myself with a comic as I attempted to block out everyone else in the room.

"Silence! " Miss Puch blew her referee's whistle which only added to the irony of her morbidly obese figure. I haven't a clue how she made the P.E. department, just shows this school's standards, I guess.

After her second blow, the unruly bunch quietened down and the majority returned to their seats, leaving me a brilliant view of Miss Puch and her hips thicker than Zachariah's skull. It didn't take me long to notice the boy standing awkwardly beside her, stealing judgemental glances across the classroom every few moments.

She grabbed him and pushed him forward, disgruntling him a little, "class!" she blew her whistle again, "Mr Way is the latest addition to our school." My eyes pricked up; that name was horribly familiar, but I couldn't quite put a name to the face of the blonde haired boy.

"Uhh..." Mr Way ran one hand through his hair, his eyes scanning over the classroom, most likely deciding who was cool and who was not as he spoke, "hi." Fascinating! Mariah Williams giggled, practically thrusting her fake breasted form towards the boy, "I'm..." his eyes drifted down and seemed to have taken a pit stop in boob land. He snapped his gaze back up; he had some brains at least, that's practically a first, "I'm Mikey. I just moved here." He smiled and winked at a certain group of girls in particular- No, Rachel Dewberry; he was aiming high. He knew how to play this, that was for sure. I did not want to get on the wrong side of this guy, especially now as he has slid into a seat beside Skully and proceeded to engage in some sort of douchebag handshake with him.

Then it struck me, The Killers had their ringleader.

-

Lunch arrived and there was no doubt in the fact that I was making a beeline to that unused cubicle in the boy's toilets; I could eat later. I dodged every sign of danger on the way there and I thought that today was maybe a blessing, but of course as I stepped into the toilets, I fell right into the chest of Vince Finnigan.

I was dead.

Vince scoffed pushing me off him and pinning me back against the wall. "Hey! Skully!" his green cat eyes darted in my direction, leaving me to watch the smirk slide over his lips as he nudged his new found comrade, Mikey and jumped up from where he was sprawled out all over the sinks, his ashtray obstructing any view of the sign that politely asks you to get your fatasses off the sinks because the school can't afford anymore.

"Kind of you to join us, Frankie!" He winked at me, taking the cigarette stub from his lips and chucking it in my direction, not even bothering to properly put out the thing. Believe it or not, I wasn't in fact a human bonfire.

Ash scoffed, "throw your fag at the fag! Wanker!" He just can't finish a sentence without adding a moronic comment on the end; a prime example of our country's youth.

"So Mikey," Skully glanced across at his new ringleader, before smirking at me, "this is Frank Iero, well Iemo seems more accurate."

Mikey rolled his eyes, "nice fringe, at least we don't have to look at your raccoon rings now. What do you use for eyeliner? Coal from the mine of your sorrows?"

"He can't even run, he's like anorexic!" Zachariah lovingly added.

"Aw does little fatty starve himself now? Doesn't really look like it's working though, does it?" he nudged Skully who grinned across at his newfound best friend. The two of them were basically bonding over torturing me, sadistic to the max. "Nice hoodie. I suppose you've got to wear it though; don't want anyone seeing your cuts," he mimed slitting his wrists as he winked at Skully.

"I don't cut!" I yelled at him and found myself regretting my decision moments after.

"Don't lie, fag! We all know your secret now!" Skully took a step forward as his grin maddened.

"Fag, fag, fag!" the ones of lesser intelligence began to chant.

"We're doing guys a favour here," Skully aimed a kick at my private area, "they don't want your cum in their ass!" I fell against the wall in crippling pain.

"As if this kid would ever have sex!" Mikey takes out my shins and fell to the tiled ground my head hitting it at an agonising angle. "He'll kill himself first anyway!" I groaned as his foot collided with my face. "Uhh my shoes have got eyeliner on," he dragged his shoe down my spine, digging in hard, "just wiping it off."

"Later faggot." Skully snapped, dropping a razor blade by my side, "go for your throat, Frankie."

Hyena laughter bounces off the walls as they walked out. The door slamming caves my headache into my skull and I struggle as I pull myself up, leaning against the sinks. I disregarded the sign and fell back against the wall, spread out across the sinks. I rolled my pants up, cringing at the bloody wounds on my shins - Mikey got me good. I hate the douchebag.

Grabbing several paper towels, I made some attempt to clean my wounds and my face, before tying a crappy makeshift around the biggest wound, a horizontal rupture that dug down into my leg tissue. The blood refused to stop flowing and the little I know about first aid thankfully includes the fact that pressure stops bleeding.

After a few moments of painful moans and grunts, I looked at myself in the mirror. I look like shit. There are dark marks, forming bruises all over my face and my hair's a disarray of black strands messily clumped onto my scalp. Then I glance back at that razor blade and for a moment, I even consider it, but that's what they want; I can't give them that.