I walked home from the park, all alone, on the dirty little sidewalk on the side of the road. My face was swelling up from the punch I had received minutes earlier. I was breathing heavily.

My mom just had to tell me to go to the park, and sure enough, they were there. The bullies. Now, I clutched my face, which was bruised and black-eyed, and I limped. Dudley and his little gang of followers had beaten me up. Again. For the third time that week.

I kept walking toward my house slowly, and painfully, deep in thought.

What if I actually stood up for myself? What if they are afraid of me? That would be the day. The day where I had the courage to actually stand up for myself, it was the day that would never come. Ever.

I got to the front door and walked in. My mom took a look at me and came rushing over.

"Oh, honey, are you okay?" she cried, lifting my hand to inspect the purple bruise hidden underneath it.

I winced as she tried to touch it. "Yeah, mum, I'm fine," I said in a small voice. It wasn't that I was weak, it's just my voice was always small. Well, actually, if I thought about it, I was weak. Shyness is weakness, and I'm not sure anyone was as shy as me.

My mom looked at me in concern. "Was it the bullies again, Amanda?" she asked. I nodded a little, putting my head down.

"I'm sorry, Mum. I know you said to stand up for yourself, and I know you want me to, but it's hard."

She gave me a smile. "It's okay. That eyes of yours looks pretty bad-let's get it cleaned off.

"They got my knee too, Mum." I said, pulling up my sweats to show my mom. There was a large blood stain on my pants and there were small pointy rocks and pebbles in my crimson-stained knee.

My mom escorted me to the bathroom to get my bloody knee cleaned off. She talked to me as she wiped it off.

"Amanda, I think you should go to bed soon. I want you to get back on schedule for when school starts." she said, putting a clean bandage ok my knee and getting fresh ice. She kissed my forehead and sent me off to bed.

That night, as I lay on my bed pulling the covers over me, I thought about how amazing it would be if I could just be taken away, away from this terrible place. The only thing is, if someone took me away to somewhere amazing, then I would build up the same reputation I had now-the shy little Amanda Simmons, an aloof little ugly girl. I didn't like my appearance-everyone brought me down for it. I was as thin as a stick, so thin that I looked unhealthy, and I had stringy light brown hair that went down to my shoulders. I had pale skin and I was really bony, and I had a sleeping disorder and ADHD so bags usually were hanging under my blue eyes.

Exactly what a guy looks for in a girl.

Baggy eyes, pale skin, disorders.

Perfect.

I sighed and wrapped the covers around me, having them hold me tightly. Sometimes I just wanted to leave. I loved my parents, I really did. It's just... I didn't like who I was, or where I was. I curled up into a ball, trying to sleep. Of course, I couldn't get to bed. I really never could. I had taken melatonin, but it never seemed to work on me. I tossed and turned over in my bed, until I finally, after hours and hours, fell asleep.

I didn't have dreams often, but when I did, they were usually good.

That night I did have a dream. And this time it wasn't that great.

I dreamed that my mom forced me to go to the park. She had insisted. I had walked there slowly. When I got thee, Dudley was there, along with his little companions. Great.

They snickered at me. I was suddenly filled with anger. They were laughing at me. I squared my jaw and looked Dudley straight in the eye.

"Dudley Dursley, I swear that if you go anywhere near me, I will punch you. And it will hurt." I said. There was confidence I my voice.

Dudley rolled his eyes. "Yeah right," he said. "You're never beaten anyone up." He lunged toward me to take a swing.

I dodged his fist and ran up to him. I punched him square in the jaw. He looked shocked. I punched him again.

He came lunging at me once more, and just as his fist was about to make contact, I woke up.

The dream actually made me feel terrible. I don't want to hurt anyone. But I don't want to be kicked and punched all day either. I wanted to be the person that would be strong but not enough to draw attention to myself. I hated attention. I just wanted to defend myself.

I stared at my alarm clock. 6:34. 6:35. 6:36. I watched the minutes tick by until morning. I just couldn't do anything. Nothing really helped me to fall back asleep.

I just turned the alarm off and stretched. I had only gotten in 2 1/2 hours of sleep and I knew that I wouldn't get any more. Might as well get up and watch a movie or something.

I walked down the stairs. Then across the hall. Thump. Thump. Thump. My feet made noises as I walked across the hardwood. I could hear the rhythm of the sounds and it brought me peace. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The only thing that I considered myself to be even remotely good at was music. I could find music in anything and everything. I played clarinet in my music class, but I took so many courses after school that there rarely went a day past when I didn't go to some sort of music lesson. I played clarinet, flute, viola, bass guitar, and (my favorite) percussion. I liked percussion because of the rhythm. You could use the guidelines on drum set, or you could go crazy and push the boundaries of creativeness.

I found percussion everywhere. When I got up that morning, I could feel it too.
Thump thump thump- squeak- clatter- squeak- thump thump thump- squeak-clatter-squeak-thump thump thump- grind-clatter-grind- thump thump thump- screech- THUMP

I'll bet anything you had no idea what that meant or how it made a rhythmical sentence. I honestly didn't either. It was a pattern. I made sure to keep that pattern going even when I say down with a loud THUMP on the hard chair, a spoon in hand and a bowl of cereal in front of me.

Sometimes I wished people for my vision, my point of view on things.