The Best Days?

Eeugh. Get tae fuck man. Yer reekin’ o’ deed carrots. I’m no’ gettin’ changed ‘aside that skank boys. Move o’er Chuckie. Dinna funcy catchin’ something rank off ginger’s pubes. Fucking disease stench.

Psssst. Emz. 

Emz! 

Go’on’an pass this wee note to Jax. Cheers doll.

Pah. That’s fucking wild. Haha. Nae wonder no wan’ll sit wi’ her at lunch!

Sssssht! Go’an Jax stick that on her back. Warn folk she’s fucking stinkin’. Foostie bitch. Let’s get her wi’ spray by the lockers at break. 

Go on. If you write anything down against hypothesis I BET you any money that she just copies it. 

Oh. my. god. Does she even ken fit this experiment is even aboot? She’s no even said wan wird. Just expects us tae dee it aww for her. Nae work, all credit. Loooooo-ser. She can’t even be bothered to wash her hair. Greasy ‘mare.

Let your hair down fatty patty, let your hair down foy poy. Fard’you get your shoes fae? The pound shoppie? 

High five! Poet and I didnae know it! Boom! Quite chuffed wi’at wee tune like.

Awright Boys. Look what I got last night from Sarah. Check out these fooking sparrow tits. In fact. I’ll text ’em tae you. You’ll need a right zoom in.

No wasting my time if that’s all the nips she’s got. Took me two weeks of begging. Pasty fucker. You’re welcome bitch. What a fuckin’ joke. 

Go an’ Robbo. Dare you tae text it to her bro for a laugh.

You fuckin’ kiddin’ me? No one would ever do it wi’ you man. Look at all those zits. And all scabby too. Not heard of Clearasil puss face?!

Gadz min – all o’er his back too. Boke! I’m nae happy about him swimmin’ near me like. Hairy assed freak.

Who is going to ask THAT to the prom? Fucking four-eyes.

I’d totally do Miss Ramsay, like. Let’s follow her hame the night. See far her hoose is. Bet she’s a right dirty cow.

– Susie F, Glasgowdragonfly’s Blog

“Why aren’t you in school? I see you every day wandering around.”

“Oh, they don’t miss me,” she said. “I’m antisocial, they say. I don’t mix. It’s so strange. I’m very social indeed. It all depends on what you mean by social, doesn’t it? Social to me means talking to you about things like this.” She rattled some chestnuts that had fallen off the tree in the front yard. “Or talking about how strange the world is. Being with people is nice. But I don’t think it’s social to get a bunch of people together and then not let them talk, do you? An hour of TV class, an hour of basketball or baseball or running, another hour of transcription history or painting pictures, and more sports, but do you know, we never ask questions, or at least most don’t; they just run the answers at you, bing, bing, bing, and us sitting there for four more hours of film-teacher. That’s not social to me at all. It’s a lot of funnels and lot of water poured down the spout and out the bottom, and them telling us it’s wine when it’s not. They run us so ragged by the end of the day we can’t do anything but go to bed or head for a Fun Park to bully people around, break windowpanes in the Window Smasher place or wreck cars in the Car Wrecker place with the big steel ball. Or go out in the cars and race on the streets, trying to see how close you can get to lampposts, playing ‘chicken’ and ‘knock hubcaps.’ I guess I’m everything they say I am, all right. I haven’t any friends. That’s supposed to prove I’m abnormal. But everyone I know is either shouting or dancing around like wild or beating up one another. Do you notice how people hurt each other nowadays?” 

― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

Never suffer in silence. Know it can be stopped. It will be over. You’ll get there. Wherever there is. He or she will always be rotten. As will their nurturers and nurtured to come. You will be free. 

This post is dedicated to anyone being bullied, whether big or small.