I looked at the mirror, my eyes filled with rage as I recalled how Little Johny had bulled me. As tears streamed down my cheeks, I could see an image of Johny being punched in the face by a burly boy. The next day, Johny had a black eye.
I was sad today as all the boys ganged up against me and dint let me play in the outhouse. They shoved me away. I looked at the mirror with sadness and could see the image of the outhouse-the roof caught up in flames. I can see Tim, Harry, Chris, Kevin’s terrified faces in the window.
I would run and open the door, set them free and be the hero. But I see one more face in the window. Stunned I realise thats me, I am coughing uncontrollably now and I fall flat on the mirror.
Linking up with Rochelle Wisoff who hosts a weekly flash fiction for writers.