I went a month or so writing random short stories to try and alter the future. I didn't do much for myself. Once in awhile maybe. However, I usually helped a friend or two. One of my friends said her brother was really sick. He was getting close to death. I didn't want her to have to go through the pain of losing a loved one like I did. I wrote a story about how he would get better, and live. The next couple days, the story became reality. She was rejoicing when she found out he'd be okay.
I've grown up a little bit. I was in 6th grade. One of the students became a bully to me. She spread rumors, and made fun of me, and made me feel awful about myself.
It got really bad one time. She got others to believe her. Her, and others tormented me, and chanted as a group to make fun of me. I was against the wall, and tried to plug my ears. I could still hear the hurtful words coming from their mouths. I started to cry. I ran off. I went outside, and ran off campus. I eventually stopped. I began to feel angry. I had so many mixed emotions of hatred, self-loathing, depression, and hopelessness.
I got out a notepad. I grabbed a pen, and did what I felt was needed. I wrote a story that was soon to be reality. I grinned as the pen wrote out how this young mare would die. I laughed inside. I finished, and went home. The school day was only half over. My mom came into the living room to the sound of the front door opening.
"What are you doing here?" She asked with almost angry concern. She then saw that my head was down, and saw that I had been crying.
"I hate myself mom..." I said, tearing up again.
"What happened?" She asked coming closer, about to comfort me.
"Don't worry mom, it doesn't matter." I said, starting to trot to my room.
"It does...Please tell me." Her voice went softer
"These people keep making fun of me, and spreading rumors, and....I'm starting to hate myself" A tear rolled down my face.
"I know what that feels like." She said. I stopped trotting, and looked behind.
"You....You do?" I asked.
"Yes....I was always made fun of for being a bad flyer, and being a doormat." She told me.
My mom informed me of her childhood, and her trouble through life. Her name gave away her doormat mentality...Fluttershy... The shy one who was afraid to be loud. But when her friends were in trouble, she said she felt different, like a force of volume just flew into her. Rage was only occasional, but it always worked...
It was inspirational. I need to not care what people think of me, and just ignore the bully, and just be who I am and not be concerned of other's opinions.
..........
The next day was tragic. The bully didn't come to school. There was an announcement, stating she jumped off of a bridge. She left a note, and the principle read it.
"I'm sorry for all the people I hurt. I'm sorry that I'm an evil pony that only makes friends because I hurt others. My home life actually sucks, and I'm just taking it out on all of you. I can't myself, or my life anymore...Goodbye cruel world...."
I remember something about this. I looked into my notebook. And I wrote that exact situation...I did this...I killed her....I...I'm awful...I'm evil...I..."
I sat there, with my head down. No one else was affected it seemed. Did she really not have friends? Was she that lonely? I took a life. I could have just written about her being a better person the next day, but I was mad. I'm worse. I'm a disgrace to this world of so called kindness. I murdered her with my power....No....It's a curse.
I went home that day, my mom was out to the store. Treble went somewhere with a friend after school. I was alone. I went into my room, and cried. I cried my little evil heart out. I feel so awful. I feel like I should be the one who's dead. Not her. No one will ever know that it was me.
I took the page I wrote the story on, and ripped it. I got another piece of paper out. And I wrote out a punishment that I thought I deserved.
I finished the short half page story. I deserve every bit of events that will happen tomorrow.