|handle (xerox) wrote in genome_project,|
@ 2012-06-27 22:52:00
|Entry tags:||june 2012, prompt table 1, sascha st. peter, wesley clarke|
Who: Wesley Clarke, football players, & Sascha St. Peter
What: bullying in the locker room
Where: ...the locker room!
When: backdated to early June, midday; Wednesday
Rating: PG-13 for some homophobic sentiments.
Having P.E. class directly after lunch was hell. Not only was Sascha stuffed with bad cafeteria food (and semi-queasy), but when it was as hot as it was today - and it was hot, he just wanted to curl up somewhere quiet and cool, and nap - which, given that P.E. was due to start in ten-ish minutes was kinda impossible. Still he tried to get a moment's rest before the boys' locker room filled with the usual hormonal douchebags. Because what made having P.E. after lunch worse was the fact that this specific P.E. class was comprised of 75% football players and 20% of cheerleaders. The last five percent was just a collection of misfits, nerds, goths, and stoners, to which, naturally, Sascha belonged.
The boy sighed in the quiet room, leaning his back against the cool metal of his closed locker. He looked up at the ceiling, already dreading the hour that was to come. Not only was he not athletic in the least, but the five minutes before class were the worst five minutes of the boy's entire week. His hair - dyed black and purple, his eyeliner, and his not-the-right-brand clothing made him the target, here and everywhere else, of unwanted attention. And while the taunters' cries of 'gay' and 'faggot' and 'queer' were, indeed, true, it wasn't something Sascha had ever admitted aloud. To say that it was difficult to have to publicly deny what he honestly felt - and to accept that some people hated him for it, just as some did for his being a mutant - was a massive understatement.
Although he'd never admit it, it was not uncommon for the boy to cry at home after the days he had P.E. Maybe he didn't want to fit in (as evidenced by his hair and appearance), but no one wanted to be ostracized and made fun of.
But today was the third to last gym class of the year. The boy would've skipped, if the threat of having to repeat the class wasn't hanging over his head. - So here he was. He rubbed his eyes lightly, careful not to smudge his make-up and sat up as he heard the boisterous laughter of several boys echo throughout the room as they made their way toward the lockers.