User:Tofutwitch11/Moral

'''I am re-telling this story, as it was told to me. This is a true story, told in the first person. Please read the entire story and do not skip to the end.''' --

I was starting first grade, excited as the other students. On that first day I found the seat with my name and sat there, looking around. I met Bob, Jenny, Henry, but there was this kid, and he was different. His name was Pat. He just wasn't like the rest of us....he looked different, dressed different, and liked different things. Everyone picked on him, calling him the "weirdo" (along with other names first graders use) and treating him as an outcast.

As expected, he became that kid who had a table to himself at lunch. I would always sit at my table with the "cool" kids, and ignore him. There came a day where an odd feeling overcame me. I just got this urge to sit with him, but I couldn't. I wanted to, he was so lonely but I would not let myself. I mean, what would my friends think of me if I went and sat with the outcast? Everyday the feeling got stronger, so I started to avoid going to lunch and wandered the hallways to avoid the pain of having to watch this poor kid eat alone and knowing I could do something about it.

Years went by, nothing changing. He was still getting picked on, still sitting alone, still had no friends. I would always tell people to stop picking on him, and let him be but that was the extend of my intervention.

It came to the Halloween of fifth grade. Our sixth grade class had an egg fight in the middle of a senior citizen development, making a mess. We made the news, like a seniors in high-school doing a practical joke. Because of the severity of the event, our teachers and local police decided to set aside a block for the next year, where we could have an all out egg fight and not worry about what happened, and we would be provided eggs so we did not steal them from the local grocer.

As the Halloween of seventh grade neared, eleven friends and myself had formed a group called The Warriors. We decided the egg fight would be us, against the rest of our class (150 kids). The only kid who wasn't in the fight, was Pat. The rest of the class told him he could participate with them. He asked us if he could join our group, in front of everyone. Out of pressure I told him "No". He then asked me at a further time if he could join our group, I told him he could.

I had told everyone of the Warriors to wear camouflage. Just as we were about to start, a boy wearing a neon yellow uniform shows up. It was Pat. I said "Dude, what are you doing? I said wear Camouflage", he said "I know, but my mom told me that wearing this neon yellow uniform would significantly decrease my chance of getting hit by a car"....before the fight could even start, he was hit in the head with an egg and fell to the ground. His mom heard him scream and came running for him. She was devastated. She took him in her arms and ran home, I followed by her demand. His father was outraged, I learned six new swears that day from his father.

Pat came in the next day with a patch over his eye. Pat explained to me that the egg shells had caused a tear in his cornea, and he could have gone blind. For months he wore the eye patch, getting called names such as "Pirate boy" and everytime people would see him they would make "Arghh" noises, etc.

The following year, another egg fight was planned. After Pat had got the eye patch removed he said he still wanted to be on the Warriors. I told him to make sure that he did not come dressed as Big Bird, and he said he would try.

Just as we were preparing for the fight, I realized Pat had not yet shown. Soon after that, a boy wearing a Neon Yellow jacket and goggles showed up. It was Pat. I asked him what the reason for the goggles was, he advised that it was so he did not re-tear his cornea. I convinced him to take the goggles off and advised him to take shelter behind me. He did so, but he was still the main target. I grabbed his hand and ran, faster than ever, through yards until I reached that of a friends house. I had planted rotten eggs weeks before that I planned to use in the fight. It was dark, and there was construction. Just as I was nearing the edge, I heard a scream. A close line had slammed into Pat's neck, and then broke wrapping itself around his head. I ran to see if he was okay, the only response I received was a "Honk" like noise, over and over. It was so loud, the other team heard and started coming. I had two choices, stay and support Pat, or go take cover and be safe. I decided to take cover and be safe.

Pat was pegged with over 50 eggs, and I heard him "Honking" the entire time. After what seemed like forever the other team left. When I went over to Pat he was nearly unconscious and bleeding with Egg Yolk. I took him home, holding him the entire way, as he was unable to stand. Eggs were fired at him and I from passing cars. I dropped him off at his front door, rang the doorbell, and watched him collapse. His mom was devastated and had to call 911. It turned out he had bruised his wind pipe and needed immediate medication to stop the swelling.

For weeks after that, he was called "Goose Boy" because he honked like a Goose.

If you don't know, our bus's are something like this. Cool Kids in the back, Cool kid wannabees in the middle, and loner's in the front. Pat sat right behind the bus driver. It was a Tuesday right after I got on the bus. Pat was already on, but he decided he was going to sit in the back and stick up for himself. Everything seemed to go okay, the first five minutes was awkward silence. I then started to hear "Oww", "Stop", "That hurts", etc as he was tortured. It got louder and louder until the point where he was screaming. The bus driver just kept telling us to "Shut Up". I got up from my seat and told the others to leave him alone, but to no avail. I was just criticized for sticking up for "that kid". You see, everyday when this boy would get off the bus his mom would be waiting, and he would jump into her arms and walk home hand in hand with her. When we got to his stop, his mom was there with a big smile waiting to see her son. The kids were not letting him go, so I yelled "Give me the ******* kid, it's his stop." They threw Pat to me, and he landed in my lap crying and full of blood. His ear lobes were ripped and his hair was full of spit (from the other kids), blood, amongst other things. The kids had shoved his face in the seat crack and twisted it using his ear lobes, and then spit on him when he tried to move. He couldn't support himself, and when I looked him in the eyes as he bled, he pleaded me to take him to his parents. Blood and spit dripping down my arm, I did what no one else would and walked off the bus him in my arms. His mom was smiling but as I got closer, boy in arms, a look of terror spread across her face. I released the boy and he fell to the ground short of his mother. She ran to pick up her only son, whom she loved and took care of as she should. She cried like nothing I have ever seen before as she carried her only son bleeding, crying, and barley conscious. She sat and cried until his Dad ran out, saw the situation, and called 911. The bus drove away, leaving me to walk home. I have never seen such an upset person in my life, as Pat's mother was. All she did was send her child to school, and got this in return.

That night I had heard that twelve kids were going to be expelled. I was afraid as I entered school the next day, fearing I would be one of them. I was told that no one was being expelled, but we all had to go home. After everyone cheered, they told us that one of our fellow classmates, Pat had died. Cause of Death: Suicide, by hanging. He hung himself in his garage with what energy he had left while his parents called 911 and awaited the medics.

I was the only student to attend his wake, and there his mother read me the suicide note: "Sean (my name), all I ever wanted is for you to sit next to me at lunch. But, you didn't, you watched me suffer eight years of eating lunch alone. I saw you see me, but you never helped me. Now you won't have to worry about it any more, because I won't be there".

True Story.