Every Night, Something Goes Pop Outside My Window, and Everyone Who Bullied Me Goes Mad

They couldn't hear me calling for help. So I used another sound, one that none of them would ever forget.

Pop... pop... pop...

This is the road I take home from school every day. It's probably the kind of junk file that God tossed into the recycling bin and then forgot to permanently delete. Just like me.

The streetlights here feel more like a cruel joke. This narrow path, long as a badly severed appendix, has only three lights in all. Two of them gave up on their duty to shine long ago, emitting a kind of