Professional Documents
Culture Documents
1.
“Hey Alice, I heard something funny, you want to hear it too?”
The boys who are crowding behind the burly guy who just said this to me cheer their approval of
their leader's approach. I straighten after I finish tying my shoe laces and stand up to face him. He's
muscular, obviously a fan of frequently working out, with a strong jaw, short hair and an almost
feral look in his brown eyes.
“It's about you, Alice.” He resumes, now grinning broadly.
“What is it, Bruce?” I say, as I marvel in the back of my mind at how stereotypically a bully this
guy is.
“Some of the girls are saying that you used to be a guy.” Bruce says, his grin if possible widening
even more.
“And you believe this?”
“They say you still got the penis and everything. Maybe you just like to dress up.”
“Why would you care?” I respond, evasively, as I try to find a way around Bruce and his mob
without making them realize what I'm doing. It appears that my route back to the training field has
been cut off. I have never liked Bruce, but this is the first time he has ever paid this much attention
to me. I wonder who these girls he mentions are and what they have told him.
“I care because you're a freak.” Bruce says, moving in closer until I can smell sweat on him and see
the nicotine stains on his teeth. “And if there's one thing I don't like it's freaks.” At this statement
the mob nearly goes wild, cheering Bruce on like it's the end game for some important match.
I don't answer, still hoping that maybe they'll go away if I don't give them what they want. That's
how bullies are supposed to work, at least. Start crying or attempt to run and they'll pounce on you
like a pack of wolves on a fresh kill.
“I say we'll find out right now.”
Damn it, I think, they're going straight for the kill. Somewhere in my mind I think that this would
be a great time for a teacher or someone else to interfere. Another part concludes that this is
unlikely to happen until it's too late already. Maybe trying to run is really the only way out of this.
As Bruce reaches with one big, meaty paw towards my shirt, making it very obvious what his
intentions are, I dodge to the side and dash towards the one little gap in the mob which might
provide an escape route. Even with my running shoes sliding nearly out from underneath me on the
grass, it seems for a moment that I'll actually make it. Then someone's leg suddenly appears out of
nowhere, causing me to stumble and strong hands grasp me in a most decidedly unfriendly manner.
Great, I'll at least have bruises all over my arms when I get out of this.
Then I'm pulled back to where Bruce is standing, the heels of my shoes dragging on the ground.
“Very good, guys.” He praises his mob, then I'm thrown onto the ground, landing on my back.
Towering above me I see Bruce's vile grin. “You really think you can get away from me? I told you
2.
Softness. Lightness. Just my first impressions as I slowly slip back towards consciousness. Part of
me wonders where I am, as I honestly can't remember. Then I recall the mob and Bruce. It has to
have been a dream. I'm just lying in bed and it was just an awful dream. It has to be, right?
A sudden surge of pain causes me to groan. I open my eyes and see that I'm lying in a bed in what I
take to be the school's infirmary. Apparently it was less of a dream than I had thought. As I try to
slowly move my limbs which are safely tucked away underneath the white bed covers, it evokes a
stinging pain. Moving my head is even worse; it feels as though my skull is falling apart with my
brain leaking out onto the pillow. As the room spins around me, I groan in agony. Suddenly the
curtains surrounding the bed are pulled aside and I see a nurse standing there.
“You're finally awake.” She concludes. Professional to the bitter end. “You got a nasty hit against
your head. I think you may have a concussion. Do not try to move too much.” She walks towards
my bed and fishes a small flashlight out of a pocket and uses it to shine it into my eyes.
“Normal response. That's good. At least your brain seems to have taken it quite well.” She attempts
a careful smile at this point. Pulling up a chair next to my bed, she sits down on it and stares at me.
Interrogation time. Fun. I really don't know what to tell this nurse.
“A teacher found you lying unconsciously in a corner of the training field, you got carried here
about four hours ago. Do you remember what happened?”
“Nobody saw or heard anything?” I manage to croak through a parched throat. The nurse fetches a
glass of water from a nearby table and supports it while I sip from it. I can't recall ever having tasted
anything as great as this water. Another experience I always scoffed at when reading it in books.
Until now.
Sinking back into the pillow, I try to think of what to say. My thoughts are a jumble, not to mention
the state of my memories. Digging into the events of earlier today is akin to entering a house of
horrors. I find myself shuddering at the recollection of fingers on my body. As I close my eyes for a
moment, the nurse says with a slight tone of concern in her voice: “When the teacher found you you
were... naked.” She says the last word as though it's something dirty. “Your shirt was torn and your