Writing stories is one of my favorite hobbies. I like this creative pursuit because it allows me to explore how things could have turned out and give my characters things that I wish for. I’m working on being a better writer and being less insecure about my writing. I share what I write through the class Social Responsibility. Below is the latest story I wrote for that class. I typically write based on true events, but when writing fiction or songs, I typically journal all my thoughts and pick out key ideas, words and phrases. Aside from schoolwork, I have a folder in my computer for my writing hobby.

Smile as pretty as a poison apple

Faye sat at her desk, scrolling through her presentation slides. It was the end of the semester, and the students of Law 12 had been assigned a semester-end presentation project based on what they learned. While bullying wasn’t directly in the curriculum, its relationship with the law was great enough that the teacher approved of the topic.

Faye never told anyone – not that there was anyone to tell – but the whole reason she chose Law for her Socials 12 requirement was because she wanted to see how justice was brought to victims. She wanted to know how Canada judged and treated criminals… She wanted to know if there was any hope…

‘Weirdo’

‘Witch’

‘Derpy’

‘Derpy’

‘DERPY’

Though her glare was directed at her computer, it was not the object of her anger. She was angry with herself. The bullying had happened over a year ago, and yet she was still hung up about her past. Her past! A spark of mischief crossed her mind. If she was doing a project about bullying, why not include some real-life examples? In a last-minute decision, she ran to the living room and grabbed the previous year’s yearbook. She flipped through it until she found what she was looking for, and then took out her phone with a smirk. This would do nicely. Once she had finished, she replaced the yearbook on the shelf. Faye downloaded the pictures to her computer, and then replaced the anti-bullying posters on one slide with pictures of her tormentors.

Faye wouldn’t call herself rash, nor was she an unkind person. She could listen to logic. But the bullies never apologized, nor had they stopped sneering or cursing if they happened to cross paths in the hallway. And that attitude killed any olive branch she may have extended.

Faye giggled to herself. Nobody would expect the quiet, docile student to pull such a stunt.

The day of the presentation arrived. Faye approached the front of the class with a mix of nerves and anticipation. She had sent her Powerpoint to the teacher just before she was due to present to minimize her chances of getting caught, and it seemed the teacher had not noticed yet. Faye made her way to the front of the classroom with her script.

“One of the units in Law 12 that we studied was Youth in the justice system,” Faye began. “and despite being the last unit, to me, this unit is the most important. As Canadian citizens young enough to fall under the protections of the youth criminal justice act, yet old enough to take responsibility of our actions, Youth crime is extremely relevant to us…”

As Faye’s speech transitioned from Youth Crime to bullying, the images flashed on the screen behind her. Her classmates immediately recognized the subjects of the photos, and loud laughs echoed through the room.

“Is that – is that Jules?!” one classmate chortled.

“And Rhys?! What’s he doing up there?” another classmate pulled out his phone to take a picture.

“Do we know these people?” The teacher asked the class.

“Yeah, they go to this school!” A student informed her.

“Faye!” The teacher gasped, horrified. “That is a very inappropriate thing to do! I think we’ll skip this slide.”

Oh no, Faye thought. In her experience, the word ‘inappropriate’ was a good indication that she was going to get a low mark. Was this what being a psychopath felt like? She didn’t feel the slightest bit ashamed that she was harming another person’s reputation, she was only worried about how it would affect her and her grades.

Despite said worry, though, Faye couldn’t help but release an inelegant snort. The irony of being halted in and punished for her pursuit of justice, in Law 12, was not lost on her. Sure, exposing her bullies through public shame was a crude method, but if they didn’t want to be called bullies, then maybe they shouldn’t have been bullies.

As hers was the last presentation of the day, the room fell into an awkward silence. Faye, used to the silence of isolation, didn’t feel the least bit uncomfortable. The teacher didn’t seem to share her sentiments, though, as the class was dismissed early. All the students, with the exception of Faye herself, pushed their way to the door.

“Is there something you wanted to speak to me about, Faye?” The teacher asked with a raised eyebrow.

Faye searched for a sad memory. The death of her cat due to old age was the first one that came to mind. She replayed all the memories of her and her cat until she got the desired effect. Tears welled in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry!” she wailed, though she made sure not to cry too loudly. She wanted sympathy, not annoyance. “I shouldn’t have displayed the pictures of my bullies. It’s just that… I got tired of nothing being done…”

“Why don’t you take a few tissues and tell me the whole story.” The teacher suggested kindly.

So Faye spilled the whole story, starting from when her former classmates nicknamed her “Derpy” after the character with mismatched eyes. Faye didn’t mind such nicknames, but using it in place of her name, when they weren’t even that close, was quite disrespectful to her. She had reported them to the principal and teachers multiple times, but it was as if they forgot about her and the bullying when she wasn’t physically in the room with them. Throughout it all, Faye punctured her story with no small number of apologies and sobbing, but also not excessively; just enough to seem genuine and believable. Faye had never set foot on a stage before, but she put on the performance of her life.

At the end of her story, Faye sniffled. “I’m sorry,” she was NOT sorry. “It won’t happen again.” She would do it a thousand times over.

Faye was fairly convinced that she had garnered the teacher’s sympathy by now. The teacher allowed Faye to redo the presentation with different slides. Faye would have preferred if the teacher had just straight-up excused her from the project, but she would take what she could get. In any case, she had set out to make a point, and she had done so.

The next time one of the bullies encountered Faye in the hallway, instead of sneering or cursing at her, he glared wordlessly. Faye gave him the most innocent look she could muster, but the moment he looked away, she couldn’t hide her cheshire grin.

Public shame was really an effective tool.