Seeds of Hate Read Online Free PDF Page A

felt toward him. Instead, I bottled it up and let it pour out of me in whispered words built from vile letters.
    "Fuck them. Fuck them all."
    My eyes hardened as I readied myself to be unaffected. Unaffected by their whispers, their assumptions, and their opinions. I gripped the straps of my backpack and concentrated on my breathing. Then put one foot in front of the other and walked toward my locker.
    I could feel them staring. They had been since the first day. Until something else more enticing occurred, my position under their magnifying glass would remain. Our brick wall was far enough removed from social pastures that they could observe me like a science experiment. That's all Izzy and me were anyway. An observation of deviation from social norms. Izzy was normal in all the ways that mattered—looks, attitude, grades, and personality. He was just crucified by association. I tried to drop him two years ago and even after everything happened he still stuck around. Loyal, kind and caring.
    Everything I wasn't and more than likely would never be.
    I turned the corner to see a particularly hideous group of cows grazing by my locker. The pointing, whispers and consistent, "That's him. Yep. Did you hear? I think he's crazy. No parents. Probably on drugs. Maybe he's special needs?" continued to stream into my ears as I walked past my classmates. I focused back on my breathing.
    You can do this. You can do this. You can do this. They don't know you. They don't know anything about you. They don't matter.
    I kept chanting this over and over again. My hands slipped on the dial of my lock as I tried to access my books. I wiped them off on my jeans and kept breathing.
    You can do this. You can do this. You can do this. They don't know you. They don't know anything about you. They don't matter.
    I had resorted to whispering it to myself, giving life to the words and better control to my emotions. The lock finally clicked and I slipped it on the strap of my bag so I could gather my books. I popped the handle open, and as my door flung back, a sea of white poured out from the narrow rectangular box.
    Shoe laces. Dozens, no hundreds of white shoelaces spilled out and onto the concrete beneath me. They covered my black slippers and piled up to my ankles.
    I closed my eyes. This was not happening. Not today. Not to me.
    There was a tap on my shoulder and I flinched, afraid to turn around.
    "Oh, here's one more pair," he said.
    It was him. Nathan. A conveyor belt of torture hidden behind a pretty face.
    I turned to face him, to give him a glimpse into the sort of pain he was causing me. To let him see. He was laughing. Smiling even. It was all a simple, harmless joke to him. Something to pass the time and make for a good story.
    "Just in case you need to hang something later." Nathan's voice flew from his lips and became a dagger as his words punctured my throat.
    Without even thinking, I gathered my fingers, cocked my arm and punched him straight in the face. He flew back, unexpected and unguarded, and fell straight into the round, brick planter holding freshly planted flowers. The only thing that entered into my mind at that exact moment was...
    He deserved worse.
    I leaned down, picked up a handful of the laces and threw them over his body. Then I spat in his direction and walked away toward the back of campus, into the dark corners where only the "group" rejects ventured. The only place I imagined would bring me peace.
    About halfway across the blacktop basketball courts, I began to run. And run and run.
    I couldn't get away fast enough. My toes curled as I felt my slippers falling. I refused to lose them. Not now. Not after everything. I needed shoes now more than ever to keep the last threads of my sanity.
    I turned the corner around the last building and fell against the wall. A picnic table held about a half dozen students, and several more students were littered amongst the fallen leaves.
    They stared, nodded and went back to their