Three years ago, I was a naive fifteen year. I was dating Alex; we connected because we both experienced daily tormenting by our classmates. We helped each other through the school day. We were the “geeks” of our High School, the outcasts with whom no one wanted to associate. Apparently, holding a conversation with one of us was social suicide; at least that was what I had overheard.
It was March, and still chilly outside as I walked with Alex back to his house. He was busy complaining about someone who had made fun of him during class, but I was too into my iPod to really pay attention. We complained daily to each other about the bullying, so I didn’t think much about his story. I just shrugged and told him not to think about it. As those words escaped my mouth, he began running towards home, leaving me attempting to run after him.
I had been dating Alex for awhile and knew he was depressed; he sometimes acted without thinking. Without hesitation I ran after him, but I wasn’t quick enough to catch up. I watched him slam the door, while his screams echoed down the cul-de-sac. After finally reaching his front porch, I pounded on his door calling his name. I heard him crying. Of course, he refused to answer. I had never seen him act up so badly before. I was so nervous that I could barely move. After what seemed like an eternity passing, his crying stopped. For a split second, I thought he had calmed down. And then I heard the gun go off.
It seemed like the world stopped; I fell to the ground, sobbing. I was too petrified to move. All I remember is telling myself that it was just a dream. If I stayed still, it would all go away.
I sat there until I managed the strength to get up. I didn’t have a cell phone, so I ran as fast as I could to a neighbor.
“Give me your phone!” I screamed.
The older man looked terrified as I ran across his lawn crying. Startled, he probably thought I was crazy.. He starred blankly at me, asking what was wrong; I repeated my request for his phone. I remember holding the over sized phone in my hand and starring at the buttons. I called 911 I was still hoping it was a dream. Alex eventually recovered, but I changed.
Since that panic stricken day, my duty became etched in my heart. I had to stop bullying and help teenagers throughout the world, so I started a nonprofit organization called DOUBTS.
Sticks and stones may break your bones, and words can hurt forever. I believe in the .simplest of all humanly acts; being nice