WARNING: This is not furry. This is not sexual. If you're looking for yiff material look elsewhere.

Writing © Fayin





As a child, I thought that if I walked quickly enough the bullies would leave me alone.

The taunting started before I could even make it off the bus in the afternoon. As soon as I stood up to get off at my stop one of the boys up front shouted "clear the aisle!" He and his friends launched themselves at the windows, laughing at me as I pushed past other students and their bookbags. My hips hit the back of the vinyl seats on either side of me; I was mortified, face red in embarassment when, with every step, I had to swing my hips and twist my body to avoid smacking into the seats. The aisle shrunk around me, vinyl and people pressing closer, and the walk to the door stretched on for ages.

"Sideways would be easier!" one of the boys called as I passed his seat. Another kicked out his leg to trip me. They continued to shout "fatty" at me even when I reached the driver, who had never done anything to help. She only looked at me with a blank face, no sign of sympathy in her blue eyes.
I stepped down from the bus, onto the corner of the dead-end street on which I lived, blinking back tears from the cruel words flung at me on the bus. There were no parents eagerly awaiting my arrival, no one to walk me down the street to my house. My father worked long hours - he was probably out of town - and I knew my mother was at home with my little brother. She trusted me not to get into trouble on the short walk home, but she didn't account for the other children.

I was halfway home before I heard them behind me: three of them, neighborhood kids, all at least two years older than me. Two girls and the boy, Steve, that lived at the end of the street. Our street was small - our parents all knew each other at least on some level; my dad and Steve's dads were even friends, but that didn't keep them at bay.

"Beep, beep, beep," one of the girls called out with every step I took. She was imitating the sound of a truck or other large machinery backing up; I recognized it from the times my dad had taken me to work with him where he drove a semi truck, delivering products across the states. He'd often take me to Michigan with him, letting me sit in the front of the cab for the three hour trip. I'd always felt so tall looking down on the smaller cars, a giant on the highway.

"Wide load!" the other girl jeered. I heard them giggle at my expense, my face flushed. I couldn't be more than eight years old at the time - I didn't understand why they chose to torment me when I'd never done anything to deserve the negative attention. I hardly knew the girls.

"Flubber!" The movie starring Robin Williams had just come out, but Steve meant it as an insult, a reference to my weight.

I felt hands on me, shoving. I fell into the ditch next to the sidewalk. Only a foot deep, but the bottom was wet with the recent rain; my shoes and socks were instantly soaked, water splashing up my legs.

"Why do you always wear sweat pants, huh?"

"I'm between sizes," I muttered at the grass. It was true - my mother had taken me shopping multiple times for jeans, but I could never find a pair that fit properly. They were too big, too small, too long, or bunched awkwardly in the crotch area. Sweatpants were easier; they always fit and the measurements weren't as confusing as those of jeans.

"Bet they don't make them big enough for you." The three laughed; I stepped out of the ditch without answering, but was shoved back in.

"Fat ass!" they jeered.

"It's baby fat!" I screamed at them, the same thing my mother had told me when I asked her whether or not I was truly fat.

"So you're a baby then?"

I didn't know what to say. I hopped out of the ditch, this time onto the street so they couldn't shove me again, and stared at my muddy sneakers as I continued to head home. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, blurring my vision, and I knew my face was red. I didn't know how to handle their insults; my mother had always told me to be the better person, to not rise to the bait, to ignore the bullies. She told me that people only bullied others because they were jealous. But what was there to be jealous of?

"Be the bigger person," I told myself, voice cracking. They heard.

"You ARE the bigger person!"

"Fatty!"

"Cry baby!"

I started running, tears streaming down my face, bookbag slapping against my back with every step that I took. They followed me until I reached my driveway, hurling insults the whole way. It didn't end until I stepped inside the safety of my own home and shut the door on their jibes.

But the damage was already done.