Ahh... this fucking hurts.
I was slumped against the rough brick wall behind the school building, my body sliding down until I hit the dirt. My chest felt like it was on fire. My ribs were definitely cracked, grinding against each other with every shallow breath, and looking down at my left hand, I saw my ring finger bent at a sickening, unnatural angle.
These guys... they really didn't know when to take a break.
"Do you like that, Siddhartha? You fucking dog."
The voice came from above me. The leader of the pack—a guy built like a tank with a brain the size of a walnut—loomed over my broken form. Before I could even try to formulate a response, he pulled his leg back.
Thud.
His heavy boot slammed into my abdomen.
The air didn't leave my lungs—blood did. I retched, coughing up a mouthful of warm, metallic crimson onto the asphalt as I curled in on myself, struggling to suck in even a thimble of air.
"Look at you."
The big guy crouched down, grabbing my hair and forcing me to look him face-to-face. He leaned in close, his hot breath hitting my ear.
"Shithead."
He pulled back, dangling a small blue plastic device in front of my eyes. My inhaler. My lungs were seizing up, my throat closing like a fist was crushing it. I needed that puff. I reached out with a trembling hand, desperate.
"Do you need this?" he mocked, shaking it just out of my reach. "You sound like a dying engine."
I gasped, my vision swimming with black spots. Give... it...
He smirked, stood up, and tossed the inhaler over his shoulder. It clattered across the pavement, landing ten feet away in a puddle of mud.
"Get it yourself, you disabled trash."
"Hey... isn't that enough?"
The voice came from the side. It was one of his lackeys, a guy about my size. He looked nervous, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "He looks bad, man. Like, really bad. At this rate, he's actually going to die."
The big guy didn't even look at him. He just stared down at me with cold indifference.
"Let the fucker die."
His voice echoed in the alleyway.
"Who's going to cry over a body like his? Even if he dies right now, the world just loses a little bit of deadweight. I'm doing society a favor."
He yelled it out loud, not caring who heard. And plenty of people heard.
I tried to lift my head. My vision was getting blurry, the world smearing into shapes of blue and grey. I saw faces. Other students. Bystanders.
They were all just... watching.
Some looked pitying. Some looked amused. Most just looked indifferent. Not a single one of them stepped forward. Not one person moved to pick up the inhaler. Not one person told him to stop.
Shit.
A cold, dark rage started to bubble up under the pain. It wasn't the heat of anger; it was the chill of absolute hatred.
If I had power... if I had just an ounce of strength... I would kill every single one of you.
I screamed it in my head, my thoughts violent and crystal clear even as my body failed.
I would tear you apart.
But I couldn't scream. I couldn't even whisper. I didn't have powers. I didn't have magic. I was just Siddhartha Shah, the sick kid with the weak body and the lungs that didn't work.
The noise of the schoolyard began to sound like it was underwater. The pain started to fade, replaced by a numbing cold.
I zoned out, my eyes losing focus on the uncaring crowd.
Just before the darkness took me completely, I heard a frantic whisper from somewhere far away.
"Hey! Someone call the nurse! He's not moving!"
Too late, I thought.
And then, everything went black.