This is a story that I have just written, sorry if it's awful, but please may I have some constructive feedback, thank you NOTE THAT THERE ARE SOME GRAPHIC SCENES IN THE STORY. I had a trouble early childhood. From the age of five, I was bullied until I cried, each and every day. I guess it was because I was an easy target. Ginger, smart, skinny, short, weak. All things that bullies pick up on; and exploit. When I was six I told my mother. I had endured for too long. She sat me down, and gave me advice. 1) Make friends with them 2) Tell the teacher 3) Try to avoid them. I went to school the next day, and came back with red marks around my neck. They had tried to strangle me. For the next few years my mother would come into school, talk to the headmaster, and the pain would cease for a few days whilst they were in detention. However, things soon returned and came right back, the onslaught worse than before. Until I was ten. Five years of pain, dread and tears later, I ended up in A&E. My arm was broken. My mother came into my room once we had gotten home, and sat at the edge of my bed. She cried. She stifled it, and escaped downstairs. From my own room I could hear her sobbing. My father came home, and tried to comfort her. Dinner was not served that night. I made my own; biscuits, milk and a banana. My father said that I could have the day off the next day. As I sat in my bed reading a comic book at 12:52 (I will always remember), he approached me and said quietly into my ear "Just ignore them." This are the words that I live by. The bullying had ceased by the next week, as I simply didn't give a reaction to the jibes, their prods, and their atrocious attempts at jokes. They moved on. By the time I was in Secondary school; I hadn't been bullied for about a year and a half. Only two people from my Primary school went to my Secondary one. Me and James Knight. I will never forget him. He was a cling on to the bullies. He laughed and he punched, but he never did much damage. Still, I hated his guts. By the time I was 13 I had noticed that James was... socially impaired. He always sat alone. He did not, however, get into any trouble; so I talked to him a few times. A week later, regrettably, I got invited to his birthday party. We became 'friends'. My acting talents were rather exceptional, I have to say so myself. No one knew. I had been out of school for two months now. My A-Levels the past, and lectures in the distance behind me. I became a sloth. I had decided to take a gap year. Without the money, I decided to work the first three quarters and party the last quarter. That was until last Monday. When it began you could say. You see; James was Australian, so when he tried to join the Royal Navy; they had to do a background check on him didn't they? My door shook, as a heavy set man in military uniform thumped it. I was scared for a minute. After I had greeted him and offered him a cup of tea, which he had declined. We got down to business. James's background check. The thought blossomed during a bathroom break. I would ruin his career for what he did to me childhood. It began. Funnily enough, there is no man in the Royal Navy called James Knight. His background check must've failed. I wonder why. A month after, I felt like I was missing something. It happened whilst I was watching an episode of The Simpsons. You know the one where Sideshow Bob frames Krusty the Clown for robbery? The gap had a little water in the bottom, and a tap to fill it. Only the water was revenge. I tracked them down one by one. Samuel Jones: Dead. He had died in a car accident whilst pumped up on LSD and booze. His grave squatted in a church in the middle of nowhere. Michael Connery: jobless, but has a pretty hot girlfriend. He now lives in London, living of off the Job Seeker's benefits. I even have his flat number. Taylor Freeman: now lives happily with a husband and kids in our home town. My old home, easy target. Simon Aldrin: has a poor job, and a son with no mother. Misdealings with a prostitute. He was the worst. He was living in Sussex five years ago. I couldn't find any more details on him. No Facebook, no Twitter, nothing on Google. Sly little fox. Escaping the Hunter. I have OCD you see. I had to order them in the order it happened. I guess OCD is also why I was so thorough. It was fun after all. I found Samuel's grave fast enough. The graveyard was clear too. Easy work. The church had a notice board. I changed my plan quite quickly. On the notice board there was an anti bullying sign. I dug up his gravestone, moved it to the church and wrote "OR THIS HAPPENS TO YOU" in ugly handwriting upon his gravestone, I then pinned the anti bullying post above it. To finish the Job off, I got the bag from my car, and tipped 10kg of horse crap over his grave. Perfect. Michael Connery was by far the most fun. I created a false alias of a woman, not too hot, but she had money. I photoshopped her into many photographs with Michael. For the finishing touch, I managed to create a picture of them kissing. I made a Facebook account and made lots of other emails and accounts. 437, all mastered by me. She was wondrous. I developed her character over time, posting stuff, liking them with other accounts. She seemed a very real person. After a year of this, I sent Michael's girlfriend a friend request. She accepted. I sent her a message asking to look at my timeline. I made sure to add a demon emoticon at the end. Michael went mad. He got diagnosed with Schizophrenia and went mad. He now lurks in an insane asylum. He swears to this day that he has never heard of Maria Garcia. Taylor Freeman was fun. She now lives in my old home. She has a beautiful family. She had a beautiful family. Her husband had broken his leg after falling from a ladder whilst cleaning some windows. Some careless person on their phone had knocked into it. Oops. Unfortunately this coincided with her childrens' day off from school. That morning someone had walked through an unlocked door, poured lots of Diesel around, and dropped a match, all whilst everyone was asleep. All except Taylor, she was at work of course. I listened to their screams, a song of beauty. A phone call would then tell to her of a horrible accident of her husband's car leaking diesel, and one of his stray cigarettes lighting it. I make a good police detective. I used my job to locate Simon. All I'd heard of him were little snippets, no matter how far I dug, I could never find him. I then found a Twitter account. "@Firecarrot2003" my childhood nickname, and his sister's birth year. He couldn't escape me that easily. I quickly found his location; and got in touch. He said sorry, I said "it's okay" and we decided to meet up to consolidate this. I like third person stories. I was thinking of writing one soon. Me as the main character of course. He has no idea. I stand here writing this on my phone. 21:43. We are due to meet in two minutes in the cafe across the road. He has never given an address since he moved away from Sussex. He was only prolonging his life by a few months. 12:56 now. He has left the cafe, having met no one inside, and an older teenager follows him on his phone. The man doesn't notice. The man turns into an alleyway as the teenager follows. A small flat appears on the right. The man steps in. The teenag Sorry the teenager had to cut off there. The teenager went in and stabbed the man to death with a fork. The man died screaming in agony. Trying to get help. However, his family were sitting there in the corner. Every last one of them. Gagged and forced to watch. The teenager had known that the man never used this room. The teenager knew to use a fork. It had always been a jibe. The man used to call the teenager a carrot, and how he was going to eat him with a fork. Whilst the man was near to death the teenager stopped. He looked at his artwork. Beautiful artwork. In front of the man's family, and the man's unwillingly open eyes. The teenager began to eat him. It began slowly, every bite cultured, until the teenager got bored and ripped into the man's stomach and ate like a wolf. I found him delicious. I sat there in the room, Simon's mangled corpse next to me. I wondered what had happened. I realized I was referring to myself in third person. I realized what I had done. I started crying. Tears of joy flooded me until my ecstasy was complete. For the first time in my life I was happy. I was whole. I pulled the gun from my jacket and shot myself, truly in bliss. The story is psychotic because it is written in first person, and the main character is psychotic, which is why speeding is poor, to show how he can't think clearly.