Ivan was a rather ordinary fellow. He grew up like many in the heart of a large city, with loving parents, and a bicycle. He had friends, though not many, probably due to his not-so handsome figure, but that is life. His childhood was one of being spoiled and pampered by his loving, but overly-protective parents. Once his teenage years came, however he was in for a suprise, as he soon found out, that because of his hideous figure, he was immediately labeled as a geek, nerd, twerp, or whatever humiliating term was used during the time. The sheltered boy had never thought that he was the sort that would be ridiculed, but believed he would be the center of attention, as it was during his childhood days. Little did Ivan know his so called friends of youth were merely bribed by his parents to play as if they were little Ivanís dearest friends.
The twerp, as I liked to call him, rushed home after his first day of junior high crying, pleading for a miracle. Little did Ivan know, no miracle was in store for him, only more torment. Unfortunately, his parents were unable to help him "fit in" as they called it. Why? Well, they had developed quite a large debt from Ivanís childhood friends, bribing had never been so complicated as it was today. Each day of school Ivan was beaten, verbally abused, and repeatedly stabbed with ink pens, pencils, or whatever sharp objects were available when Ivan crossed our paths. My favorite piercing device were the sporks in our lunchroom. Fortunately for Ivan, he made it through juniorr high with one working eye. This would be nothing compared to his high school adventure.
After three years of torture and ridicule in junior high, Ivan excepted nothing to be different in high school. Thus the events of the first day came as no surprise to Ivan. As he stood before his first hour class to introduce himself, his teacher growing lethargic from his studentís boring speech pulled his pants down and yelled, "Look at the twerp, lets laugh at him!". The class of course did laugh at Ivanís torment, even adding to it as they threw paper, pens, but mostly books at him. Even during lunch the cafeteria workers would regularly pour small amount of bleach and other chemical products into his food.
During the summer of í97, Americans were swept up by the Japanese craze of Pokemon. Seeing how all the little children had developed a ranking system based on who had the most Pokemon stored in there "PokeDex", Ivan had a revelation, he would become a Pokemon master so during his junior year of high school he would finally be accepted. Little did Ivan realize that childrenís toys donít blend well with antics of high school teens, but alas Ivan never realized anything. The day after "Labor Day" was probably the worst day in his teenage life, his bright red Pokemon "Pikachu" shirt didnít settle well with the students, who had endured the entire summer listening to there little siblings speak the foreign tongue of the Pokemon. Ivanís smile soon turn into a twisted expression of both hurt, and panic. He started to run but it was to late. The entire student body and some teachers mobbed him. After a short visit to the hospital Ivan returned to his school, which didnít welcome him with opened arms. After the operation at the hospital Ivan was unable to walk, and he wouldnít be able to for a good month, this provided the opportunity for myself to have a little fun. How you ask? Let me tell you.
The day was September the seventeenth, I saw Ivan struggling to reach the up button on the schoolís elevator due to the fact he was stuck in a wheelchair. That is when my deviant idea was given birth. I walked over to the wretched creature and said, "Let me help you Ivan." The smile on his ugly face almost made me laugh.
"Thanks," he replied. Up the elevator we went. Once we passed his floor he soon become curious, and a little scared. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Oh, we passed your floor. I am sorry." I replied. He than started to rattle away something about his life, I paid no attention. DING. The seventh floor. The noise was the most pleasant sound I had heard all day, the noise was the sound of the dayís fun beginning. I pushed his wheelchair out into the hallway, moving him to the stairwell, I waited. He began to squirm, and cry out. I only laughed and pulled the nearby fire alarm. The drilling sound soon opened the doors of the classrooms, and the students flowed out like a reckless ocean wave. The sound of the alarm was quickly overtaken by the shouts of Ivan as I ran him down the stairs. Once I got him to the fourth floor, the stairwell turned into a straight flight of steps. I let him go. The masses had gather around the main lobby, waiting for the climax of the cringing screams coming from above. Werenít they enthralled to see Ivan come crashing into the principalís front door. The pricipal later expelled Ivan for disorderly conduct.
Ivan was rushed to the hospital, which diagnosed him with a coma. After five minutes, the head doctor with permission from Ivanís parent, who had grown tired of Ivanís complaining, pulled the plug. After a few brief seconds of quiet, Ivanís father popped up a bottle of champagne he had been saving for this day. The hospital seemed to light up with jubilation. In the aftermath, I got a medal from the mayor for my deeds to the society, and was accepted into Harvard. Ivanís parentís sold his Pokemon collection for a good amount of money, which made up for the money they had wasted during Ivanís childhood, and had a little left over for a trip to Tahiti. Sure I guess it was sad he died, but in reality you will soon forget about this story. In a matter of an hour or two, perhaps even with the passing of a few minutes, so who cares? Just be happy your not Ivan.