This is a stereotypical story with stereotypical characters and a stereotypical plot. Using the classic “Freytag’s Pyramid,” this story consists of an exposition, an inciting incident, rising action, a climax, falling action, and finally, a resolution. This story follows the main character, Sylvian, a young boy with sharp, accurate intuition, on his journey to successfully overcome bullying.
Sylvian
My eyes fly open with anticipation. The golden rays of the sunrise warm the smile on my face. I stumble out of bed to brush my teeth, tripping over nothing in my eagerness to get ready. After washing up, I stare at my carefully picked outfit that had been ironed and perfectly prepared the night before.
“I want to make a good impression!” I had hurriedly explained to my mother as she walked in on me turning my closet inside out.
On this pivotal day, it will be my first day at a new school. I unfortunately had to transfer schools due to family reasons, but now I get to erase the past, experience new friendships, and learn how to adapt to change.
This school day will be amazing. Everyone will love you, and you will overcome any issues that arise, Sylvian.
But—
My intuition is sharp, so I trust myself.
Elsewhere
“This is our seventh run-through! What are we doing wrong?”
“I don’t know… but what I am sure of is that this needs to work. Our lives depend on it.”
Sigh.
“I… we… should have never signed up for this…”
“I know, but what is there to do anymore?”
Sylvian
I stand gaping at the entrance of the large school, looking up with my jaw slack like an idiot. I’m filled with dreadful excitement at the prospect of entering the magnificent building. I feel like a tree caught in a flood as other students swim into the building, glaring at me with curiosity and disgust.
You must enter the building, Sylvian. Meet new people. Everything is going well. Everything will go well. Everything has to go well.
Yes. It will.
I walk to my first class, English, but I am unable to recollect anything from the journey there, as if I had spawned immediately in front of the door. I had never liked English.
Why study a language you already know?
As soon as I walk in, I see bloo—
No.
A perfect display of smiling, welcoming faces ruined by a single revolted expression.
Is that… Connor..?
That’s a bully, Sylvian. He dislikes you, but that won't last long.
My hand trembles as I fidget with my pen.
I trust my intuition because it is never wrong.
Everything will go well.
…
When did I take out my pen?…
Elsewhere
“Tsk. Get a grip. He’s straying back to the original scenario.”
“He’s too emotionally resistant. I can’t.” They press their fingers between their furrowed brows. “I’m tired.”
“Yeah, same. Why don’t we go home and order takeout?” they say with unrestrained sarcasm. “Oh wait! We can’t!”
Near-maniacal laughter shakes them as they grip their head with both hands.
“Would you stop joking around? I refuse to die because you went mad mid-operation.”
“…You don’t actually think we can do this, do you? You do know how low the success rate of mind tampe—”
They interrupt before another unnecessary lecture can begin.
“SHUT. UP. Shut up. Just shut up! Stop talking! Can you just try!? If you give up, my life is at risk. I couldn’t care less about you; just get me out of here, then go disappear in a ditch somewhere or whatever.”
Sylvian
Try and befriend him, Sylvian. He won’t like you, but you’ll resolve the issue eventually.
Okay. Got it.
I walk up to Connor, the bully, and flash him my best smile.
“Hello, my name’s Sylvian.”
Horror flashes in his eyes as he hears my name.
“What’s yours?”
Connor.
His name is Connor.
HIS NAME IS CONNOR.
“Connor,” judgmental eyes scan me entirely, “I’ll call you Silly-van. That okay?”
Stand up to him. Say no. Refuse. Insist he calls you by your name.
I hesitate as I answer.
“…Uhh… no. No, that’s not okay. Please call me Sylvian.”
“Why not Silly-van? It’s such a nice nickname for… someone like you.”
He prods the childish keychains on my bag jeeringly.
Converse. Make light conversation. Sylvian, you cannot have him hate you. You mustn’t fail.
I decide not to listen.
It’s just my intuition, right? Who will scold me for not listening to myself?
“Since when was liking things cringe? You can’t not have any interests. Or are you just bland?”
SYLVIAN, LIST—EN. Y–OU MUS—T LISTEN. D—O N—OT DISOBEY M—
My eyes open.
Foggy haze.
All I see is thick, foggy haze. My head feels as if it had imploded. These bright lights are not doing much in my favor.
Elsewhere
“…”
“He— He wasn’t— He shouldn’t have—”
“Elias… we’re done.”
“N-No, don’t say that, Silas. We can still—”
“ELIAS. We. Failed. Don’t overcomplicate it.”
“We’re dead.”