The Bully


Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.


The ten-year-old neighborhood terror straddled his bike in the middle of the sidewalk. The eight-year-old girl facing him was terrified, indeed. He was so much bigger, and she’d heard that he loved beating up on younger kids.

“You’re not allowed to pass until you say please,” he sneered.  He was very sure of himself, and she was too scared to fight back. Hating him, hating herself, she whispered, “Please.”

“I didn’t hear you, scaredy-cat. Say it louder!”


He laughed, an ugly sound, and let her pass.  She ran up the stairs to her house, feeling ashamed and angry.

The next day, the same scene replayed itself.  And the next. And then, the fourth day, he decided he could humiliate her even more. He ordered her to kiss his foot.

Something went off inside her.  Through a haze of red, she glared at the bully and, without giving it any thought, she charged into him, pushed over his bicycle, and kicked his leg as hard as she could.

“You big bully, you stay out of  my way!  You’re nothing but a coward!  Go pick on someone your own size!”

She stood her ground,  watching as he untangled himself, righted his bike, climbed back on and pedaled away. She was happy to notice his nose was bleeding. He must have bumped it on the way down. Her heart was racing in her little chest, but her chin was up and her eyes shot sparks at the retreating bully.

Smiling, she turned and walked up her steps.  She never saw him again.


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