Truth or Consequence- Bullying of Anne Madeine

Suicide should never run through the mind of a twelve-year-old, but it did for Anne Madeine. Tormented by cowardly individuals she learned to turn her emotions off. Especially around bullies, and lately they were always around. She tried guarding herself from the pain. But chink by chink her armor was wearing down. Bit by bit she felt smaller, vulnerable, tired. She saw no other way out. That was before the package showed up at her door. Life was about to change for everyone, in the small town of Liberty.

Now, I am getting ahead of her story, let’s go back to the wintery day when it all began.

Anne's tiny frame bent against the wind, gripping an art folder tightly against her chest. Feeling the chill of the snow biting into her exposed skin. It was still warmer than the stings of insults she endured all day from the children at school. Stopping to remove the ice chips that worked there way through the hole in her boot, she set her portfolio down. Anne leaned against a tree by the river, watching small ice flows drift passed her. Lost in thought she never saw it coming. The snowball caught her in the side of the head, her glasses flew off her face, her ear began ringing

Glancing up she saw three forms racing toward her. Recognizing them from their voices. Stacey, Donavan, and Kyle. Picking up more snow to hurl at her. Jumping up, she began to run. Her vision was blurry as she turned around to see how close they were. She tripped and fell, rolling down the embankment and into the river. The ice water stole her breath, the current sucked her along the shore where she frantically struggled to find a grip. Flipped end over end she could hear their laughter.

Kyle watched Anne fall into the river, stopping he yelled at the other two.

“Oh shit, she’s in the water.”

Stacey just stood there smiling, “Don’t worry she will be fine. She could use a bath.” That brought on a laughing fit from Donavan.

“Come on guys we have to help her.” Urged Kyle. He began running along the shore trying to reach Anne. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he was only trying to fit in . The other two stayed back pointing and laughing.

Anne had fragmented images of Kyle running and calling out to her. The waters swirled and tossed her about, she had no control, desperately trying to grab onto anything. Cold water filled her nostrils and mouth, Kyle was fading away. Gasping for breath the last thought she had before all went black was a realization. 'I don’t want to die.'

Anne opening her eyes, saw a figure hovering above her. The late afternoon sun in her vision caused her to see only a silhouette of the person. A soothing voice spoke. “Anne, you wish to live, in order for that to happen a balance needs to occur.”

The woman’s voice was soft and gentle, kneeling in front of Anne she whispered, “You shall be my messenger, my Angel.”

Coughing up water Anne tried to speak, then all went dim once more. Waking up the second time, she found herself alone, shivering uncontrollably. Struggling to her feet, slowly making her way home. Soaked and freezing she stumbled on. Stares from people burned into her, yet none gave aid. Still three blocks from her house. She found herself at the back of the baker’s home which was attached to their business. Hearing voices inside. Anne banged on the door, no answer. Slowly opening it she felt the heat immediately. Crying out for help, she stumbled towards the voices. Anne was met by yelling as she pushed open a door. The baker stood over his wife, who lay on the floor bleeding. He turned around at the sound.

“Get the Fuck outta my home ya little shit.” The big man took two steps towards Anne, who turned and fled the building, running as fast as her legs would move.

Across the street, standing in front of her home she saw Stacey, Donavan, and Kyle. They saw her too.

Turning to Kyle, Stacey sneered. “Told you she would be alright, you baby.”

Anne's legs felt heavy, but she continued to run.

“Anne, I’m sorry.” She heard Kyle yell. She also saw more snowballs flying towards her from the other two. Bursting through her front door, the frozen missiles arrived, one following her inside, she slammed the door shut. Anne looked up to see her mother, who knew immediately what was happening. Anne lay on the floor shivering, hearing her mom yelling at the kids, knowing her words were falling on deaf ears.

The next hour was a blur. She vaguely remembered telling her mom what happened, being carried to the bath, then tucked into her bed. Anne awoke to the sounds of the front door opening. She could hear her parent’s talking.

Later her father, yelling into the phone. “You’re the police do something about this, she almost drowned. My wife gave you, their names.” After a pause Anne heard the phone slam down as her father said, “Useless shits.”

Sounds of footsteps on the stairs then approaching her bedroom. Her door creaked open. There in the doorway stood her father. Not a tall man, but large in her eyes. He Smiled as he sat on the edge of the bed. Silent. No words needed to be said. Giving Anne a kiss on the cheek, he said “I have something for you, I will be right back.”

When he returned, he was carrying a package the size of a small briefcase. Tightly wrapped in plain brown paper. Her name and a drawing of wings were the only decoration.

“This package and your glasses were on the doorstep when I arrived home.”

“Who from?” she inquired.

“It doesn’t say.”

Anne carefully unwrapped the gift, inside was an artist sketch pad and a variety of pencils of all colors.

“Well, someone knows you don’t they, it is the perfect gift.” Stated her father. With that he got up to leave. Reminding her to rest.

Anne couldn’t sleep, she began to draw instead.

That night a storm blew in, a blizzard that shut everything down. The entire weekend it raged on. Anne drew. No matter how many pictures she produced the pencils never dulled and the paper never ran out. Anne sketched the tormentors who preyed upon her. She drew of her pains, and the injustices she witnessed. The hatred from those who proclaimed to be decent and of those who turned a blind eye to whom they promised to protect.

She drew the truth.

All her emotions flooded out on to the paper. Finally, Anne could draw no more, she collapsed and slept like there were no worries in her life. The storm ceased. Everyone awoke Monday to a glorious morning; it was a new day. It felt like life was starting over. In truth the town would never be the same.

Word got out quickly of a mysterious and disturbing mural painted on the city hall building, Crowds gathered in silence. Painted for all to see was a depiction of the baker beating his wife. It was out in the open. A truth they already knew.

The baker yelled, calling it lies, and demanded the town remove the painting immediately. It was amidst his ranting about his innocence when a scream came from the back of the building. Everyone rushed around to the other side only to see another mural. This time painted in dark colors it showed the baker hanging by his neck. Pandemonium ensued, who could have done this, especially in the middle of a storm. For six days the mural stood, no amount of scrubbing could remove it, new paint slid off. Every day the baker pleaded his case to anyone who would listen. He even stooped to having his wife tell others it was a lie. With her head hung low she would say, he was a good man. Clearly, he wasn’t.

On the seventh day they found his lifeless body dangling in front of the mural, swaying with the morning breeze. His wife smiled. That night a storm rolled in. The morning revealed a new mural.

This time, nervous people gathered around, the feeling of apprehension hung in the air.

When Anne and her family arrived the crowds parted, letting them proceed. Whispered words behind covered mouths followed them. The mural now showed the incident from the prior week. Stacey and Donavan, laughing, Kyle running as Anne was dragged down the freezing river. Today the people felt her torment, the emotions and hate. It seeped into them with dark despair.

Town folk stared at the four children involved. One in shock, one remorseful, two others feigning innocence.

“That’s a lie. Stacey would never do that.” Cried her mom. Her husband held her back trying to restrain her. “She is a good girl; you all know this.”

Murmurs from fellow students clearly didn’t agree with that statement. As Stacey’s mom continued to rant a male voice boomed across the gathering. “Kyle, is that you?” Kyles’s father stood staring at his boy while pointing up to the mural. “Is this true?” he asked.

In response Kyle hung his head, nodding.

Grabbing him by the arm Kyles father growled “Go home, now.”

Donavan and Stacey were now yelling, calling Kyle a liar, pointing at Anne saying that this never happened.

Suddenly a voice spoke up, “Has anyone seen the back yet?”

Anne didn't want too.

The entire crowd raced to other side of the building. There, in bold colors it showed three corpse’s floating face up in the river. Stacey let loose a haunting scream; her mother’s cries echoed off the buildings. Donavan and his parents stood in silence. Dead eyes staring down at them. Stacey’s father walked away.

That night the Wheelers arrived at Anne's house. Kyle in tears, truthfully telling them how sorry he was. Kyle begged to be forgiven. Anne reached out giving the sad young boy a hug. Looking to the adults she said. “Kyle tried to save me from the river.”

His parent’s relief was visible. Hearing that their boy was a good person who made a wrong choice.

The next day, new rumors of the mural circulated. Now only two bodies appeared to be floating in the river. On the morning of the seventh day of the second mural, Stacey and Donavan’s lifeless bodies were fished out of the river. Stacy’s mom cried, begging the police to do something. Witnesses saw the two children on the bridge. Stating Donovan pushed the girl in the water then jumped in himself. Murder suicide. One person remarked, the two appeared to be in a trance.

Every week a new storm, a new mural, a new truth. Confess the truth or pay the consequence.

Life was never the same in Liberty.

As a new storm raged outside, Anne’s father found her weeping in her room. “What’s wrong sweetie?”

Anne blurted out. “I caused those deaths; I didn’t mean too. It’s my fault.”

He reassured her there was no way she could be responsible. Anne reached under her pillow handing him the art pad from the brown paper package. Opening it. He saw the murals drawn on the pages. “Anne why did you copy those murals?”

Sobbing “They aren’t copies; those are my drawings. I drew them first.”

He couldn’t understand. How had her drawings become the truth or consequence murals? But here it was in front of him. Continuing to flip the pages one by one. There were more drawings, realizing this was far from over.

Suddenly he stopped, tossed the pad aside and held her close. Her body relaxed, her breathing became calm and steady. As she fell asleep and the last of her tears faded, his began. Staring at the drawing of his wife in the arms of another man.

I would like to thank you for taking the time to read my story. If you enjoyed it, please leave a heart, and help yourself to view my other writings. Should you decided to leave a tip, it is not expected, but always appreciated.

Jason,

Other Stories :

-Cost of Freedom - Little Shadow

- Best Date I Never Had - Two Steps - Falling

-Oh, What a Lucky Man - The Final Battle- Watchers of the Door

-Coffee, Cake and Conversation (At the End of the World)

-Cocaine and Chocolate Cake