The bullies and the tracks

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“Hey ret*d! Yeah you, I’m talking to you! Don’t you walk away! Hey get back here you stupid ret*d!” Bradley barked as he and his pack of human hyenas approached me while laughing at his words like drunks. I kept walking, just wanting to enjoy the day, but they kept following me.
“Hey you, ret*d boy! Where are you going ret*d boy?!” he kept baying in various ways, getting closer to me with his gang. Then they started picking up rocks and throwing them at me, some of them hitting me. Instead of bothering to challenge them back, I ran as fast as I could through the neighbors’ yards, but they ran after me carrying rocks and some drawing their switchblade knives.
I darted across the road outside might neighborhood as soon as there was a slight opening in traffic, and that stopped most of them from following me – but a few continued onward after me with knives and rocks. So, I kept running also. I headed for the train tracks as a train was approaching, but I couldn’t get past it at first because it was too far ahead, so I just kept running and ran as fast as I could and outran the train far enough to jump over the tracks.
I landed on my feet on the other side of the tracks and the train blocked them, finally. The conductor blasted the blaring train horn most of this time, and called me an idiot as the diesel engine passed, but I stopped those jerks from killing me regardless. Bradley and his gang stood there, a few hundred yards away now, just staring at me in amazement, dropping the rocks they were going to keep throwing at me upon the ground and putting away their knives. I went to the pond and watched the ducks swim and finally got to enjoy the rest of the day in peace.

Hey dude,

Sounds like a heartbreaking way to stay in shape. My tormentors drove me into bodybuilding when I was nine. I might have been a fighter but for two powerful deterrents: My parents made it perfectly clear that the only one allowed to hit any one was my mom, and the only one who deserved to be hit was me. The other is that I was being picked on once in first grade and had a red-out. When I came to, I was standing over him. What I saw was bad enough, but after the moment it took to realize that I was the one who had done it, I was genuinely traumatized. My parents probably would have had me institutionalized, but thank god, the school determined that the incident was him fault, and he was expelled. My parents were never informed, and I became a pacifist until after high school. It took looking back at being punched in the face while I stood my ground against my own teammates from the football team that moved me past it. The greatest lesson I learned was to go with my gut and not be legalistic. In some ways I still feel that it can be argued that not fighting back is immoral, and that it is everybody's responsibility to confront the makers of evil, even at the cost of their own safety. I'm not suggesting that retaliation has any place in a civilized society, But when bullying gets accommodated, it tends to grow, not go away. Other people who feel weak or inferior who see a bully grow in confidence, no matter how artificial or temporary, are more likely to start a campaign of their own, and choose similar targets. I'm of Korean descent, and I have taken the time to explain to bullies I've encountered that I am making a choice for my own sake not to hurt them, but that they should not for one second take it as evidence that Asian people or quiet people, or polite well spoken people, all of which I am, make good targets, because most of us can cause a lot of damage in a fight, and some of us are just waiting for and excuse. Tribalism is for dogs, fish and chimpanzees, but if I can only represent Asians, men, Americans, people in their mid thirties, writers, Aspys, people from Pittsburgh, people wearing suits, tall people, people with good diction, people with long hair, people who read in public, single people, skateboarders, or any other thing I could be construed to exemplify to anyone, there going to get a version who values his dignity, and knows where to draw the line. Most of the time I've been able use the power of compassion, respect, and language, but on those occasions when that was not helping, and the line I drew was crossed, the world got one less bully, and one more quiet moron who knew to stay out of decent people's faces.

They call me Ben. Thanks for letting me share!