Sitting in silence, closing his eyes, murmuring sporadically, with tense eyes and sweaty palms, Shahzaib struck off what he was writing. He then crumbled up the piece of paper and tossed it into the bin as he sat on his desk chair in a dimly lit room bearing only a lamp.

“Are you done writing your speech dear?” called out his mother from the kitchen and added, “Dinner is ready!”

“It’ll be a while mama, you start without me,” he replied. He continued to scribble aggressively, causing the lead of his pencil to break.

“It’s just a declamation contest, family comes first you know, come have dinner with us!” she called out to her son again.

“Ok, I’ll be there in ten minutes,” sighed Shahzaib, and worked on his speech after dinner for the rest of the night.

He couldn’t sleep afterwards though, as waves of nervousness came over him during the night as he lay down and thought about the speech he had to make later. Eventually he drifted off to sleep.

The very next morning, as he walked on to the stage with wet palms, the crowd was settling down and looked restless. The auditorium felt like a pool full of piranhas to him as he stood behind the podium feeling like their prey. Shahzaib started to speak.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen, I present myself in front of you to talk about the topic which was assigned to us participants; ‘Does history repeat itself’?”

He paused, feeling as if the canvas of his mind was erased and turned blank. Forgetting his speech, he reached deep into his mind, looking for the words. He started to stutter, but the words failed to reach his lips as the crowd started mumbling in confusion. Yet, what he saw in the crowd was prosecution and he saw a flashlight from a cell phone which appeared to be recording him.

Shahzaib’s legs were shaking and his shoulders were heavy and the audience was not helping. He ran off the stage, weeping in disappointment.

Shahzaib rushed back to his classroom, wiping his tears and trying to unleash himself from the embarrassment. His friends followed him, trying to tell him that it was okay, it was not the end of the world.

“You tried your best bro! It’s fine,” exclaimed Asim as he panted.

“The important thing is that you went up there and participated,” added Zuhaib. The rest of the day went fighting his racing thoughts.

The next morning, when Shahzaib walked across the hallway to go to his class, he felt all eyes staring at him and heard the giggles of people. Some of whom pointed and laughed, while others followed. Shahzaib seemed confused, nothing happened at the day of his speech, everyone was polite to him and no one mocked, what changed?

As he regrouped with his friends, he discovered a news which shocked him to his core. One of the students had recorded his speech and him running off the stage, and added music and visual effects to create a meme, which was posted from an anonymous account on social media. Upon this, Shahzaib realised that on the day of his speech, the supportive people were just the calm before the storm.

His day resumed with mocking remarks from strangers and even some friends, laughter and other forms of embarrassments, all of which were feeding onto his fear and anxiety. He walked in his math class, with a heavy heart.

“Is he goanna run away again?” yelled a student from the back.

“History does repeat itself I guess!” said another student.

Everyone started to laugh at him again, and it was becoming difficult to bear. Agitated, Shahzaib strode out as the bell rang, holding his tears, because now no one was there to support or console him.

Walking at a fast pace, with his head down, Shahzaib bumped into a group of students, also on their way out of the school gate,

“Hey, watch yourself, cry baby!” mocked Zafar, a senior student.

“Mind your own business, Zafar,” replied Shahzaib irritably, which gas-lighted a physical fight.

“Where did the words run away when you were at the stage, huh?” yelled Zafar. The fight resulted in Shahzaib being injured, his nose was bleeding and his lower lip started to swell.

The hostile behaviour towards him catalysed due to this event, and for the following months, Shahzaib was treated like an animal. He was often mocked for the meme, laughed at and was occasionally even physically abused, right under all the teachers’ noses as he remained silent because of his pride and hid all the pain within himself.

A few days passed by and students started to notice Shahzaib’s absence.

“Hey, where is our punching bag? Haven’t seen that cry baby around for a while eh?” questioned Zafar from his friend Zuhaib.

“Yeah I have no clue man,” he replied.

Asim and Zuhaib decided to give Shahzaib a visit and went to his home, where his mother opened the door. Her skin was noticeably more wrinkled, with bags under her eyes and dark circles, and when they asked about Shahzaib, she began to cry.

“You want to know how Shahzaib is? Come with me,” she said in a slightly angry tone. They drove to a psychiatric unit. The mother led them to Shahzaib, who was in solitary confinement in an effort to stop him from harming himself.

Shahzaib was diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) causing psychosis, or in simpler terms, hallucinations and disconnection from reality, which the doctors identified as a result of the stress caused by the excessive and prolonged bullying he endured.

While some can be tolerant and patient, others are sensitive, and bullying is causing major problems in our society and our schools. This must stop. If you witness someone being mocked, stand up for them, stop being a bystander because bullying has destroyed millions of lives and one more life is too many.

Published in Dawn, Young World, March 4th, 2023