Parts

The first strike felt like fire. It spread hot over Hunter's face, quick and searing. Through blurred vision he could still see the smudge of flesh, the outline of the next swing coming. The impact against the bridge of his nose caused him to drop to his knees. Oh please. He thought. You've got me down, please don't keep going. A left foot to the square of his chest assured him the beating was not yet over, and he slipped backward, his chest ringing out in pain. His hands scuttled across the cement, his back arched, and for one ridiculous moment he almost looked like he was attempting a stretch from Mr. Otis' P.E. class. His crab shaped figure quickly gave out, and he thumped down on the concrete, limbs splayed out wildly, defeated. A laugh was heard through his left ear, and a final kick delivered to his side. His eyes stayed shut as he heard the footsteps grow quieter with each second.
His glasses were skewed awkwardly and his hair was matted with sweat. In his mouth he tasted copper, rust, or maybe it was just his blood.
A bell trilled in the background and his heart sank. He was late for third period. The sinking feeling grew lower, settling around his stomach as he realized his new clothes were most likely ripped. What will I say to Mom?
A moan escaped from his mouth. It was a sound he was ashamed to claim as his own.