Free fiction short Monday - A Quiet Rage

This had happened many times before: the girls circling me, the pushing, the hits, the spitting, and the skirt pulled down to my ankles. Like a cackle of hyenas, the girls would glide away to other prey when they grew tired of my non-reaction. At the first time, I was bewildered. Why would they go after me? Did I have the word prey tattooed on my forehe…