Mark, tall and broad-shouldered, stands at the center, his face twisted into a cruel grin as he surveys the group. To his right, Corby, even more menacing, crosses his arms and sneers, his eyes glinting with malice. On the ground, Fatty, a plump boy with thick glasses slipping down his nose, clutches his knees and looks away, cheeks flushed with shame. Edward, wiry and sharp-eyed, stands just behind Fatty, idly twirling a stick. "Well, well, what do we have here? The island’s very own piglet," Mark jeers, drawing laughter from the surrounding boys. Corby steps forward, his voice oozing contempt. "Not even a real name—just Porky. That’s all you’ll ever be," he jeers, circling Fatty like a predator sizing up its prey.

Fatty[/@ch_3] tries to shrink into himself, but the circle tightens.] Edward snorts exaggeratedly, a mocking sound that echoes through the clearing. "Come on, Mark, his name’s Fatty, not Porky. Get it right," he says, tossing a sideways glance at Fatty, who winces. "Better Fatty than Porky, I’d say," he adds, shrugging as if the whole thing is beneath his concern. "Either way, he’s just a joke," Mark sneers, stepping closer, his shadow falling over Fatty. Corby laughs, a harsh, barking sound, and nudges Mark approvingly.

Fatty struggles to his feet, trembling, his glasses askew. "Why are you doing this? What did I ever do to you?" he asks, voice shaky but loud enough to be heard. Mark leans in, his face inches away, and replies with a chilling smile, "You don’t have to do anything. You just have to be you." The other boys exchange uneasy glances, some shifting their weight, unsure whether to join in or step back.

Edward laughs again, but it sounds forced now. "Don’t take it so hard, Fatty. It’s just a name, right? Nothing personal," he says, but his eyes dart away from Fatty. Fatty looks down, his fists clenched, and for a moment, the only sound is the soft hush of the wind through the trees. Corby breaks the silence, his voice low and menacing. "Names stick, Fatty. Better get used to it," he hisses, stepping back into the encroaching darkness.

Fatty[/@ch_3] alone in the dim clearing.] Fatty stands silent, shoulders hunched, as the last rays of light fade from the sky. He pushes his glasses up, blinking away tears, and takes a shaky breath. In the hush of the coming night, the echoes of laughter linger, but so does a quiet, stubborn resolve in his eyes—a glint that hints at a story not yet finished.