The boy couldn't last much longer. Not under the constant stream of abuse he'd been receiving from the notorious coach Langley, and God knows how many press-ups he had endured. The crowd of jeering teenagers that had been encircling him obviously weren't helping his torment, but the poor child continued his struggle against the forces of gravity nonetheless, letting out whimpers between exertions.

After what seemed like an eternity he lost this struggle and collapsed onto his chest with an audible slap, proceeding to erupt into a fit of heavy breathing, presumably an asthma attack. Despite the boy's obvious discomfort this did nothing to defend against the coach's barrage of insults which continued to assault the boy like the lunchtime muggings he knew all too well. In the midst of what was going to be his final breath, vomit surged up from his over-used stomach and hurled out of his gaping mouth in a tidal wave of pre-pubescent trauma, pooling around his convulsing body.

A few more spluttered breaths rose up from the mound of helpless fat before it succumbed to fate, and choked on its own humiliation, deafening the hall.