Удар. Черт, как больно-то! Прямо в правый бок....

Hit. Damn, it hurts! Straight to the right side. The beater is clearly not a newcomer to this business, although I have not seen him here before: the blow is short, biting, but delivered with knowledge of the matter. By inertia, I flew to the side, hit something, it seems, against a wall, rolled away from it a meter and froze. To shrink, to group, to seem inconspicuous, unattractive, to take a position aside from the main battle - my only salvation now. The pain in my side is slowly letting go, I lie still. It seems to have carried over: no one is near. You can catch your breath, look around, examine yourself. I have been for quite a few years, and my body, accustomed to such almost daily bullying, is certainly not ideal. Here and there I am covered with scars and marks. That beauty and natural attractiveness that I possessed, and what is there to conceal, I used in my youth, is gone. More and more often they prefer young, promising, modern ones to me. But I do not complain - this is my destiny. Look around me: you will see a dozen of my comrades - most are the same as me - after all, we are from the same team with them. Of our entire group, only White can be distinguished. This is character. This is a personality. If we, hiding in the corners, and trying to be gray and inconspicuous, are beaten not so often, then Bely gets it every time, and not just gets it, but with a club. At the same time, it is strange: his body is perfectly preserved - there are not so many scars. This is probably because he is our leader. How many sticks have been broken on his sides in my lifetime, and at least something to him! And now he is in the center of events. The whole action unfolds around him, all eyes are directed at him, serious people and pretty girls most often approach him. And how many times did Bely fall on his way? Much more often than others! Each such fall, which sometimes happens due to a trifle - was in the wrong place at the wrong time - is practically the end for each of us. It takes time to recover from this, and you need to start all over again. From the very beginning, do you understand? But Bely is not so. He has too many connections - they pull him out every time. He doesn't even need to do anything. Because the whole thing is tied to him. You can't do without it. Do you want me to tell you my biggest secret? Just promise: nobody! Do you promise? I would also like to be born White. Let it hurt (I also get a lot), let the responsibility. But this is a completely different life! Excitement! A game! Glory! It's a pity, I can't change anything ... Oh! quiet! It seems they are coming to me! Don't poke your finger at me! I don't want it again! Only, it seemed, everything was settled, and I found a quiet place ... Blow! And again in the same, seemingly almost healed side. Judging by the force and direction of the blow, I suppose that's all this time. Before finally falling, I noticed Bely. He again stood in the center, and dazzlingly sparkled with his polished appearance, shone under the bright light, and seemed to smile broadly and triumphantly. Hit. Flight. Darkness. All. Why was I destined to be born a simple, orange pool ball, a creature whose fate is determined by others?