THE CAMPUS BULLY

 THE CAMPUS BULLY

 

Zabbas. The name still sends a chill down the spine of anyone who had the misfortune of knowing him. To those who came in late, he was just a porky, stout, white, bespectacled college senior who imagined himself to be a radio personality of great repute and cruised around town in an Opel Astra. But behind that show lay a vicious bully, a calculating tyrant, whose long reign of terror left deep scars on the unsuspecting.

 

“Hey, new kid on the block! Think you can hide from the Voice?” Zabbas’s voice would boom on the campus radio, dripping with scorn and malice. His broadcasts were more than just songs and entertainment; they were loaded missiles. With information and intel channelled to him by his loyal syndicate—comprising government officials, private media contacts, the press, and kids from his own college—Zabbas targeted his prey with an almost predatory and clinical precision.

 

His gang operated like a well-oiled machine. New students, first-year students, vulnerable and trying to find their feet, new in town, eager to fit in, were the ideal prey. Zabbas’s henchman, anxious to be on his excellent books and help him maintain his superiority, would feed him juicy tidbits of personal information and intel, which he would then craft and twist into weapons for his Sunday night verbal assaults.

 

“Did you hear about the new kid, Little John?” Zabbas would sneer into the microphone, his voice a venomous hiss. Apparently, he's singing his nursery rhymes and still drinking milk. Let’s acquaint him with his Dad, shall we?” The laughter that followed orchestrated mainly through his college associates, was as hollow and disgusting as Zabbas himself.

 

Zabbas wielded significant clout and influence as the leader of his college theatre and debating teams. He used his power to scheme, intimidate, and dominate. His presence on campus was stifling, and his words were sarcastic and double-meaning.

 

“I heard you froze in the debate, Sarah. Pathetic. You should stick to picking apples from your father’s orchard in the hills.” “Maybe you should stick to making apple jams or something equally frivolous. I have a great affinity for the hills; when are you extending me an invitation to the hills?”. His laughter would reverberate, a stark reminder of his cruelty and dark nature.

 

Zabbas’s cruelty was not limited to his public discourses. Behind closed doors, he schemed and orchestrated elaborate schemes to destroy the spirit of those who dared to come up against him. He thrived on the fear he instilled and the power he held over the lives of others.

 

But time has a way of healing all wounds, even those inflicted by Zabbas. Though the memories of his cruelty still linger, the sting of his words has dulled. Today, all those he tormented have moved on, their lives no longer shadowed by his vengefulness.

 

Looking back on Zabbas now, the image is clear: a petty, small-time tyrant, a master conniver who thrived on the misery of others. His legacy is utterly dark, a testament to the irrepressible spirit of those who survived his reign. In the end, the voice that once boomed with sarcasm and cruelty is nothing more than an echo of a time that has long passed and has been discarded into the dustbins of history.