A Story I Once Wrote
It is only one part of many, but it was the most recent part before I stopped writing it.
There was one boy who was particularly cruel – a half-caste, who always chastised her and hit her. Even the others would shy away from the things he did. There was real malice behind his words, and real joy from inflicting pain on her. She touched at the spot on her head, a small scar, where he had thrown a particularly sharp rock at her from across the yard. It had almost knocked her cold, and she couldn’t see straight for days.
She couldn’t remember clearly what had happened to him. One day he just did not turn up for school, and though she felt elation on the day, there was concern for the day after, and the day after that. Despite her hatred, she worried – there was something wrong with the boy, that she could always tell, and his disappearance was peculiar. Curiosity getting the better of her, she had asked her parents if they knew what had happened to the boy. Both had glanced at each other and told her they did not know.
There had been an argument later that night, between them both. She could never make out what they were saying from her room, but she knew they were talking about the boy.
