Scars (Short Stories)

It was a beautiful Monday morning, unlike other school days, I was highly excited about school. My mum found that particularly odd but said nothing. It wasn’t like she expected a 6 year old to come up with something very sinister and dangerous. But mothers always have a premonition about these things. Nevertheless, she dropped me off at school as I trotted on to my class without any demands.

Like any other day, everything went fine. The teachers went about their duties and the students behaved; all wrapped up in rituals and routines. I kept thinking about how it could have gone differently, then the school bell rudely interrupted my thoughts. Apparently it was 11:30 am and time for 1st break. We have just 30 minutes to eat, play and relieve ourselves in the toilet. I decided the toilet business should be first on my agenda. Since my seat was close to the door, I quickly ran out and surprisingly made it first to the toilet area.

The toilet arrangement was systematically divided between the nursery students, primary one to 3, and primary 4 to 6. On reaching the one meant for primary 1 to 3, I stationed myself between the few rows of cement blocks laying lazily around the entrance. I can’t really remember what the blocks were meant for. Because the toilets were not under construction. Someone, somewhere decided that the best place to dump them were here. How quaint. I smiled! Soon my classmates and other pupils came trooping after me like young soldiers in one of those old Vietnamese war movies. But they had one problem, me! I blocked the only entrance to the 3 toilet stalls meant for our use and decided that no one was going in.

There was this burly big boy in my class. He was a sight for sore eyes who looked like he should be in primary 5 or 6. His name was Paul. He looked around and saw most of the pupils screaming “Lilian please”, but it sounded more like “pwease” all hoping on one foot with their hands between their thighs. Some were already dripping with piss. Paul took all that in and asked me to kindly shift so he could go in. But I refused his request. I told them all to make a neat line and he should go all the way back. Boy! I must have pissed him off, cause the last thing I remembered was flying over the blocks, while they all trooped in like ants.

I woke up at the school clinic with blood all over me. My mum seated beside me, aghast with terror in her eyes. Mrs Jones, my next door neighbour was with her. The school must have informed them of the incident. From their conversations I understood that they were waiting for my dad. I also heard my mum say, “she’s not coming back to this school again.” I smiled inwardly, mission accomplished. But as my wounds healed, I was left with a large gash on my knee as a reminder of my little misadventure. But I must say that it was all worth it.

Vera