She had just moved in to her new family home- a new apartment down town with a ludicrously spacious balcony that opens on an infinite green lawn. She started to settle herself in and was quite excited to start a propitious life in her new secondary school. Her fears, being the little twelve-year-old taciturn and laconic creature that she was, were if she would never be accepted for who she was, have new acquaintances, make new friendships, or simply enjoy being at school. She always found difficulty communicating her ideas to others. People found her character a bit unusual, to some extent bizarre. She was afraid of socializing- the idea of facing other pupils froze the blood in her veins, and she preferred to take her distance and watch people having a good time, sometimes even she smiled at them stupidly, not aware of what she was doing .Every time she wanted to share her thoughts or casually say something, her tongue got twisted and her throat dried, and decided to keep her mouth nicely shut. She walked the streets in a brisk pace, eyes down, curved back and shoulders, as if she was in a daily race. The way she has been running to school every single day is presumably the cause of her stooped shoulders. Her long ponytail swung behind her heavy backpack, tightly braided to reach the back of her legs. And what a relief it was to find the school door open- so that she could immediately flit to a classroom, especially in those ragged winter days, and lurk in a warm and cozy corner and wait for the bell to ring.
That day was no exception; she was extremely late for school. It was 7:45 in the morning and she had just exited the house like a mad person. She had no time left to eat breakfast or to brush her morning frizzy hair. She even almost fell from the stairs while trying to tuck in her shoe lace. Roaring in a huff, she buttoned her white school tablier and launched like an arrow. As she sensed herself approaching school, she diminished her pace and took a deep breath to unwind. She usually walked with her shoulders gently touching the buildings on her way; as it gave her the illusion of security and comfort (to be fondling the walls rather than individuals).
A gaggle behind her were whistling, nudging each other, and pushing each other on the cars circulating on the road. She did not bother looking behind her back, to see angry drivers scolding them with their heads dangling from the car windows like bulldogs enjoying a fresh morning breeze at a window car ride, but instead she only heard loud laughter and crazy noises.
Since she can remember, she has always been afraid of large crowds- especially ones made of male members- as they tend to become wild and reckless when circulating in large groups. When having to traverse one last turn to arrive at her destination, she became more focused reaching the school door and did not notice that she was left alone with those clowns in a dim alley. She could not tell if they were following her or if it was simply her naughty imagination playing tricks on her. She did not want to reveal any signs of fear, doff her trepidation- they could smell it. By this time in the morning, all the shops were closed. It was a deep void she was staring at. No trace of life was found, except for one big roaming cat with a horrifying scar on its eye loudly mewing like a mad fur ball. The road was surprisingly quite now. The laughter ceased, the talking, and even breathing. Her instincts were alarmed- she sensed that those dingbats were skulking behind her back and had no good intentions. Her heart was pounding and she started sweating heavily. It was an inescapable package of emotions; for what one is to expect when a little girl is walking on her own in a grim alley and being followed by a group of young juvenile delinquents, while half the town is asleep?
Scurrying with eyes slanted towards the end of the road- trying to reach that light- her knees failed her- they were shivering and she could no longer make haste. Sometimes our bodies let us down when we are in life or death destitution. Before she could even blink an eye, he caught up to her- faster than the wind, and started walking along. It was quiet. The calm punctured her heart and accentuated her fears. She closed her eyes and called god for rescue. She knew that The Greatest was there watching it all, and he would let no harm overtake her. She heard nothing of his talk- it was murmurs and uncollectable words. He was the dominant male; the alpha. The rest were following him smirking and sneering at her. By doing so, they tickled his bovarism and encouraged him to draw nearer. She was suddenly transformed into their new pet- similar to the way a pride of lions “play with” Bambi for a while until they get tired and decide to gobble him. She felt like The Little Riding Hood surrounded by a herd of famished hyenas, except that she was dressed in white. It all got foggy and she lost consciousness of the world around her- she was levitated. With no preceding deliberation, he gripped her arm and juiced it until she heard her bones crack. She could not look at him. She could not dare look him in the eye. His eyes must have been of a wolf, yellow with a centered glimmering deep hollow black jewel and fire surrounding it, widening when facing a frightened narrow pupil. “Talk to me. When I ask a question, you answer me.” His husky tenor went higher and higher. It was more of a growl than mere human talk. He crushed her arm more and more, coercing her to talk, but not one single sound jutted out of her now whitish lips. Her arm must be broken now.
To her great amazement, the only librarian in the area was opening his shop, pouring water on the floor of the entrance and sweeping it. She had no idea about the source of that sudden prowess; she tossed his arm, shoved it in the air, and ran as fast as she could to the shop now opened, depriving him of time to react. It was a matter of seconds and she found herself on the librarian’s doorstep. Out of breath, she meekly saluted the man slouching behind the desk, who, drooping on a book, did not bother raise his proud head to meet her face turned pale as a fall leaf. Despite her terror having reached its acme, she still managed to act exceedingly interested in one of the books, miming some of the words typed on its cover, or at least faking it, while in fact her eyes were partly directed towards the door, fearfully. She lingered there for quite a while, more than she had actually anticipated, until she caught sight of a clock lurking in a dusty, dim corner and remembered her morning class. The teacher must be now calling names from the list and noticing her empty chair. She thought that at least she had no friend to miss her presence. Ghost-like, she knew that class will proceed swiftly without her, and at that thought her eyes were filled with tears.
A long period of time after the clock struck 8 o’clock, she decided to pull herself together and exit the shop like an owl from a tree hollow. It was not as easy as the reader might believe, especially after being insured that it was safe outside and that she had no more reason to be frightened, but the truth is that one of the greatest fears is the one of the unknown. After imagining the scenario of her departure from the shop and thinking of all different possibilities she ought to face, she put the book down and went to the door, firstly faltering then challenging herself and somehow scudding. This time, she forgot to say something to the librarian, or even look in his direction. She was no longer paying attention to his presence, but he, on the other hand, threw her a menacing, austere glance from behind his thick glasses. She stepped out of the dreary shop and it felt like the first step of a thirty-years-sentenced prisoner on the land of freedom. But still that sweet killing emptiness forbade her from savoring the taste of liberty and release. Suddenly, the weather became rugged and frigorific, and the sky was of a deep gray, as if it were in great fury.
It was too late to attend class and she did not want to risk facing the same pride again, so she decided to run back home and fake illness; as her parents would by no means tolerate her skipping classes for no reason- for she did not intend telling anybody what masquerade she was part of that morning. Her sickly hue will definitely help her. She was sure they will believe her and not send her back to her 10 o’clock class. But how would she explain the bruises on her arm?
