The Left-Handed Gift

Today is International Left-Handed Day--a day for those who are left-handed to raise it proudly.

In a world where the right-handed steer the course.

The left hand rises when the right hand stays still.

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Adam Chong sat in the back of the auditorium of Greenridge High, glad that his pale green leather jacket merged with its grass-green walls. He was glad for the distance between himself and the speaker in front; had enough of subtle bias.

His jacket.

The pale green tweed coats of the rest.

Open bias.

Taunts.

Pushes from bullies, caustic words spilling out of their mouths in a merciless fountain.

He was seen--way too much.

His left hand generated a spotlight that was way too glaring.

It mutated him. Differentiated him in a world where only the rights held sway.

Just once, he wanted to return a punch, in more ways than one.

His left hand trembled, its fingers moving with lives of their own.

Not from fear, but his defiance.

In the world of the Rights, the Lefts rebelled.

Secretly.

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An abrupt block of his view.

A popular crowd of Righties sat in the seats in front of him.

Their stalwartian faces set, uniforms neatly pressed.

Priceless Go wristwatches decorating their wrists--ornaments of intimidation.

They blocked his lecturer. He needed the guru's notes for the next day's exam.

The group slouched in their seats casually, each a tall shadow in the darkened room.

Each surrounded his seat.

His pen twirled between his fingertips of his left hand in unspoken defiance.

Then, whispers of "leftie...leftie..."

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Adam looked at his nondescript Casio, still blinking in his left hand.

He could either take it off--or suffer a beating and residual TikTok shame.

Shame he had suffered for the three years he had studied in Greedridge High.

Looks of avoidance and pity from other students in the school hall.

The first whack.

The instant, live broadcast on TikTok.

His left hand wasn't a flaw--it was a left hook of glinting steel, waiting to strike.

One that was no longer silent. No longer afraid.

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Adam stood, his small form a gripping shadow lining the pale green wall.

His Casio stayed firmly on his left hand.

The world was right-handed. He couldn't change that.

But it could never see his left coming.

He raised it. Proud.

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Original microfiction by Michelle Liew. AI tags are coincidental.