What Happened in Mr Rothman's Classroom

I know Mama is not my mama. I think my mama is dead. Mama won't tell me what happened. She says, I'll tell you when you're older.

My real mama must've died in a horrible way, and Mama thinks it'll upset me. I lie in bed, imagining what might've happened. Every imagining is stickier than the last. I wonder, sleepily, if what really happened was as interesting.

I don't know where my dad is. Mama says still alive. She always told me he loved me very much. It didn't feel true. If he did love me then why isn't he here? Why does he never call? Why don't I get Christmas or birthday cards with some money? Even dads who care the littlest do those things.

The kids at school are mean. I think I'm supposed to be upset. Mama worries about it. I'm not good at picking up on it, but it's obvious even to me. I try to tell her I don't care, but she keeps asking about it. It's true though. I don't care about the other kids.

It's easy to avoid them. They go outside at breaktimes, and I don't like going outside. I go to Mr Rothman's classroom and poke pins in the flies on his windowsill. That's against the rules. Staying in the classroom, I mean. There isn't a rule about flies or pins.

This is the thing about rules. You can just ignore them. Most of the time nothing happens. Grownups start talking at you, and you just look at them. Look and look and look. Sometimes they threaten stuff, but usually, those things never happen. Anyway, you just keep looking. As soon as you can, go back to doing the thing you were doing before. Grownups give up fast. These days they leave me alone to hang out in the empty classroom. They just don't come in, and then they can pretend I'm not here, and they don't have to do anything.

Riley walked in. He's mean. He grinned. He didn't see the pin. I pushed it into his eyeball. I couldn't do it slow, like through the flies. I wanted to. It felt good. Squishy. He screamed.

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Word count excluding note: 366

Submitted on Wednesday at 15.45

*Very Quick Author's Note*

First of all, and most importantly: thank you so much for reading my story! The ha'penny that Vocal will toss in my hat for your eyeballs landing on this humble piece will be well-spent.

If you enjoyed this one, the very best compliment you can give me is to share it, or read another!

A Year of Stories: I'm writing a story every day this year. This one continues my 213 day streak since 1st January.

Please do consider lending your support to the other creators who are also on this madcap "a story every day" adventure. They are putting out excellent content every day!

Rachel Deeming

Gerard DiLeo

Please do leave me a comment. I try to reciprocate as many as I can. Leaving a comment makes that easier.

The story behind the story: This is a response to Novel Allen's Savages challenge. This is not autobiographical.

Thank you!

Thank you again, most sincerely. Especially if you are one of the wonderful people who has been staunchly reading these daily scribbles since the start of the year. I see you, and appreciate you very much indeed!

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