My eyes flooded with tears when my smooth pale skin skidded across the rubber mat. I screamed until a concerned 30 سال old woman trotted over [as fast as آپ can run in high heals] to these two children.
"Minora, sweetie! What ever happened?" she took my small hands and pulled me to stand. My big blue eyes squinted the tears away, and my whole face turned into an icy glare as I pointed to one, small 6 سال old boy, Duncan.
"He hit me!" I shrieked.
"I did not!" he protested. "I simply... high-fived your face."
"Duncan...!" Ms. Everstone choked. She new good and well not to harm this boy, for his parents were ... in the force.
"Policemen," she had explained to me as she walked me ہوم that one ... Tuesday, I believe. "You must never lay a hand nor finger on him, Minora. His parents are mighty powerful, and I would be darned if they didn't heel your mother away from آپ if آپ harmed Duncan." When she کہا that, I gave it no سیکنڈ thought. I have a strong friendship with my teacher. When she talks, I listen, and to this دن I have never striked him ... and I never planned to. My mother was the only person in the world I had left.
"Duncan..." she repeated, loosening her fists. "In my class, آپ are never to hit, kick-- یا do any physical یا mental harm to any classmate, do آپ understand?" her voice was louder and مزید stern now, and even in her defensive corner, I was afraid. "Minora is a very kind girl." After that, she turned to me. "Minora, may I ask what آپ did to this boy?"
Sullenly I replied, "Nothing, ma'am."
Her face grew dark and grim.
"Do not, and I mean do not touch this girl again." Afterward, I felt Ms. Everstone take my hand and lead me away to another end of the preschool. All I remember later was my head turning slowly back around, with one small tear rolling down my cheek and away from my half-dried eyes. Duncan was staring at me. Not a stare of evil lust as he had before, but a menacing scowl; x10 worse than mine. He forced his small hand into his pockets, and ran out of the door.
... Until a few years later, I hadn't the slightest idea what had become of him, when I was walking my dog. Then, I was 11. At first I didn't know who he was. When his father pulled out of their driveway and I could almost see a smile, he seemed nice ... however, when he turned to me and our eyes met, I was struck with fear, and dashed off.
Now, at 15 the bumpy ride of the Moving Truck hurts my bottom. I sit and wait and watch and sleep and pray that there will be no Duncan where I'm going. Japan.
"Minora, sweetie! What ever happened?" she took my small hands and pulled me to stand. My big blue eyes squinted the tears away, and my whole face turned into an icy glare as I pointed to one, small 6 سال old boy, Duncan.
"He hit me!" I shrieked.
"I did not!" he protested. "I simply... high-fived your face."
"Duncan...!" Ms. Everstone choked. She new good and well not to harm this boy, for his parents were ... in the force.
"Policemen," she had explained to me as she walked me ہوم that one ... Tuesday, I believe. "You must never lay a hand nor finger on him, Minora. His parents are mighty powerful, and I would be darned if they didn't heel your mother away from آپ if آپ harmed Duncan." When she کہا that, I gave it no سیکنڈ thought. I have a strong friendship with my teacher. When she talks, I listen, and to this دن I have never striked him ... and I never planned to. My mother was the only person in the world I had left.
"Duncan..." she repeated, loosening her fists. "In my class, آپ are never to hit, kick-- یا do any physical یا mental harm to any classmate, do آپ understand?" her voice was louder and مزید stern now, and even in her defensive corner, I was afraid. "Minora is a very kind girl." After that, she turned to me. "Minora, may I ask what آپ did to this boy?"
Sullenly I replied, "Nothing, ma'am."
Her face grew dark and grim.
"Do not, and I mean do not touch this girl again." Afterward, I felt Ms. Everstone take my hand and lead me away to another end of the preschool. All I remember later was my head turning slowly back around, with one small tear rolling down my cheek and away from my half-dried eyes. Duncan was staring at me. Not a stare of evil lust as he had before, but a menacing scowl; x10 worse than mine. He forced his small hand into his pockets, and ran out of the door.
... Until a few years later, I hadn't the slightest idea what had become of him, when I was walking my dog. Then, I was 11. At first I didn't know who he was. When his father pulled out of their driveway and I could almost see a smile, he seemed nice ... however, when he turned to me and our eyes met, I was struck with fear, and dashed off.
Now, at 15 the bumpy ride of the Moving Truck hurts my bottom. I sit and wait and watch and sleep and pray that there will be no Duncan where I'm going. Japan.
