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Nobody has to tell you to not hit children.Obvious Crime. But also an obviously omnipresent one. Vidya's $1M house is one of the havens for it, and the shield was something as petty as school grades. This is her story. This is her justice. This is how she ends it.

Thriller / Drama
Age Rating:

Chapter 1

The only reason school should exist in my world was to protect me from my father.

Or there’s no point of it. The more time I spend at school, the less time I’d spend at home. I was part of my school’s athletics team and the school choir. I never got to do musicals, or stay back and run if I had to, but for the most part, they allowed me to stay at school instead of at home.

My glorious morning started with mother dearest running around the house in a quietly panicked way. Quiet, to not disturb father dearest, and panicked, because her life was long enough to waste being that way.

It was 6 in the morning, and I had to get ready for the school bus in 30 mins. To her it seemed like a very short time, because she was always more concerned about my schooling than I ever was myself. Even as a freshman in high school.

It made no difference that I stayed up late last night slogging to solve a single problem in physics, I was still rushed and pushed to quickly get dressed. My muscles were still a bit sore, and mother saw me painfully stretching them out.

I’m glad school started again. It means no more private classes from father. At least not as often. I have about 5 days to enjoy my freedom.

“Does it still hurt?” She asked, slowing down for a moment. I shrugged it off and pulled on a smile. “Not much,” I said.

I hardly waited for the bus before I got in, and through the window seat, I could see her talking to her friends at the bus stop. All her friends were mothers of kids in the second grade, and I felt embarrassed to be “dropped” to a bus stop barely fifty meters away from my doorstep.

Dread washed over me then as I realised it was the first day of school. The dramatic reunions, seat picking, introductions, and new teachers. To be honest, this school was a lot of unnecessary drama. People who aren’t dramatic aren’t even cared for.

Outside the window, the city was beautiful. The busiest on a Monday morning, and at this hour, when the sun has just crossed the horizon, the light falls so sweetly onto the buildings. We passed Burj Khalifa, a sight I always admired despite being a local, a lake, and few more residential buildings to pick up other kids. The bus wasn’t too big, but it made my head to vibrate against the window as I lazily let it. The best part of school was undeniably this bus ride.

We reached school about half an hour before it started, which I thought was ridiculous. I could’ve slept that extra half an hour. I should be sleeping, if only I could sleep forever, and never get up. Life is more beautiful when it doesn’t exist anyways. As I peered through the window of the music room I had automatically taken myself to, I wondered if the fall could kill me. It was high enough, even at the second floor, and my body was sickly thin enough to break at even this height, but the small chance of survival stopped me. What a pity.

I went towards the guitar in the sound proof room. My heartbeat was high already, and my palms sweaty, just thinking of the day that was ahead of me. I had about 20 minutes to play before I had to get back to class. I had just started learning, and all I could play were simple chords. So I strummed some simple chords, hummed a tune and got back, unsuccessful in the attempt of calming myself down.


Dramatic reunions. I stuck to the left side of the wall, watching my shoes as I walked to class.


Cue more dramatic reunions. It seemed like I was surrounded by dying seals meeting their families for the last time before they turned into meat. Ridiculous high schoolers. While the girls gushed over their friends they’d seen in the summer so soul-stirringly the boys did the manly pounce-and-almost-beat-to-death hug or the silly nod of their head as they suppressed their emotions.

I paused outside my classroom, dodging another squealing girl and took a deep breath. The only friend I made last semester probably has forgotten about me. I used to fit in quite well with the girls of my age. But after father found out about the things we do (he called them rubbish things) like play truth or dare, or gossip about boys, he banned me from meeting them.

A small part of me wants to break that rule, but the fear of him finding out and the fear of what he’d do to me if he found out dominated. I walked into the room and placed my bag in the back seat. A girl came up to me.

“Umm so my friends and I were going to sit here...”

I picked up my bag and moved a seat in the front.

“Actually you can’t sit here, Krishna wanted me to sit with her this year.”

I picked it up and dragged it to the corner of the room, and I could’ve sworn I’ve heard whispers about “saving” a certain girl from having to sit with me. I felt like crying. I was always so weak, and there wasn’t a single place I was welcomed. And I didn’t even know what my fault was.

As I waited for the class to start filling up, I pulled out a book, flipped to the back of it and started doodling. I loved Michael Jackson, so I filled the paper with Michael Jackson lyrics, slowly sinking into my own world. I’d use my tears as a good way to smudge certain parts of my drawing. Sort of a makeshift water color pencil, but with just black, or whatever the shade of a pencil is.

Somehow someone remembered my name and decided to scream it out, interrupting me. I turned around to see Krishna. “COME HERE!” She shouted rather shamelessly, showing me all the chocolate in her mouth and she chewed. I approached her, awkwardly deciding to drag my bag instead of lifting it up like a regular person. I suddenly felt all eyes on me even when nobody paid attention to me. I felt watched and judged even though everybody was minding their own business, and my cheeks flared hot.

The friend I made last semester remembers me!

I’ve always believed that I was a very forgettable person. Stupid people shouldn’t really talk, and if they don’t talk, they won’t ever be remembered. I smiled gratefully at her, and sat down. The crowd that once surrounded her disappeared almost as soon as I sat down, but she didn’t care. That made me not care. “Hey!” I greeted, as the teacher entered the classroom. I was bursting with joy inside, a person of my age had finally noticed and talked to me.

Maybe this year would look brighter.

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