You’ve been waiting to hear what I did to merit a punishment as extreme as boarding school in AFRICA of all places. Okay, I’m totally gonna tell you. But bear in mind that this happened a long time ago, like when I was twelve.
At that time, I guess I must have been a really frustrated kid, full of angst and bitterness at the failing relationship between my parents.
How was I to know, at that time, that trying to be a punk was not the best of solutions to an impending family divorce?
I was only twelve–duh!!
How was I to know that by letting my rage overtake me, I was gonna hurt other people and myself?
Really, how was I to know???
Guess I learned the hard way.
Okay so you still wanna know what I did?
“Spill the beans, Carlotta,” you reply, ready for gossip.
Okey-dokie. But remember, you asked for it!!! Lol!!!
I hated the two kids. They were about half my age, skinny, and obnoxious as hell. They had tiny little noses that seemed turned-up at the end, almost snobbish.
They never shut up, especially the female. She had this annoying way of chanting in a high-pitched voice each time she crossed my path:
“Car-lot-ta! Car-lot-ta!! Carrr-llooot-ttaaaa!!!”
“Enough, already!” I snapped at her one morning. I was in a particularly sore mood and didn’t care much for being pestered.
The li’l kid, wouldn’t listen, she kept chanting.
“I said, stop it!” I yelled at her, “or I’m gonna bust your butt!”
The girl shut up at once. There was a moment of glorious quietness, before her male counterpart blurted:
“Watcha gonna do? Car-lot-ta, watcha gonna do?”
I’m gonna totally bust you up, that’s what. “Stop it this minute,” I ordered.
The boy ignored me. I hate being ignored.
His female partner-in-crime joined in again, and this time, she made the mistake of poking me in the chest while she chanted with renewed vigor.
That did it! I lost my temper!
First, I caught hold of one and landed her a resounding blow straight across the cheek. Smack!
Dazed, she fell back and let up. The male wasn’t as easy to deal with. Scrawny legs kicking, little arms flailing, sharp voice wailing; he grabbed my arm and began to pummel with his free hand.
With him I took my time. One accurately measured blow to the side of his chest leveled him.
The female jumped to her feet and charged like a suicidal bull, blindly throwing herself into my stomach. I peeled her off me and smacked her across the face. Again!
She wouldn’t be dislodged that easily.
So I leveled her like I did her mate, landing one extra blow to make sure she stayed down. I considered leaving them there, prone as dead logs, but thought better of it. A ring of excited onlookers had formed around us.
“Here is to the silly taunts on the bus every morning,” I spat. With each word, I kicked-out at the two helpless beings, drawing an extended cry of agony from them.
Finally, I stopped kicking and stood there, heaving with fury, staring down at the two six-year olds I almost reduced to pulps of flesh.
I turned to leave. A path cleared within the ring of other students staring back at me in horror.
One boy hooted and several others joined in. Soon they were booing and chanting and running to go find a teacher. Any teacher. And the school nurse.
The injured six-year-olds lay there on the ground, groaning and crying.
“Did I feel sorry for them?” you ask, shocked beyond belief.
Well, to tell you the truth, I felt kinda satisfied. The two punks had it coming. They certainly did.
And it was totally their own fault.
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