Unjust Strife

In the revered confines of the school's communal dining area, I found myself partaking in sustenance when the entrance was graced by none other than Fe-Del, flanked by the presence of Hana and Jasmine. While I was in the midst of enjoying my meal, they joined me at the same table. As I began to rise from my seat, she intercepted me and uttered, "How could your aunt be so imprudent as to adopt a girl of such worthlessness and insignificance like yourself? It's utterly baffling; she seems to be both irrational and foolish."

In that particular moment, a surge of intense anger welled up within me, compelling me to contemplate a physical reaction toward her. My hand ascended in preparation for a potential slap, yet in a fleeting instant, I restrained myself. Simultaneously, Fe-Del's countenance reflected her own simmering anger, manifesting in a determined advance towards me. With an assertive tone, she questioned, "How could you even contemplate raising your hand to strike me?"

In the midst of this charged atmosphere, emotions intensified, creating an atmosphere thick with tension. The seconds seemed to stretch, each one laden with the weight of unspoken resentment and the potential for a volatile confrontation. It was in the throes of this mounting fury that Fe-Del, unable to contain her own wrath, delivered a resounding slap with formidable force, shattering the stillness of the moment.

Upon the forceful impact, my visage collided with the unforgiving surface of the table, triggering an immediate response of searing pain that emanated from my forehead and lips. The metallic taste of blood swiftly flooded my senses, marking the inception of a visceral and unsettling experience. As the seconds ticked by with an agonizing slowness, the crimson stream cascading from my wounds began to saturate my once-pristine uniform, transforming it into a stark tableau of the ordeal I was undergoing.

In the backdrop of my physical distress, a disconcerting anticipation hung in the air, intensifying the emotional turbulence of the moment. Her approach was deliberate, each step echoing the gravity of the impending confrontation. The atmosphere thickened with a palpable mixture of fear, vulnerability, and a profound sense of dread. Drawing near, she uttered ominous words that lingered in the charged space, a foreboding promise of an imminent and potentially harrowing turn of events: "Look at what I'm going to do to you now." The weight of those words hung in the air, heightening the tension with each passing second.

With deliberate intent, she extended her hand, smearing my blood upon her own and then adorning her forehead, creating a deceptive tableau that suggested she, not I, had borne the brunt of the injury. In this theatrical display, the eyes of all the onlooking girls in the cafe were fixed upon us. Seizing the moment, Fe-Del boisterously proclaimed, "Did everyone witness how Kelly assaulted me? Observe."

With a pointed finger, she singled out a girl, inquiring, "Who assaulted me?" The response came promptly, the girl swiftly declaring, "KELLY HITS YOU." A collective murmur resonated through the cafe as the other girls, swayed by the narrative, joined in, affirming, "Yeah, Kelly hits you." The weight of surprise settled upon me as I beheld this orchestrated accusation. Meanwhile, Fe-Del fixed her gaze upon me, a devilish smile playing across her lips.

In a sinister turn of events, she directed her attention to Jasmine, proclaiming that the moment for retribution had arrived. With purpose, Jasmine approached me, initiating a sequence of kicks that punctuated the air with a palpable sense of aggression. Each blow carried the weight of resentment, amplifying the emotional turbulence of the unfolding scene. Amidst the chaos, the glint of my pendant caught Fe-Del's eye, prompting a widening of her eyes in recognition. With a disdainful tone, she uttered, "You idiot!" Seizing the opportunity, she snatched the pendant away, leaving me in a state of desperate plea. I implored her to return it, emphasizing its profound significance to me. "PLEASE, PLEASE RETURN IT," I pleaded earnestly. Despite my heartfelt appeals, she callously ignored my requests, compounding the distress by delivering another harsh kick, intensifying the physical and emotional toll of the unfolding encounter.

Fe-Del, in a calculated move, feigned unconsciousness. Hana, seizing the opportunity to manipulate the situation, instructed one of the girls to summon a teacher urgently. Simultaneously, she directed the remaining girls to encircle Fe-Del, emphasizing that they should act as if I, Kelly, had inflicted harm upon her. Hana and Jasmine positioned themselves by Fe-Del's side, further contributing to the illusion. In response to Hana's directive, Mam Crigler and a cohort of teachers rushed into the cafeteria. Their collective focus immediately zeroed in on Fe-Del's apparent distress, completely ignoring my bewildered presence. The assembled girls chorused, "Mam, Fe-Del experienced this as a result of the altercation with Kelly," reinforcing the fabricated narrative. Hana, adopting a role as an accomplice, stood up and approached Mam Crigler, offering an alternative account of events. She asserted, "Mam, we innocently took our seats at her table. Unfortunately, she succumbed to anger, initiating an altercation with Fe-Del. It was only after Fe-Del fell unconscious that she, in a misguided attempt, inflicted harm upon herself, creating a misleading tableau to insinuate that Fe-Del had been the initial aggressor." As Hana spoke, Mam Crigler turned her attention towards me, finding me seated on the floor, still in a state of shock and processing the surreal unfolding of events. With an air of frustration, Mam Crigler addressed me, "From now on, you will not come to school. You are suspended for three months." I numbly made my way to the classroom, clutching my bag, the remnants of blood still trickling down my face. As I ventured outside, I found no solace in the absence of anyone willing to attend to my wounds, leaving me to grapple with the physical and emotional aftermath of the unjust ordeal.

Exiting the school premises, each step I took seemed to carry the weight of my accumulated distress. A torrent of tears welled up within me, a manifestation of the emotional wreckage I felt—shattered by the incessant judgments that seemed to define my existence. The weariness of it all had reached a breaking point, and the overwhelming sense of despair enveloped me.

Amidst my tearful retreat, a comforting touch enveloped my hand. Startled, I turned to see Miss Samar standing beside me, a beacon of solace in my sea of turmoil. In that vulnerable moment, I poured out my heart, explaining that I wasn't the instigator in Fe-Del's hurtful ordeal; it was, in fact, her who had initiated the conflict. Miss Samar, understanding the weight of my predicament, offered a consoling embrace, assuring me that the world often wears a blindfold, unable to perceive the truth.

Her words, laden with empathy, echoed in my ears, providing a temporary respite from the harsh realities that plagued my school life. "Don't you feel sad," she asked, her concern palpable. With a gentle farewell, she encouraged me to return home, recharge, and meet her the next day, bidding me farewell with an "Allah Hafiz."

Little did she know, as I trudged homeward, that a more profound upheaval awaited me. The news of my three-month suspension weighed heavily on my shoulders, a consequence unbeknownst to Miss Samar. The journey back became a solitary one, with the weight of both emotional turmoil and academic repercussions casting a shadow on my path.

Amidst this disheartening journey, I stumbled upon an aged tree, its branches stretching towards the heavens like time-worn storytellers. Seeking solace, I nestled under its protective shade, contemplating the tangled web of my existence.

In the stillness, a peculiar sensation gripped me—a feeling of being observed. As I turned, my vision blurred, and the events that unfolded eluded my conscious grasp. The world faded away, and when I awoke, three hours had slipped into the oblivion of unconsciousness. The enigma of those lost moments lingered, adding another layer to the intricate tapestry of challenges that had woven themselves into my life.

As I crossed the threshold into my home, Aunt Zoey's countenance betrayed a complex mix of emotions. Her eyes, reflecting both sadness and understanding, hinted that Mam Crigler had laid bare the disquieting details. Our momentary eye contact seemed to hang in the air, leaving me with a sense of unease that clung to my every step.

Yearning for a sanctuary, I ascended the creaky stairs to my room. The mirror, like an unwavering storyteller, not only reflected my image but also unveiled a revelation—a bandage adorning a concealed wound. The room echoed with an uneasy stillness as I grappled with the implications, memories bubbling to the surface like fragments of a dream, emphasizing a comforting touch on my forehead.

The tranquility was abruptly shattered by an eruption of voices downstairs: "WHERE IS THAT GIRL?" Rushing down, I found myself face-to-face with Miss Eliza. She seized my collar with a ferocity fueled by accusation, condemning me for the perceived harm to her daughter. Her anger manifested physically, each slap delivering a stinging blow, exacerbating the pain emanating from my wounded self. Despite Aunt Zoey's desperate attempts to intervene, the tirade persisted, with Miss Eliza laying blame on my existence as if it were a harbinger of misfortune, expressing, "Why did you bring such a person? You and Hawk were enthusiastic about starting a family, and perhaps if you had waited, God might have blessed you with a more favorable outcome instead of what transpired."

As her gaze met mine, she uttered, "You are trash." In that instant, a profound sense of hurt overwhelmed me. The words hung in the air, cutting through my emotions like a sharp blade. My eyes welled up with tears, each drop a testament to the pain coursing through me.

When she released her grip on my collar, I crumbled to my knees, my spirit shattered. The weight of her words pressed down on me, and the world seemed to blur as the tears streamed down my face. The vulnerability of the moment exposed the rawness of my emotions.

Amidst my brokenness, Miss Eliza intervened, attempting to dismiss my emotional response. However, her sentence remained unfinished as an agonizing scream erupted from the depths of my being. It reverberated through the room, a stark reflection of the anguish within.

Aunt, standing nearby, hurried towards me in an attempt to address the situation. Yet, I pushed her away, vehemently rejecting any consolation. With a loud cry, I declared, "I'm tired! Please, leave me alone. You all are blindfolded! I cannot handle it anymore! Tell me what wrong I've done to you all? Please tell me!"

In that poignant moment, a deep yearning for parental comfort enveloped me. Despite the care bestowed upon me by Aunt and Uncle over the years, a sense of emptiness lingered. The person I desperately wished to encounter at that very moment was Miss Samar, for in her presence, I found solace and understanding.

Seeking refuge, I retreated to the seclusion of my room, securing the door as a feeble barrier against the chaos outside. Huddled in a corner, face buried in my knees, I grappled with the emotional turbulence that swirled within.

In the oppressive silence, an urgent cry pierced the night: "HELP!" Startled, I lifted my gaze, only to find my room plunged into darkness. Rising, I approached the window, peering out into a scene that transcended the ordinary—a celestial light tearing through the clouds, descending upon a distant hill.

The plea echoed once more, a haunting whisper that seemed to beckon me. The inexplicable series of events left me on the precipice of anticipation, as if destiny itself was unfurling in the surreal glow beyond the window, casting an otherworldly hue over the unfolding drama of my newfound reality.