Monday, June 13, 2011


Walking through the halls of Bennet High, I pretended the marbelled floors were made of sand. I walked as if my feet sunk low and then lifted, low and then lifted. I pretended my shoes had been cast by the ocean (the lockers served this purpose) and, before dancing in small circles, my head spun to check both sides of the hall. No one was there.

I spun and spun and spun. And then I stopped. Footsteps sounded around the bend, coming from the caf. I rushed to my knees to slip my flip-flops back on, running down the hall away from the sound.

Flip-flop. Flip-flop. Flip-flop.

Voices followed the footsteps. I knew those voices. My hand dug into the pocket of my Walmart jeans and my fingers hugged the plastic, craft-store seashell. Faster now.

Flip-flop. Flip-flop. Flip-flop.

And then I saw them. Which means they could see me.

Two of the girls had gone around to ambush me. There they stood, blocking my only exit from Bennet High. The other three came behind. A hand on my shoulder. A hissing in my ear. And then I was on the ground. Yelling.

I clutched the seashell when one foot and then another dove into my side.

Inspired by Magpie TaleS:


  1. What a powerful story. I'm sure there are more kids surviving this kind of terror than we'd like to think.

    What an interesting direction you went with that seashell...

  2. Excellent write. I hope this tragic tale is fiction.

  3. Thank you both and yes it is completley fiction. :)

  4. It is amazing and I am so glad it's fiction.

    Anna :o]

  5. flip flop.

    your words dance and tap.
    love the fun in it.

  6. I love in the beginning it reminds me of sneaking off and running through the sprinklers at school lol So sad at the end it can be hard being different I was ignored than anything

  7. And running through sprinklers at school sounds like a great time! It's most important to have fun in school.