Once upon a time, a short, stocky kid named Calypso Kneeblood broke a bone in his right hand. He broke it by slamming his clenched fist into a cinder block wall. He had not intended to slam his fist into a cinder block wall. He intended for it to smash into Skipper Holman’s face. But Skipper dodged the oncoming assault at the very last moment and turned to run. In spite of the pain of having just broken a bone in his hand, Calypso wheeled around and, with his left hand, grabbed Skipper’s collar with such strength that the fleeing boy’s upper body stopped cold. But his feet continued their retreat, thereby rendering his body essentially horizontal in an instant. That imbalance was all Calypso needed. He released his grip on Skipper’s collar, sending the boy to the ground, flat on his back. Just as Calypso cocked his right foot to kick the prone boy in the head, Jolene Poe, the first grade teacher, spun Calypso around by the shoulder. The intended kick had already begun, so when spun around in mid-kick, Calypso’s right foot sprung forward into the teacher’s shin. Mrs. Poe reacted with uncharacteristic venom, slapping Calypso in the face with such force that the short, stocky boy lost his balance and stumbled backward over his victim. The teacher was on him in a heartbeat, her one hundred forty pounds pinning his fifty pound frame to the ground. The other kids on the playground, hearing and seeing the ruckus, scurried over to watch. Skipper, seeing his assailant so immobilized, took advantage of the situation. He jumped to his feet, grabbed a stick from the ground, and swung it at the boy beneath the teacher. He missed, striking Mrs. Poe, hard, on the butt, instead. Mrs. Poe let out a loud “God damn!” The playground went silent. Never before had the children heard such profanity from their teacher. But they would hear it again. Next time, though, it would be a far more terrifying event than a school yard scuffle. Next time, it would involve the teacher, the school’s assistant principal, and two women who both claimed to be married to  the principal, who had not been seen in weeks.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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2 Responses to Prescient

  1. Oh, Pauline, I am afraid I just wrote this piece in a fit of not knowing what, if anything, might follow. So far, nothing seems on the verge of following. One day, perhaps…

  2. When is the next exciting episode of this story? I await it anxiously.

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