School Number One

School Number One – Tan Timon

The girl sat quietly. Solemn, mournful, confused. She sat fearfully in her own home, as the thoughts of the siege haunted her day and night. The back rest in the chair did not concern her, nor did the food that lay next to her on the table. The comfort of her own home, the familiar comforter, the humming of the air conditioner, the presence of her favorite soft toy, the cup of water that she longed for nearly forty-eight hours ago, it all did not sooth her.

With a face of hopelessness, eyes of despair, her slouching figure, with a head that never lifted up and the indiscernible atmosphere of loss, did everyone in the room felt the cost done to the girl. It was untold of, indescribable as it was. No one knew what she felt, how she felt. They were not her. They were once her, but not her. Not her anymore that they may understand and know what she had been through.

“Diana. Do you wish to go to your room?” A woman said, kneeling at face level to the girl, with her arms on the girl’s shoulder, mournfully and understanding as she could be.

The girl, her daughter, whom she protected, whom she had mothered for, for fourteen years, she could no longer protect. She was scarred, scarred for life, a haunt that will never leave her for as much as eternity, because she was part of it, a victim of the incident, one that was threatened, assaulted, hurt, one whom seemed to be just a tool in a bigger picture, not as an individual, not one who was human, one whom had feelings.

“No. I’ll tell them my story.” She said in a whisper, “The world must know what we’ve been through.”

The mother nodded acknowledging. As much as her daughter been through, she too wanted the world to know, know how much suffering she had been put through, to bring justice to that who harmed not only her daughter, but many other children. Though what had been done, cannot be undone, what that can be done, will still be done. And it will be done.

“Sir. I’m ready,” said the girl.

The mother stepped back, allowing space between her and her daughter before retreating to the opposite side of the room, where she sat on a sofa, still in view and hearing of her daughter and the others, but enough to give them a little privacy.

From the corner of the room, stepped forward two people, a man and a woman. The girl took a look at the man, and cringed immediately. Images of the hooded men, those monsters that shouted at her, kicked her in the stomach, forced her to do things against her will, and that took away all her friends that she knew, it all came back to her. Her tears began to flow, the mere sight and memory…

“Diana. It’s all right. We’re not here to harm you. We just want to hear your story.” The woman said. She slowly dropped to her knees, in the same position as the mother was earlier, at face level to the girl. The girl lifted her head and looked at her. She recognized the same hurt, terror, fright, and fear in the woman’s face, like hers.

“I was there when it happened. I saw what you saw. I felt what you felt.” The woman said.

The girl remained silent. No one felt like she did. No one could.

“Take your time honey. You can end it anyway you like. We just want to help.” The woman said.

“It…it…it…” She stuttered, as horror came back to her mind again. She closed her eyes, draining all the tears. Than she opened it again, revealing an empty hollow.

“It was the Day of Knowledge, the first day of school at School Number One and…”