The Crying Girl At School

I was at a school this time. I came around a corner to find a young girl. She was curled up and crying silently, trying to hide her pain.

I came up to her, she flinched away. I told her not to worry, she jumped. Clearly she was frightened, of what? I will have to reveal.

So I sat with her, she moved and clung to me I did not mind. I kept her hidden away from the prying eyes of the other students. I sat in silence with her, patiently, until she was ready; whatever she wanted to do.

I was protection; nothing more.

Eventually a teacher, angry that the girl missed a class came along. I asked the girl what she wanted me to say. She did not reply, to absorbed by her grief to care.

The teacher asked me who I was. I lied, she accepted it. She then asked about the girl. I lied, she did not accept it. She gave the poor girl a detention and strutted away; confident she did the right thing. If only she knew, she had just punished somebody who was not in need of punishment.

I continued to sit next to that crying girl. Patiently waiting until she was finished.

Soon the day ended. The other students left. The girl continued to cry.

After the students left; long after they had left. The young girl’s crying softened then stopped. She immediately became shy; thanked me for my kindness. She asked me to leave.

I stood and waited, but I did not leave.

She became angry and self-righteous. She yelled at me to leave. I said no. So she left instead.

“Such a pretty girl shouldn’t be crying.” I called after her. These few words, they stopped her in her tracks.

She broke down again; retreated into herself. I sat down beside her, and we began again.

By the time it grew dark. She calmed down enough, so she told her story and we understood. She didn’t want to tell but she told me anyway.

She told me how when she was young. Her father started to touch her strangely. Stripping her down, dressing her up. It all happened in their “Special time”. She knew it was wrong what he did with his hands but he made her promise not to tell mum.

After she promised, the promise made nightly. He went one step further, than he had before. All the time, whilst she was in great pain. He sighed the words “Such a pretty girl.”

She finished her story. The words had run dry. She wasn’t crying anymore. Hope and determination instead burned in her eyes.

She promised to me, a promise made to herself. That she would tell someone; leave that horrid man behind.

She got up and stood. She ran back home, she was going to tell and she would become whole.

I left it there. My job here finished, she would take care of herself now. Another life and soul had just been saved.

If anybody had been watching as I walked away, they might have noticed I was now crying.

The End

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