Moment Six: Cat Fight

You can tell that something is being anticipated from the buzz that fills the school grounds. Adding just a drop of deviance to the unstable souls of teenage females transfigures them into a salivating pack of wolves. Normally, I am not an exception to this rule, however much I may like to stay on the periphery, but this time I am sick to the stomach because I have a terrible foresight that the main attraction will be of some familiarity to me.

The second that it kicks off, a chorus of cheers, screams and howls of mirth refract across the space as hundreds jostle to reach the front. The wave of onlookers is so vast that I find myself being shoved unwillingly in the direction of the slaughter. It is by far the worst I’ve seen in my three years at Rosenham Girls’: Florence is slumped face-down on the concrete, hair streaked red and uniform ripped in countless places. Four Year 11s enclose her, stamping on her limp hands and dragging her upwards only to drop her back down again. At first, I am terrified, but as I watch my friend being beaten beyond recognition, my skin smoulders so that I cannot imagine it being anything but white-hot. Not only are the bullies bigger than her, stronger, and greater in number – they are attacking, I am sure, an innocent. This is an unfair fight. I’ve got to do something. Now.

Without a third thought I charge at the predators as if turbo-powered, jumping on their backs and kicking and screaming and scratching the adversary. They throw me off without much trouble, but not before I get a good hit at them. I would have liked to do more than leave a few shallow scratches, but that particular freedom is short-lived. Arms grab me from behind; to my humiliation, they are brawny enough to carry me even amidst my violent struggle. I am set ruthlessly back onto my feet at the fringe of the mass of students that now resembles a crime-scene and hauled away by the wrists. I am unable to look at my captor due to the great pain that I inflict upon myself every time I attempt to lift my neck. No clues surface either. The only sound is the pounding rush of blood in my ears.


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