Kiss me Good Bye...
10 days before...
10 Days Before…
School. Abigail Rogers is unlike you average teenage girl. She has the ability to listen and learn, if she hears it she knows how to do it, how it works and how it happened. But the key to the trick is she has to believe it. For one to believe one must trust and trust is Abigail tragic fall.
As Abigail sits alone in the back of the class, she stares at the blank paper lying before her in front of her desk, a simple quiz, questions one through five multiple choice, 6 though ten short answers. She stares and thinks, she knows the answers but refuses to right then down. Thoughts fly though her head faster than frat train.
What if I fail, what if my parents find out I fail.
No, that would be punishable. I must get all these right. I can’t handle another slap, punch, or kick.
The clock ticks slowly but persistent as a silent reminder that Abigail’s time is slipping away in more ways than one. Tick- Tock. The clock mocks her self-confidence in herself, as a small voice asking her can she do. Is she wrong?
“Time. Hand them up.”
Every teacher says it but there is always one more second between the time they say it and the time the first kid puts down their pencil and give the sheet to the kid in front of them. In that second Abigail does all she can do, to fill the answers, she has wasted her time.
Defeated and broken Abigail grabs her things as she makes her way out the room with the rest of the cluster of children.
“Abigail Rodgers. Not so fast come here.” Her teacher brakes from the back of his desk. Attention is drawn to her as the kids stare asking ‘what did you do’ with their eyes. Some of them, the class clowns, mock her with a dramatic ‘OOOO’ as she walks past toward the teacher’s desk.
Sitting there on his desk is her test. Covered in red ink.
“Abigail, I hate to say it but I’m disappointed in your results on this quiz.” He waits for her to respond but is only getting silence. “I know, you know this material you are one of my brightest students. So tell me why only half the test is complete when I gave you half the class to finish?”
Only the word ‘Disappointment’ is focused in her head. ‘Disappointment’ even in this place where she feels she might have a chance at being something slightly above average something someone might care about, the ugly word still follows close behind.
“I’m sorry sir I will try better next time.”
She mutters but doesn’t wait for her formal dismissal as she walks to the hall.
Only she knows that there will be no next time.
School. Abigail Rogers is unlike you average teenage girl. She has the ability to listen and learn, if she hears it she knows how to do it, how it works and how it happened. But the key to the trick is she has to believe it. For one to believe one must trust and trust is Abigail tragic fall.
As Abigail sits alone in the back of the class, she stares at the blank paper lying before her in front of her desk, a simple quiz, questions one through five multiple choice, 6 though ten short answers. She stares and thinks, she knows the answers but refuses to right then down. Thoughts fly though her head faster than frat train.
What if I fail, what if my parents find out I fail.
No, that would be punishable. I must get all these right. I can’t handle another slap, punch, or kick.
The clock ticks slowly but persistent as a silent reminder that Abigail’s time is slipping away in more ways than one. Tick- Tock. The clock mocks her self-confidence in herself, as a small voice asking her can she do. Is she wrong?
“Time. Hand them up.”
Every teacher says it but there is always one more second between the time they say it and the time the first kid puts down their pencil and give the sheet to the kid in front of them. In that second Abigail does all she can do, to fill the answers, she has wasted her time.
Defeated and broken Abigail grabs her things as she makes her way out the room with the rest of the cluster of children.
“Abigail Rodgers. Not so fast come here.” Her teacher brakes from the back of his desk. Attention is drawn to her as the kids stare asking ‘what did you do’ with their eyes. Some of them, the class clowns, mock her with a dramatic ‘OOOO’ as she walks past toward the teacher’s desk.
Sitting there on his desk is her test. Covered in red ink.
“Abigail, I hate to say it but I’m disappointed in your results on this quiz.” He waits for her to respond but is only getting silence. “I know, you know this material you are one of my brightest students. So tell me why only half the test is complete when I gave you half the class to finish?”
Only the word ‘Disappointment’ is focused in her head. ‘Disappointment’ even in this place where she feels she might have a chance at being something slightly above average something someone might care about, the ugly word still follows close behind.
“I’m sorry sir I will try better next time.”
She mutters but doesn’t wait for her formal dismissal as she walks to the hall.
Only she knows that there will be no next time.
♠ ♠ ♠
... so .... ?