By Vageesha Mishra
One chilly night, with winter breeze playing out its sweet assault, a bright moon looking down through her window and a comforting warmth caressing them as they cozied up near a crackling fire, a little girl was born to a couple who were as pure as her. She was named Emma.
Her big brown eyes, sparkled like stars when her folks told her stories after stories of mankind. She would jump and clap, chirping, “Tory! Tory!”
Growing each day, she learnt of all the morals, values and tales of humanity. Whenever she’d divert from her ideal upbringing, her mother would ask,” What does my little girl want to be when she grows up?”
“A better person than I was yesterday; stronger, kinder, warmer and happier,” she would say singing and her parents wouldn’t be able to hold their smile.
“I’m sorry mamma, I wouldn’t do that again,” she would say and come right back on track.
“Sometimes I feel like she’s indeed an angel, my love,” Her father would say when they were alone and her mother would gaze into abyss saying, “my little girl is growing so fast. Can’t it slow down? It still feels like she was born just yesterday.”
She was a favourite of her teachers at school for they’d “never seen a pupil so obedient and disciplined.” “We expect great things from you,” they’d say, putting more weight on her little shoulders. Ducking her head, she would shyly mumble, “yes ma’am.”
Then one day, while she was minding her business, came two girls. Their uniforms were modified slightly to escape the “insufferable fashion” of the school. “You’re a teacher’s pet and that is why you score,” they snarled at Emma.
A cold slap broke through the “it’s a beautiful world” haze her parents had instilled in her. But they had also added, “only till you’re careful about your safety, work hard and remain kind in general.”
But how did I wrong them? Why are they being so mean? And what’s a teacher’s pet?
Emma wondered, just as several of students, giggled and snickered around her while some simply gawked. Unarmed with any ideas to save herself, she gazed down at her work while the girls continued to throw mud at her. Tears streamed down her face and she ran back to class.
“Why are you crying?” said a low voice from behind.
(To be continued.)
Picture – sourced online.