Ek het hierdie stories lank terug geskryf. Hulle is werd om te deel. Hulle is in Engels omdat ek dit op ‘n stadium op ‘n Engelse groep gesit het.
The grade twelves had their fourty days one year. The day started bad and even today it is one of my worst days.
My class was close to the boys’s bathroom. They smoked so much in there the smell overwhelmed me in my class.
That morning I went to that bathroom. I shouted from the door:
“I am coming in! You better get out of here!”
One by one they came out. Then I walked in. The one door was closed and locked. I hammered on the door. Waited. Hammered. At last a boy opened. A boy with glassy eyes and an embarrassed grin. So high the sky was low. I marched him to the principal.
Back in my class I just sat. Staring. Those glassy eyes haunted me.
Later that day, just before break, I had no class. A girl came in and gave me a gift. A book of poems. I was touched and very glad. I like short stories, but I prefer poems.
Later that day I on my way to the office I found a girl crying. Through sobs she told me that she just had found her friend lying passed out on the floor in the bathroom. She took her to the sick room.
The teachers took care of the friend, but told her to leave. She was terribly scared her friend had died. She begged me to go and see if the friend was alright.
I walked to the sick room. A teacher was just leaving the room. She told me the girl said she took a bottle of tablets. She refused to tell them what she took. They did phone the mother.
I entered. The girl was just lying there. Her eyes were shut. She refused to speak. A desperate silence filled the room. I also asked what she took. No answer.
Suddenly the door flung open.
“What nonsense is this?”
The mother glared at us, turned to the child and shouted:
“Get up!!” No reaction.
“I said get up!”
“Get up Veronica! I am talking to you!”
This was so horrible that I today still hear that voice – and get that feeling of dispair.
She grabbed the unconcious child and dragged her out of the room and down the hall to the front door. Not once did she look at us or asked for help.
This action left me astonished and empty on another level. But what bugged me the most was that it was this poor girl who gave me the gift that morning.
More disturbing was the thought that she did not want to tell the name of the tablets because she realy wanted to die.
Very disturbing indeed.
Apparently the mother took the girl to hospitable. I do not know the story, but yes she did. The girl came to visit me one day during break. She looked well, but sad. She told me her kidneys were damaged, but she was fine. The sadness in her eyes told the story about her real state of mind.