Michael writhed in pain as the bullies kicked him. Once in the gut, twice in the shins and once in his head.
He lay there, bruised, bleeding and gasping for breath as they walked away, contempt writ large on their smug faces.
After what seemed like eternity, a group of girls walked past and stopped in horror at the sight before them. One of them rushed forward to pick up Michael’s head and cradle it in her lap, as the others whipped out hankies to mop the blood on his cheeks and bottles of water to bathe his wounds.
Suddenly, Michael opened his eyes and mumbled , ‘P-p-p pen’. The girls exchanged glances and bent closer to him. Gasping, he repeated, ‘Pen.’
One girl unscrewed a pen and handed it over. Michael shook his head and said, ‘ Can you write for me?’
‘Sure,’ she responded in a bewildered tone. ‘What should I write?’
‘A poem called Battle scars. I’d like to forgive my enemies one day and this will help me remember why.’
I’m thrilled to be guest posting over at Shantala’s blog
today writing on one of my favourite topics:
Do read and comment
My theme for the Challenge this year is