Chapter 3
I wanted to disappear when I heard the group of teachers enter the library. When I heard the sound of chairs being drug closer to me, fainting or death seemed like the best options. Something. Anything. No such luck for me. It was as if my worst nightmare had come true. The teachers were quiet now and I could hear someone walk over to me. My eyes scrunched tightly shut, praying that it wasn’t Mrs. Wilkens.
My prayers were rewarded. It was Mr. Quackers. He picked up the cane and spoke loudly so that everyone could hear him, All of your teachers are here Miss Cole. After each stroke you are to apologize to a teacher whose class you have disrupted at one point or another this year. When I am finished, you will remain in place until you are told to move. Do you understand?
I nodded my head, speaking into the desk, I understand. Pain ripped through my skull as Mr. Quackers grabbed my pony tail, lifting my head away from the table, Louder please Miss Cole.
My voice squeaked and wavered, but I spoke as loudly as I could, trying to disguise my trembling voice, I understand, Sir.
Good, we’ll begin, he eased my head back to the table and shifted positions. I was envisioning the look of glee on Mrs. Wilkens’ face when the first stroke impacted with my thighs. It threw me off balance for a second, having expected the stroke on my ass, and I almost forgot what I was supposed to say. The pause between the strokes was not for my own benefit and I heard Mr. Quackers tap his foot a few times before I fully recalled what I was supposed to say, I’m sorry Ms. Alesworth.
The second stroke landed where my thighs connect to my butt cheeks. I yelped slightly, I’m sorry Miss Glearson. Stoke three was in the middle of my ass and I was able to bear that one silently, I’m sorry Mr. Bower.
I tried to count how many teachers I had so that I knew how many strokes I would receive. I wasn’t able to concentrate enough between strokes and apologized to my teachers by order of classes. The next stroke was directly above the previous. My toes left the ground and I wanted to kick my legs, I’m sorry Mrs. Score.
Stroke five was the worst. It was exactly where the fourth had been. I screamed at the top of my lungs, I’m sorry Mrs. Wilkens. I could hear her mutter under hear breath, I’ll bet you are. I wanted to smack her. It was bad enough to be on display in such a manner, but her comment made me seethe with anger.
I barely felt stroke six on my thighs. I had to apologize between clenched teeth, I’m sorry Miss James. The following stroke was on my ass again, but I still barely felt it. It was as though I had reached a stage where I could feel no pain. I struggled to remember the name of my last teacher of the day, I’m sorry M-Ms. Blanche.
My body started to relax when stroke eight left its mark. I screamed loudly. I didn’t understand. I’d apologized to all of my teachers. Who had I missed? I racked my brain and finally shouted out, I’m sorry! Mr. Quackers spoke sternly, Who are you apologizing to Miss Cole? I didn’t answer right away, still thinking of who I might have missed.
Two more strokes still didn’t help me remember. I was frantic now, crying as I tried to remember. My mind was blank except for the pain. I kept screaming out that I was sorry, but couldn’t direct it to anyone. I took five more strokes and still my mind was blank. It didn’t matter at that point. I was a crying mess and wouldn’t have been able to apologize. I’d screamed myself almost hoarse.
I thought the pain would never end, but after stroke 17, there was a long pause and I heard Mr. Quackers sigh, I’ve drawn blood. The cane was dropped onto the table and I could hear the teachers talking amongst themselves. Of course that’s when it hit me so to speak. I hadn’t apologized to Mr. Quackers. I tried to speak but started coughing each time.
My mind was exceedingly alert and I wanted to move, to tell Mr. Quackers that I was sorry, but I was in so much pain. Even if I hadn’t been told to stay there, I couldn’t have moved. I could hear chairs scraping against the floor now, and footsteps as my teachers departed.
The library was silent for a few minutes. Someone reentered, and I assumed it was Mr. Quackers. I saw the cane lift up and started sobbing harder than before, trying to form the words to beg for mercy. I was choking on the thick saliva in my throat and gagging as the cane whipped down upon my ass and thighs. Pain surged through my entire body as I attempted to count how many more strokes he was giving me. I lost count somewhere after 20 and blacked out.
