Innocence Impaired

It was the four scars that went from his entirely white left eye to his normally quivering lips that made everyone steer clear of him, the scattering of small scars that marked his neck, arms and hands; the object of his inability to socialise with the other children in his small and close knit class. Close knit, bar him that was.

It was his disfigurement, his pain and punishment.

None of the children cared to find out about what had happened, only wanting to leave the deformed boy to his own quiet devices, the teachers however were a different matter. Speculation on how the boy got the scars was rife amongst the staff; such stories from agreement with the tale the family fed the school about the serious car accident he had been involved with, to much more gruesome and dangerous territory, that many whilst they may have agree with the ideas, never spoke them aloud.

No one really knew what to do with the little boy; they tried to keep the cousin and him separate as possible. The chubby blond boy was forever picking on him, him and the little gang of goons that ran riot in the playground. It was a hard task most of the time to keep an eye out without seeming to deliberately interfere; the cousins mother was on the Board of Governors and her husband’s company sponsored many of the events the school threw.

For some of the more concerned teachers it was a lose-lose situation since they were forbidden, upon their teaching contracts (made with a serious clause that none of them seemingly remembered reading prior to signing it) to interfere with the family affairs, although that was also due to the greed of the Headmaster and his higher rating associates.

They, the teachers, would question themselves as they watched the seemingly malnourished boy sit at the back of the classroom alone and silently, getting on with the work never complaining about anything.

If it was so bad why didn’t he complain? It couldn’t be that really, could it? The staffers constantly reminded themselves of that little notation as if to try and supersede their heavy guilt of negligence they each carried and seemed to become heavier after each school holiday, or half term, had the child in question coming back looking more down trodden and withdrawn than ever.

This particular day happened to be a Monday, back from one of those half terms where they would look over the child form in contempt and pure wretchedness, still unable to do anything.

The teacher, a young bright little thing, fresh out of university walked through the door to the brightly coloured classroom with a little blonde haired girl behind her; the class fell silent as they turned from there inane chatter to observe the girl who was clearly making a move on their territory.

“Good morning boys and girls, we have a new student starting with us today, her name is Amy Turner and I want you all to be nice to her, she has just moved all the way from London, please make her feel welcome,” the hostile looks sent her way had her shuffling her feet shyly wringing her leather clad hands, head bowed so her fringe covered her fading black eyes.

Miss Henderson felt her heart break, damn the contract she had signed, seeing the looks and feeling the vibes of snootiness from around the room decided to place her with her other quiet student. Poor girl didn’t have a chance in this school. School? She almost snorted aloud and successfully kept the disgusted look off her face as she led the girl to the back of the room, this place was more like a prison for the insecure and a boxing ring for the bullying little shi-

“Amy why don’t you come and sit with Harry today, I’m sure he’ll look after you, Harry is a very good students,” she had tried praising the boy, but he had always rejected it, recoiled away from it even but she still tried.
She had however unknowingly, given the two just a tiny sliver of hope as a tentative friendship formed, blossomed quickly into a stronger relationship that would share many a heart ache and once in a while a slice of joy.