Cursed Angel

By Tanisha Desai

Demon. Alien. Possessed. In sniggers and sly remarks and cruel pieces of paper with my

name scrawled. They wrote on glass shards that pierced me until I bled out. Now I was a

skeleton.

The worst of the names was freak. Now it was being passed around the class like a scornful

laugh.

And that was all I heard- the raucous cacophony of laughter. Time froze.

There I was. Suspended.

My body moved of its own accord; I was an observer. I watched as the frail slender arms of a

scrawny boy went limp as a rag doll; his eyes glazed over.

That’s all I was- a rag doll. The demon manipulates the strings of this useless puppet to dance for

my classmates. They cackle in glee.

That’s my epilepsy. This curse.

All I remember is fading from drinking an obsidian multiverse of floating lanterns, tourmaline,

and amethyst, finally unfettered, to my real galaxy.

Half an hour later, I was walking, head bowed, on the cobbled pavement.

I felt Aryan’s claw dig into my flesh, brutish face ecstatically red. He roared, “Did you see him?

He fell asleep!”

His laugh got lost in tens of others as a crowd collected.

His tone grew imperial. “I think we should punish him for pretending to have this weird disease.”

Calls of agreement rang out like a death knell.

Piya, a burly girl, stormed out of the spattering.

Next thing I knew, Aryan was muffling my voice with an iron grip as Piya swiped through my

bag.

“Ooh, what’s this?” she giggled in a tinkling, plastic voice, grabbing the lunch box Mumma had

packed.

The one Mumma gave me for my birthday. With the Star Wars characters on it.

I don’t watch Star Wars anymore.

It’s still my favourite lunch box because it’s from her.

Piya sneered. “Oooh, baby watches Star Wars.”

I closed my eyes. “Don’t do anything... please!”

Piya laughed. It was laced with thorns.

She walked to the pond.

I saw it in slow motion.

She began emptied the contents, and then she tossed the lunch box into the weed and muck. She

dusted her hands, proud of her work, and the little group walked off, sniggering.

Leaving me in their dust.

I just wanted to be friends with them.

Half an hour later, I was still crouched there. My tears bounced off the little pebbles and into

puddles.

I was a baby.

I heard footsteps getting louder behind me.

I whipped my head around, prepared for the worst.

That’s not what I saw.

A plump, shivering boy.

Covered head to toe in swamp slime.

Hair plastered to his forehead.

“Hi. I’m Rohan...”

He revealed a small, grubby muffin, panting.

“I saw you missed lunch... this was all I could steal.”

His face was blue.

But his eyes sparkled.

His voice shook.

“F-friends?”

My mind went blank.

I couldn’t recall the last time someone asked me that.

His face sank.

My face broke as I started half laughing, half crying in awful snorts as I grinned, “Friends.

Always.”

As water ran down his chubby cheeks, he smiled, and it was the purest smile I had ever seen.

For in one proud hand, he held a muddy wet lunch box.

By Tanisha Desai