“Addled Abigail!”

The angelic child sat in the affection-deprived circle of abusive peers. The aggressive children mocked the girl sitting in the center.

She had always been “addled” as long as she could remember. A little less adroit, a little less acute when it came to learning.

Abigail rocked, alone, in the asphyxiating circle of what were adders in her mind. Agitated, angry adders…

She kept rocking absently, as the abominable torture continued.

Her mother walked in to pick up Abigail for an appointment, and was astounded at the children’s abhorrent behavior. Being an argumentative adult, she spoke assertively with Abigail’s teacher, who’s arched back was turned to the astounding scene.

As the articulative adult women spoke, Abigail noticed the ambidextrous boy grab two artificial-wood pencils, and, in an ambitious attempt to garner attention, throw them accurately towards the girl’s asthmatic chest.

The arterial spray didn’t stop until affectionate Abigail lay abed, her lungs never to move again.