Laughter bubbles infectiously in the background. I can hear the mixed crash and bang caper of the cartoons being screened to the class. It is the last day of term before. Comedy violence mixes with real violence in my head as I diligently copy out the dictionary, syllable by syllable, word by word in a task deliberately designed to feel as pointless as it is unfinishable.

I replay the gratifying crunch of my fist connecting with his jaw. Moments before I had been reading a book and then an paroxysm of anger took hold of me, his taunting words finally too much. In the blink of an eye I moved with deft swiftness, knuckles connecting with sinew and bone converting all me kinetic energy into pain. He crumples beneath me in a pathetic whimpering heap. I calmly sit down and await the inevitable consequence.

When it comes the teacher’s anger like a fury. I can still see the look of mixed horror, astonishment and anger on his face as he demands I go to him. Defiantly I tell him that if he wants me, he will have to come and get me. His obliging hand roughly lifts me clean from my chair.

In the large dining room, held hostage by this monster, he tells me how he wants to hurt me and I tell him that if he does then I will have him but he promises me he won’t leave any mark.