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I think my three friends from second-grade were fine young upstanding fellows. It was truely unfortunate that they became fine young cannibal victims. In memorium I can’t think of a better tribute then to share their story here.

Primary School from Hell
Chapter Nine: Fine Young Cannibal Victims

[Continuing from]

old hermit

At the site of the old abandoned bus wreck I looked over at my grade two classmate and seen he had turned so pale that he could almost make an albino looked tanned. The voice of frozen gravel we had just heard shouting though the woods chilled the blood to our seven year old bones. Our eyes met, then in unison we freaked, “OLD MAN CRAWLEY… HE’S REAL!!!” The Cannibal of Crawley’s Pond existed and he had found our three friends at the worst of all times; lunch!

The three classmates that we had left on the trail around the pond needed to be be rescued before the crazy old man could eat them! We stood in silences for a second or two, then the old man’s voice sounded again; and although we could not understand what it said, to our seven year old ears it sounded hungry. We looked back down the path we had just come from. Our friends were down that trail, in trouble, needing our help to save them. So we ran as fast as we could.

Away!

We didn’t stop running till we were in the safety of our grade two classroom. From there we stood at the second floor windows watching the woods. We kept our eyes on the entrance to trail that led to the pond but there was still no sign of my three lost friends. They had been good friends too. I was going miss them.

I glanced up at the clock, the first bell had already rung and the last bell would sound in another minute or two. There was nothing my fellow survivor or I could do for them now. You might think that with a cannibalistic hermit chewing on the bones, and other parts, of three former good friends, that we, the survivors, would have run straight to the teacher for help. But even at seven years old, self preservation kicked in. (Grade two logic is not much better then grade one logic.) If we had told Miss Rockwood what had happened, that our three missing classmates were being devoured by the mad old hermit in beyond the boggy pond, she would send us to the principal’s office to explain. There was the possibility that Principal Gillette knew of my skipping class the year before and was just waiting for me to step in his office to finally give me the strap I had, to this point, avoided. That was a possibility I just wasn’t willing to risk.

I’m sure my cannibalized friends would have understood. Good friends understand that kind of thing.

Yes, I would miss those three friends, mourn, then move on.

Then, with my eyes a little misty, I see those three lost friends burst out of the woods, alive! They made it back to class as the last bell rang, painting and pale, their eyes constantly darting left and right, twitching at any unexpected sounds. We asked them about the voice. Nervously, they glanced out the window, towards the trees, towards the pond beyond, without actually focusing on anything real, and in a faraway tone replied with a question, “Voice? We never heard any voice.”

I enquired, “What about the trail? The one around the pond? Where did it go?”

“It ah… It um…” They paused,” …stopped, yeah it just stopped.”

A trail to nowhere? It didn’t make sense. What had happened to these three friends of mine? I was about to ask again some question I hoped would make things clearer about what they witnessed, but then Miss Rockwell called the class to attention

My three friends would never again speak of that day.

COMING NEXT: CHAPTER TEN: The Complication of Women

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3 thoughts on “Thought 150: Fine Young Cannibal Victims

  1. Pingback: Thought 151: The Bus of Beheading « Two Hundred and Ten Thoughts

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