PICTURES | j.p. mangan

three

The group of four girls made their way to their next class, Marie brushing mash potato from her hair, Simone wiping gravy from the lining of her skirt, Annick picking at stains of vinegar on her collar and Michele brushing off sausage crumbs and grease from the shoulder of her dress.

Faint giggles could be heard from behind the slightly ajar door to their class but the group thought nothing of it as they continued through the door.

SPLASH.

A basin of water had fallen directly on to Michele the moment she pushed the door open. Her now light colour dress having turned transparent from being soaked. Even in her state of complete shock, Marie-Madeleine had managed to turn her back to their male classmates and use her body to cover Michele's exposed brassiere.

The cackles and profanities that spewed from their classmates mouths hit the girls like more bullets of water. And the silence of the other boys, mostly those with sisters, still left a painful reminder to the girls that they were not welcome there. That they were not wanted, not respected.

Michele eventually got taken to the infirmary when the teacher arrived and saw what had happened. Whilst Annick pushed through and took her seat at the front of the class, Simone hovered behind Michele slightly down the corridor and Marie-Madeleine stood stationary at the door of the room, eyes fixated on the plastic basin on the floor in a puddle of water.

The boys continued to make crude jokes about the girls but Marie just stood and stared. It was then that Marie decided she was right about school; it wasn't for her. Marie had never felt smart but now she didn't even feel respected, in fact she felt ridiculed because of something she couldn't comprehend. She wished nothing more than to go back to boarding school and forget all about the school her brother had been praising for the past three years.

Marie-Madeleine then debated becoming a nun and following in the footsteps of her beloved former 'teachers', for at least then she would most likely never have to see any of her current classmates. Or to move to England and marry or become a seamstress. Marie would have liked to be a painter but knew she lacked the exquisite talent beyond pure skill to be successful. It was only when Marie allowed her mind to slip into a fantasy of her becoming an actress and being displayed at the pictures that a pair of broken glasses landed in front of her feet that she snapped back into reality.

Then she heard the screams.

Marie-Madeleine had always hated the sight of blood. After hearing of her mother's death and her mourning but moody older brother had bluntly painted the picture of how their mother died, Marie had been squeamish around it. Yet, somehow, now when her classmate clutched his bleeding eye, having blood splattered across the floor where he previously lay and several other of the boys having nose bleeds and bruised brows now, Marie felt nothing.

Marie only felt a pang of sympathy, not when looking at half blinded Descamps being escorted out by two teachers, but looking at the heroic senior who's once perfectly slicked back hair was now ruffled messy and his knuckles bloody, his face filled with regret and fear. Michele's saviour, in a way.

As the mysterious hero began to follow orders and walk out of the now somber classroom, Marie found herself unknowingly reaching her hand to stop him.

When the boy turned to face her with confusion, Marie simply handed him a fine comb.

"For your hair."

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I feel as though I did this no justice what so ever.