Nine-year-old Stacey was careful like never before. She sat at the table nice and slow, trying not to wrinkle her chequered white-and-blue school uniform. She answered politely at the questions she was asked, and helped her mother and father with their bread and butter before starting her own breakfast. She prepared her own bread in silence and was very careful not to leave any marmalade stain. Eventually a couple of orange-coloured drops ended up on her plate, and Stacey’s father fixed her a glare. The child sustained his gaze and did not move, did not breathe, her heart pounding wildly. She was scared as one could be. But the man finally lowered his icy eyes, resuming his breakfast.

The little girl sighed in silence, and let herself breathe again. But the damage was done. She was nervous now, and she knew she could be sloppy and make mistakes more easily when nervous. Her hand was starting to shake, and she was afraid she could not keep the knife steady enough to put more marmalade on the bread, so she closed the jar and put the knife back in place aside her plate. She ate in silence and with her eyes low, taking small bites as she was taught, being fast but not hurried, as it is proper for a young lady. ‘I am a nice, sweet, polite young lady. I am a nice, sweet…’

Stacey finished the bread and licked her lips, then carefully cleaned her mouth with a napkin. A quick glance at her father told her he was still looking, and very closely. Inspecting. Again with a trembling hand she picked up the glass of milk. ‘I can’t do this, I’ll fail, I feel it.’ The glass felt like it weighed a ton. How could she ever hold it? She brought it to her lips and took the first sip. His eyes were on her, staring, staring, staring... ‘If only I spill a drop on my dress…’

She gulped.

Not only one drop, but a good amount of the pearly liquid spilled all over the upper part of her brand new, just-ironed uniform. She felt the dampness on her chest, and her eyes flew to those of her father. His pupils were dilated. He had the sternest expression painted on his face. ‘Daddy please don’t.’ He opened his mouth. ‘Daddy…’ She felt like dying.

“Boo!!” he bellowed.

Stacey let out a small shriek, while the man looked in his wife’s eyes and they both laughed. She couldn’t hold it any longer, and peed herself before fainting face-down on the table, her eyes blank.

The man shook his head and, still laughing, rose to go and get the cane from the cupboard. His little girl needed more teaching.

– The End –