Interrogating a Child

"I took one look into those Nazi eyes and was taken back to a time I never wished to remember. The year of elementary school I would never forget. Scenes played out of a child oppressed by the adults of a corrupt school administration. I remember so well the room behind the librarian's desk where they would take me for interrogations. They never forced me to go. My teacher would lean down and whisper to me, her face drawn in a tight smirking line, informing me that I was exempt from an assignment and to follow her. I didn't have to go with her, I could have run or refused and created a scene alerting all the other students to my injustice. But they would do nothing if not be supportive of my torture so I passively acceded knowing nothing else. I armed myself with toy spyware for the false sense of protection I depended on for survival. If I recorded them someone would listen to it, someone in some office with more power than those sitting before me would fire them taking me away from them. But that was only my delusion created to force myself to follow her and give me the strength to refrain from the tears they would try to draw from me. I attempted convincing myself that I was strong, one of these interrogation sessions I would stand up and tell them off for all I was worth.  But as I walked down that darkened hallway following the woman with curly blonde hair to the eerie illuminated room at the end I knew I was worth nothing. I shook like I now shake while singing onstage in public. I can never be a true artist because of the childhood injury inflicted upon me by her. They had to control me then and still do to this day with the mind games they used on me when I was only a child. If I so much as breathed they would know when and where, but should they not know there was hell to pay for me. I slept peacefully on the woodchips in the shadow of the rock wall exhausted from the day of testing and the aid on duty checked on me like she would her own child. All around my classmates ran, shouted and played enjoying recess free of any worries like all children should. But as the Dr. began to pace the playground hunting like a bloodhound for something or someone I began to feel the fear of punishment. As she circled around with my teacher checking every child and plaything for what she sought I became curious. But as I climbed to the top of the rock wall unable to contain my interest I heard my mistake in the voice of Grace who I had trusted above all else for the insignificant fact of her beauty. "There she is!" was shouted at me from below like a curse and I quickly followed her order to come down. The world spun and froze around me all at the same time as I walked towards her apprehensively. I had known her only as goodness and trustingly placed my fate in her hands as I stopped to her side. But suddenly pain shot through my arm as her nails dug deep into my wrist, the evil in her eyes foreign as she dragged me inside behind her never loosening her grip. I begged for her to tell me something, anything as she dragged me down the hallway ramp towards where I knew certain fate awaited me with the Dr. But before we even approached the office I heard those heels click preceding the devilish, short, red haired woman who spat her reproaches at where I had collapsed on the ground at her feet. Talk of police being called on the runaway who now lay helpless before her circled nonsensically in my head as I tried to process the situation she'd created for me. But one look in her eyes told me all I needed to know of the trying hours of her tortures ahead before that dismissal bell rang my freedom for the day…"