by M. J. Joachim
“Dizzy, my head is spinning. Like a whirlpool out of control…”
Deanna sang the song, over and over again, all the while twirling around in circles, tossing her baton high into the air.
“Again! Again!” demanded her mother. “Throw it higher, Dee! You’ll never win the competition like that, you little moron! Work harder! Push yourself! Don’t give into defeat! You can do this, you little idiot!”
Deanna never said a word, other than to ask for another baton that might be easier to toss high into the air. The more she practiced, the more she realized how beneficial it would be to picture her mother’s face, high up in the air.
“I need a heavier baton, Mama,” Deanna cried one day. “The ones we have are far too flimsy to get enough gravity and fly.”
Over the course of three months, Deanna gradually increased the weight of her batons. Then, without warning, her hand slipped. The heavy baton flew through the air, hitting her mother directly in the temple.
“I’ll never be able to use a baton again,” she sobbed at her mother’s funeral. “It’s just too awful. How could this have happened to someone like me?”
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