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That Wednesday, the climate had been blistering, scorching the skin of the group of boys playing soccer in the heat. As my eyes were observing the view from the pellucid window of the class, my ears were growing annoyed upon hearing the exuberance of her voice, its loquacity accompanied by her laugh. Her laugh was the source for my picturing images of equine mammals gone berserk. But that specific day, my once disciplined nerves had reached their limit of endurance. Posthaste, I approached her, with muscles tense and eyes glaring vividly with a blend of wrath and hatred. I began wrenching her mass of golden hair, wrapping my fingers aggressively around the curls. Dumbfounded, she continued smiling like a gleeful doll. Worried about someone attempting to stop my actions, I hauled her off to the girls restroom. Our entwined bodies staggered towards the far left corner of the fetid room; we were like a pair of cemented substances, each not letting go of the other. I was vigorously smiting her cranium against the dull white surface of the tiles with one hand while the other was brutally bruising the area of flesh above her chest. With each violent blow, I felt her pulse increasing and phlegmatically, I imagined her vitality ebbing away upon sustained, almost rhythmic contact with the concrete wall. It seemed as though her heart was swelling into a toxic mould; like debilitating lifeblood, contaminated with the elements of annihilation. Her face no longer contained a plastered smile but a rather vacant expression, with sullen eyes and a bevelled palate. The air was bittersweet with the dissolved, nectar-like taste of violence, although the vileness of Cinderella's character created microscopic effluvia within the corners of the restroom. The blows were systematic and my ligaments sprained, but ecstatic, I had not noticed them aching. Meanwhile, Cinderella's appearance was both appalling and picturesque: the combination of brain matter and drying crimson blood was surreally glistening in a messy design across the dreary wall. Feeling a satisfactory amount of beastly bliss, I abandonned her in a half-fetal, halfsupine position. Her crippled form resembled a lifeless array of bones, lying scattered and immobile across the heatless ground of the girls restroom. Walking out, I had no care about being in serious trouble; the emotion of glee had been far too overpowering. Even still, the morbid portrait of those moments lingers on throughout my mind, like a ghost of corrupt euphoria.