History had been abosultely dire yet again: Mr. Heachcroft had once again, burdened us with the fact that learning about World War 2 and the Nazi regime, was the most important aspect of British History, hence, why we had to write three pages of information about it for home work. I didn't mind learning about Germany and Adolf Hitler; it was better then reading pages and pages of Shakespeare in English with Mrs. Martin.

I was just beginning the conclusion of my essay; summing up what I felt about the treatment and brutal violence against the Jews, when there was a gentle knock at the door. Immediately, all heads and eyes focused on the door, awaiting the arrival.

I continued writing, as this was a rather serious test. Mr. Heachcroft strode to the door, clearing his throat melodramatically, as he hastily fixed his bow tie. He wore being colored jacket, and matching trousers. His shoes were polished, and black as charcoal. I could hear some girls giggling at the back of the room. Mr. Heachcroft took no notice of his mockery, and proceeded to the door, sighing inwardly. Incoherent mumbling sounded at the door. A condescending tone overtook the room, drowning everone in perpetual silence.

"Oh no!" I heard someone said, exasperated. I didn't pay much attention to see who had gasped, but then I felt something on my shoulder, gesturing that I needed to stop working. Mr. Heachcroft loomed over me, a rather scary, but sympathetic smile stretched across his wrinkly mouth. My brows furrowed at him suspiciously. Periodically, my eyes glanced from Mr. Heachcroft to the lady standing at the door, and then back at Mr. Heachcroft, as he began to help me to the door. I could feel the skepticism burning in everyone's eyes; no doubt rumors would begin to filter around the school by the afternoon.

I was led out of the classroom, across the courtyard. I hadn't noticed how oceanic blue the sky looked; elegant, tranquil, and peaceful; with misty white clouds drifting aimless to the North. The sun burned brightly.

Inside the main reception area of the school, I was seated on a small, green cushioned chair. I was sitting in the Principal's office. It looked like a rather cozy assortment: polished floorboards; dark red and brown mahogany book shelves, stacked with leather bound books. On his desk top, there were photographs of previous headmasters and headmistresses; and also some trophies that had been one at the farthest corner of the room. Suddenly, the itching

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