In the midst of the Island, there are troubles. In the hearts of everyone, there are troubles.
I glanced my eyes into the mirrors of the unseen one, I see troubles. I film my eyes into the moon's, I see troubles. The stars of the Heavens, surround me, in the beauty of the night, I see troubles. I stood in the midst of the death, I see troubles. I wax my elegant body to the moon, I see myself as a docile in the middle of troubles. I trope my hearts, souls, and bodies to the city of Wilford, no humans, flicks their eyes on me. Everyone takes me as happenstance, bees, kennels, crater, and what you may think of me. But, let everyone consider me as a conglomerate in the street of Wilmington.
My name is Misty Young. I am a native of Wilford Parish in the beautiful Island of Troubles, a fictional Island in Los Angeles, California.
I am 14 years of age. Yes, I can remember, my mom used to tell me my age, and I can never forget, I am 14 years old.
I live in a luxurious home of troubles, together with my mom, Ella Young, a beautiful lady, who hates trouble, but she needs troubles.
She's a nurse, walking from house to house to help those that require medical care. That's how she gets money to feed us since my dad left home to unknown destination.
To tell you the truth, I never one day set my eyes on my dad, whose name is Young Westson. I only saw him in a picture. My mom told me that, he is a Pilot.
Though I normally saw him in my dreams, do you think, if he comes out physically, I will recognize him as my father?
Oh . . ., you are laughing at me. It's not a matter of joke; I mean what am saying. Though my dad looks like a waning moon, one day, he will become a waxing moon. Though my dad is missing like a ship in the Arctic sea. One day, I will discover him like a sky in the missing castle in the city of Merriment.
As young as I am, I am still in elementary school, located on Wilmington Street, Wilford, the city State of Winfield on the Island of Troubles.
My story starts like a lot of people's stories, within the city of Wilford and elsewhere.
On June 10th, 2019 at about 11:21 a. m, local time, my teacher, Mr. Damon Clem took me to the toilet and defiled me, which is behind our classroom.
He took a black ribbon and blinked my eyes and my mouth, in other to silence the mote of speaking. As he struggled to defile me. I begged him, but he couldn't reason with me; I reason with myself, time without number: can a teacher in my school, format an ugly incident with a young girl like me? But I couldn't get to the senses to answer such a question. That was a whirlwind of defilement since I was born.
Mr. Damon Clem is the kind of teacher that I trust, but what he did to me, I will never, ever put my trust in anyone in Wilford High school, and elsewhere, I swear.
He thought he had done what he knew is right for him. He should not forget, one day, he would face trouble in the middle of troubles.
Mr. Damon Clem doesn't remember, there's a human right that recognizes children's rights in the whole world. I begged him, he refused to stop defiling me.
He took me to a private residence for over two days, one night, I woke up, Mr. Damon Clem standing over me, with something strange in one hand. And a flashlight, shining in my face. As he scurried away, he tried to hide something under the mattress. Such a moment was a terrible moment with me.
After a physical confrontation, I was able to retrieve what he was trying to hide from me.
When he untired my eyes with the ribbons at about 6 am, he smiles at me. "Misty Young, don't worry. I am testing you to see, if you are mature to fall in love with me," Damon whispered.
When I trip into our classroom, I told my classmate what Mr. Damon Clem did to me. "Can you imagine what Mr. Damon Clem did to me," said I. But none of them believe what I said.
I took the case to the city Police Department, none of the Police offices believed what I said to them.
Thereafter, one of the Police officers slammed his hands on the table. "Little Miss Misty Young, did you have evidence to prove the defilement?" said one of the officers.
I shook my head and replied to him. "Nothing, sir."
They sent me away because there's no evidence to prove my case. They forgot, there is a heliocentric object in the midst of darkness.
With the little money that I have, I took a taxi down-home.
Close to Lancaster Street, where we lived, I started shouting inside the taxi. "Everyone should tell the teachers in the school to stop defiling the young girls in our local schools." No one believes what I said to them.
When I get to the parlor, my mom asked me, "Misty, where have you been ever since?"
I told my mom, what Mr. Damon Clem did to me at school. I told her, how I table the matter to the Headteacher of our school. My mom couldn't believe me at all.
I also explained how I went to the Wilford city Police Department. My mom turned mad at me as if she was mad before. I begged her because she is my mom. But she refused to listen to my plea.
When I brought my iPhone from my school bag, and I shoot the video to my mom as if we were in a cinema hall. My dad, Mr. Young Westson; appeared in the parlor, he looks so young, as the rising moon in the east. As tall as he was, no one in the family can compare with him.
While dad, mom, and other kids were trying to watch the hidden video that I brought out from my school bag. My dad and mom believe the whole scenario between me and Mr. Damon Clem.
Since then, mom and dad have become united and renew their relationship.
That was how I got a serving hand from my parents.