The Girl with the Chestnut Hair.

     The Girl with the Chestnut Hair.
She sat at the back of the class and hoped not too be asked. Her hands held the book oh so tight, her fingers cramped with fright.
“Not me” Not me” her inner voice screamed. “Hay you girl with the chestnut hair, page 9 paragraph 2” “Me sir” she said her voice her voice just a whisper.
“Yes you girl” he said, a smirk on his face, so she pushed her chair back, her head was spinning, she felt the twenty-four pairs of eyes looking and grinning, she heard the snigger's the whispers too.
“Come on girl, what's the mater with you?” 
She opened the book to page nine and watched the words go falling off the lines, in front of her they danced this way and that, around the page even going back to back.
She tried so hard, tried too form the words in her head, but again they refused to conform, then the tears began to flow,as the laughter seamed to grow, it hurt her ears oh so bad and made her dither “Sit down you stupid girl” he screamed “See me after dinner”.
And so she sat, alone again, head down, her mind went round and round what could she do to mend herself, to make them like her more.
Eight years old she was, in a new town,at a new school and the children seemed so very crawl.
Her parents so very loving and oh so kind had no idea, what was happening in there child's mind.
She hid in the toilets every day, but the bullies would not go away, they called her thick and stupid too and made her cry with shame.

The teacher said she was a disgrace,she was lazy,to his mind, he had never seen such a thing, as a child off eight still unable to read or communicate.
So the girl with the chestnut hair tried and tried, she stayed up late, and taught herself to read. By nine she had gone from Janet and John, to C.S Lewis and on and on.
By ten it was off Mice and Men bye twelve Tolkien to the end, William Shakespeare was next on her list and on and on and on she read right up to Dylan Thomas, and there she found her one true love her passion it has to be said, for poetry had found the woman that lived deep inside her head.
But the girl with the chestnut hair still a loner was, they say mud sticks and so do teachers taunts,and children never never forget.
She carried her knowledge close to her heart and the truth off the mater was she was quite smart, she sat her exams still carrying the taunts, passed her literature, even got her advanced.
Still her letters some times dance,and jump about the page, spelling is her downfall,even at her age, but hay she’s no’s that that's ok she taut her self so well,dyslectic she was born and now she’s broken the spell.
She reads and writes almost every day, she loves the words she pen’s, and so do all her readers, family and friends.

The girl with the chestnut hair.

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