A Leather Lanyard

He’d hit you with the leather lanyard he kept his keys on, across the shoulders if you forget which side of the lifesaving dummy you were supposed to be on. If you’d looked up, maybe you would’ve noticed that everyone else in the gymnasium was on left side but you were on the right side.  

So he’d hit you again when you changed positions but then, because he’d hit you again, you thought you’d done something else wrong, and now even though you were on the right side, you thought you were on the wrong side. So you went back to the other side of the dummy but now you really were on the wrong side, again. So he’d hit you again because he thought you were taking the piss, and again until you don’t know left from right, which you don’t, you can’t spell, you can’t tell left from right, you don’t understand the world at all, and you just crawl backwards and forwards across a square meter, across a lifesaving dummy that was kissed by every boy in school, crying and red, not knowing why you’re being hit, or where you were going, into infinity. He’d hit you across the legs with the rubber flipper if you forgot your gym clothes.