The Dancing Class 01
Emily was a student at a prestigious dance academy known for its rigorous training and high standards. Her instructor, Ms. Harrison, was renowned for her dedication to perfection and disciplined approach to teaching.
One afternoon, Emily found herself in Ms. Harrison's office—a serene space adorned with motivational posters and awards showcasing the academy's achievements. Tension hung thick in the air as Ms. Harrison expressed her dissatisfaction with Emily's recent performances.
"Do it again!" Ms. Harrison ordered, her voice tinged with disappointment. Emily's movements were hesitant and uncertain. Each step felt heavy under Ms. Harrison's scrutinizing gaze, the room seeming to amplify every misstep and falter in her technique.
After several attempts, Emily's nerves got the best of her. She struggled to recall the choreography she had practiced diligently. Her movements became out of rhythm, and key steps slipped from her memory.
Witnessing Emily's struggle, Ms. Harrison gestured abruptly for her to stop. Her expression hardened as she opened a cabinet with a sharp, angry motion, retrieving a wooden ruler.
"Do you understand what it means to dance?" Ms. Harrison's voice echoed sharply through the room. "You've missed several sessions recently."
Emily's heart sank. Personal issues had plagued her attendance, yet she knew Ms. Harrison expected nothing short of excellence.
"I'm sorry," Emily murmured softly.
Ms. Harrison's expression softened slightly, a mix of frustration and concern evident in her eyes. "You've studied for three years, yet you're dancing like a first-grader," she continued, her voice softer but no less pointed. "I can't bear to see my student perform like this."
A lump formed in Emily's throat as she fought back tears of shame. She knew she had let herself and her instructor down. With a deep breath, she nodded, steeling herself for what was to come.
Emily's face paled, tears welling up in her eyes.
"Do you understand that you are my best student? Tell me why you skipped classes. Do you realize the importance of the upcoming contest?" Ms. Harrison's tone was firm, demanding answers.
"I'm sorry," Emily repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Go over there and lie down," Ms. Harrison instructed sharply.
"Please, Miss, don't hit me," Emily pleaded, her fear evident in her trembling voice.
"Go now, or shall I assist you?" Ms. Harrison's voice brooked no argument.
With a rising sense of panic, Emily hurried to comply. She lay down on her stomach as instructed, her heart pounding in her chest.
Ms. Harrison poised the wooden ruler above Emily's buttocks—a disciplinary tool rarely used but well-known among the students for its symbolic authority.
TWHACK! AAHH!!!
The ruler struck Emily's buttocks with a sharp sting, causing her to gasp in surprise and pain.
"Hold still, Emily," Ms. Harrison's voice was gentle yet resolute.
Emily braced herself as each subsequent strike landed on her buttocks, the rhythm punctuating the quiet of the room.
TWHACK! TWHACK! TWHACK!
As the punishment continued, Emily's initial shock gave way to a mix of pain and profound humility. She gritted her teeth while the burning sensation spread across her skin.
TWHACK! TWHACK! TWHACK!
Emily couldn't help but cry, her hands instinctively rubbing her sore buttocks as the pain intensified with each strike.
"Do you want me to double the punishment? How dare you rub your behind," Ms. Harrison's voice was firm, her disappointment turning to anger.
"I'm sorry, it hurts so much," Emily sobbed, her voice choked with pain.
"Quiet!" Ms. Harrison snapped, her frustration evident.
TWHACK! TWHACK! TWHACK!
Ten more strikes followed in quick succession, each one landing with a sharp sting that made Emily cry out softly despite her efforts to remain stoic.
When Ms. Harrison finally stopped, she placed the ruler aside and stood silently for a moment. "Stand up," she said finally, her voice softer now. "Return to your room and reflect on what I have taught you."
"Yes, Miss! I promise not to disappoint you again," Emily managed to say between sobs, her voice thick with emotion.
Ms. Harrison watched Emily for a moment. "You're a good student, Emily," she said quietly. "Now go back to your room."
Emily nodded gratefully and turned to leave, but before she could reach the door, Ms. Harrison called out to her.
"Wait, Emily. Come back here!"
Emily turned back, confusion evident in her tear-streaked face.
Approaching Emily slowly, Ms. Harrison held out a small bottle of medicine. "Take this," she said softly. "Use it to soothe your skin."
Emily hesitated for a moment, surprised by Ms. Harrison's unexpected kindness. She took the bottle gratefully, murmuring a quiet "thank you" before heading back to her room.
As Emily walked away, she pondered Ms. Harrison's unexpected gesture. Despite the pain of her punishment, Ms. Harrison's belief in Emily's potential as a good student was evident. Deep down, however, Emily nursed a seed of resentment towards Ms. Harrison and contemplated sabotaging her performance at the upcoming contest to tarnish Ms. Harrison's prestigious reputation.