The Smell of Rebellion

Chapter One

A/N: Finished proofreading, but please comment if you spot a spelling error.

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Hortensia rubbed her arms, scowling. Everything felt sore, especially her back, and she had wrapped her arms in so many messy layers of bandages it was comical. The cuts didn't sting nearly as much anymore. And that wasn't mentioning her broken arm. It didn't hurt, but no one told her how annoying it was to do anything. Showering, changing, everything.

Like you could probably guess, the Trunchbull broke her arm. Her parents had asked many questions, and Hortensia knew better than to babble about the Trunchbull. There was no way her parents would believe her. They would call her off her rocker— they would call her mad. But she still remembered it.

It was her seventh time in a Chokey, and yet she never seemed to get used to it. Even if it was a week ago, it still made her blood boil.

"Ollie Bogwhistle." She growled, staring up at the concrete above her.

"I didn't do anything! I didn't know that even—"

"Shut it, maggot!" The Trunchbull barked, grabbing my arm and forcing it down, dragging me alongside her. My feet stumbled beneath me as the Trunchbull grabbed me, and after a bit of struggling and twisting, I heard a painful snap.

The pain that followed, burning and stabbing in my arm, made my knees go weak and I couldn't drag myself along. I cried out in pain, but the Headmistress kept me up.

"I didn't— I didn't do anything!" I said through choked, pained sobs. I wasn't supposed to be crying, I wasn't supposed to be affected, but here I was, crying my eyes out and in intense pain. It felt like the pain was getting worse, too, the burning growing more intense and sharp.

The Trunchbull didn't slow down, though, and kept on dragging me, growling and mumbling about how the world would be better without children, and how I should stop my pathetic sniveling.

I lowered my head to avoid the stares of my peers.

It was almost like she didn't just break my arm!

I tried, feebly, to pull my left arm back, but it was no use fighting a former, professional, Olympic hammer-throwing champion. It was impossible, and out of fear of hurting myself further, I stopped moving.

The Trunchbull threw the doors open and kept on dragging me, until we reached the dreaded Chokey.

The spikes stood menacingly and upright on the dirt, the path to Chokey well worn and uneven. It was my guess that it was from struggling students like me, kicking and screaming.

As the Chokey grew closer, and the Trunchbull started to unlock the door, panic started to take its hold on me, my fingers twitching and my body involuntarily trying to get away.

My eyes widened, my heart starting to speed up. "Nonononono," I pleaded, tears welling up in my eyes. "Wait. Wait, Miss Trunchbull, please—Please, I p-promise—"

No matter what people saw in me, I was scared. This place was enough to scare the living daylights out of anyone. The darkness, the rust, the room, the smell, the spikes--

The Trunchbull could care less. She opened the door and for a solid second, I stared through blurry eyes at my prison. At Hell itself. I had a moment to lament my unfortunate fate before I was thrown in and the door was closed.

It was dark, and cold. I had to shuffle back to avoid being skewered by the nails on the door, but that made the spikes behind me poke my back. I winced.