The Hidden Path (WINNER OF THE BEAUTY AWARD for Spiritual)

Torture

No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.
- Aesop

I was so incredibly happy!

My face was flushed, I was grinning widely and probably a bit stupidly. My heart was so full of joy, it almost felt like it was about to burst out of my chest and I had started to hum a happy tune under my breath.

I shook my head in wonder. I truly had been blessed.

Had I won the lottery? Not that I knew of.

Had I been given an expensive present? No.

Was it my birthday? Nope, that would be in April.

Had I received a 'Very Good' on my English paper? I wish!

Had I found my Prince Charming? (Not that I had been looking for one. . .) No, Berni was still my one and only boyfriend.

So. . . what was it that had me floating on the proverbial cloud?

It was nothing, really. And that was the beauty of it.

A few minutes earlier, I had held the door of the bus open for an old woman, who had desperately been trying to reach her means of transportation.

Seeing her shuffling her age-bent feet hurriedly along the pavement and knowing that she would never make it in time, I had stepped into the light barrier of the door to prevent it from closing.

When the totally exhausted and heavily panting woman had finally stepped into the bus, she had immediately realized that it was I who had forced the big vehicle to wait for her.

The smile she had unexpectedly sent my way had been dazzling and full of heartfelt gratitude. It had entered into me and exploded in my chest, sending waves of pure bliss through my system.

Wow! I had silently exclaimed, as my breath had been taken away. I guess it is really more blessed to give than to receive! Why on earth do I not do that more often, as giving other people joy creates so much happiness on both sides. . .

I was still pondering this simple truth, when I arrived at our classroom.

Opening the door and stepping inside, I was immediately greeted by an unusually high noise-level.

Everybody seemed to be talking excitedly at the same time, raising their voices to be heard over everybody else.

Walking towards my seat I caught snippets of various conversations and a feeling of dread immediately exploded in my stomach.

English-test-grades! Had it really already been a week? Our teachers were supposed to hand back written examinations within seven days. Seeing as Prof. Untersberger had not done so last week, he had to have the graded notebooks ready today.

Which equaled an intense lesson of pure terror.

Because, for some reasons, our dark-haired, blue eyed and actually quite handsome teacher did not simply hand our papers out. Oh, no!

He often celebrated the act.

But not in a good way.

Sometimes, he would place the stack of notebooks prominently on the edge of the teacher's desk, torturing us through the whole lesson, before finally distributing our written fate.

On other occasions, he would have them sorted by grades - either best to worst or the other way round - and give them out individually, commenting on every single one.

In any case, the whole procedure was usually quite a nerve-wracking experience!

I'd hardly had time to settle in, when Prof Untersberger 's dreaded voice boomed through the classroom! "Good morning – sit!"