Why We Laugh (#Wattys2018)

16. Bonus: I Laughed Because of Hugs

Hi, guys!

This chapter isn't the most well-written but it is based on my life. In the first part-I was Molly and in the second part- I was Eliza. These are things that have happened to me and I wanted to write about. I'm trying to plot the next chapter and I'm not sure what I want to do.

Is the story going to slow or too fast? Please let me know.

16.

I approached my locker and found Griffith, the autistic boy, screeching.

He was screaming and pounded on the lockers. His aid was trying to pin him down, but he was restless.

"Griffith," the aid yelled at the hot-tempered boy.

Griffith did not calm.

"I want a hug," he hollered back, but as the aid tried to hug him, Griffith hit him.

Griffith ran up to a girl who was watching with amusement. He asked the girl something, but she fled quickly.

When he clambered up to me, I was frozen.

Was he going to hit me? Was I going to be punched? Would I sue?

His eyes were messages of confusion and anger; his lips cracked and bloody.

"Hug?" he said, meekly.

My whole body tensed, I was not going to hug him.

But he stood there, desperate.

So, I hugged him. His breath was sticky as was his body. His sweat pressed against mine as his hands held me.

I inhaled sharply as he squeezed my ribs. But I hugged him back.

His wheezy breath calmed to a peaceful melody.

I smiled. And I did not laugh.

But others did.

"Griffith and Molly sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-" the began, but Griffith did not enjoy the chant.

He released me, and with a tempered scream, he ran up to the chanting kids.

"Stop!"

And they did.

Griffith calmed and was lead out of the school.

His ginger scent hovered around me for the rest of the day.

time lpase

The veteran stood on the podium, choking up as he described the gory scene.

"A bomb erupted. All I could hear was my blood pumping and the screams of my fellow soldiers. They screams, and I looked around to find bloody bodies and I..." his eyes were puffy, his voice raw and vulnerable.

This was so sad. I, myself, was trying hard not to cry.

My grandfather was in the army. He was lucky that he survived.

The man's face became contorted with tears and sobs; his body was trembling.

We all sat there, patiently waiting for him to gather himself and continue.

But he didn't.

Suddenly a girl stood from the end of the third row and slowly made her way. I didn't know who she was, not at first anyway.

She hugged the veteran.

Held him tightly as he wept into her frail shoulders.

It was beautiful.

It was unbelievable.

Whoever this girl was...she was a hero. A role model. Beautiful.

I would have never had the courage to hug the man.

But the girl did.

She patted the man's shoulder and eased out of his grasp.

She turned into the light her make up glitter and her smile shine.

She had a smile. The smile. The smile of hero. The smile of Eliza.

Now I was crying.