Aisha’s heartbeat accelerated at the first tintinnabulation of the bell. Class over, she beamed as she closed her red notebook. In one clumsy motion, she swung her rucksack on her shoulder as she sprinted out of the classroom.

The young girl scurried to the dining hall faster than a rat avoiding a cat. She had to secure a table at the dining hall. You see, our hero couldn’t wait to return to the dining hall for lunch while eating breakfast. Her grumbling tummy, coupled with the boring lessons, made the past six hours an awful torture. I know you imagine Aisha as a bulky mass of a girl rolling around the school premises like an exercise ball. Well, she was willowy and you’d imagine her snapping into two were there to be a gust of heavy wind to sweep the school. The thing is that her metabolism was just… too fast.

Her dreams of securing a table at the dining hall was crushed to dust as she saw the hall was almost filled with students. But, there was hope! One of the tables at the far end of the big hall had three people. She trotted towards it with alacrity. To her amazement and disappointment, she met her seatmate, Miriam, and her bestie, Zuri, already seated at the table. How did they get here? Aisha was flustered. Did they fly? When did they start coming for food? Something was definitely amiss.

Although she was late to the table, she called dibs that she was sharing the food by blurting, “I’m serving.” The thing is that the first person at the table had the honour of rationing the food amongst the other students at the table. She had to take her chance. Miriam slowly looked away from Zuri to stare at her. That look made Aisha feel small. She almost died of shame. It seemed she’d interrupted an important conversation between the two. Another girl, who was wearing a red wristwatch at the table, gave her a bored look and dismissed her with a sneer. Aisha scoffed at her. Seemingly, no one was interested in serving that afternoon. Aisha felt lucky. They were eating rice and beans with chicken stew- her favourite meal; she was going to be in charge of the table. More food for me, she gleamed like the Cheshire cat as she danced in her head.

Continued on http://www.thefemmemedia.com/literature/striker/