" She kept her gaze fixed on the action focused on her friend's south end. The headmaster's paddle struck again and again, assuming a slow and steady beat, with the resounding slap of bonsai wood against bare, furless flesh echoing throughout the calm midday air.Wholly entranced, Calypso found herself counting the swats as they came down. The headmaster wielded the riding paddle like an artist with his brush and his daughter's soft ass his canvas. He tirelessly alternated left, right, and across the middle, letting the board rest for a brief moment on the point of impact before bringing it up for the next smack.On the stroke of ten, Koney was finally starting to squirm on her daddy's lap, "Impressive," Calypso whispered, "Didn't think she would last that long before starting to struggle. Must take alotta endurance." The fifteenth and final swat, noticeably harder than the previous fourteen, at last elicited an audible whimper from the girl. "Whatever this ritual means, I bet Koney. Then again, assuming that sparrows do not build their nests on the ground, how would the parents be able to lift the hatchling up to the nest? Knowing that I would be responsible for the young bird’s imminent and untimely death if I touched it, I left the sparrow alone. I watched for a few more seconds, my heart torn as I watched the hatchling practically beat itself to death against the white wall. What made the situation even more pitiful was the near-constant chirping, a sound I typically enjoy hearing. …but not given this particular situation. At last, I unlocked and opened the door and stepped into my apartment. Even with the door closed and locked, even with the air conditioning unit turned on, I could still hear the soft near-incessant chirping. It took several hours of watching the latest news of the Middle East conflict to finally wipe the young sparrow from my mind. Yet that night, after I stepped from the shower, with the A/C off and the window open, I could hear those.
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