Riham El-Ashry

Egypt

Different

Students ran down the lobby; some were laughing and some excited to witness a fight. It would be the first this year.

“Milton got the new boy in a corner. He’s dead,” one whispered to his shorter friend, trying to convey what was happening in the center of the crowd.

“Hit him,” a harsh voice shouted.

Milton didn’t need a motivator; it was the fifth or the sixth punch on the dark nose.

“You filthy stranger! Leave! Go back to whichever dirty place you came from.”

Wiping the blood off his nose, Raj, though seemed unable to comprehend what this was about, suddenly got defensive and aggressive. He clutched his right hand in the hardest fist he could, raised it as high, and hit.

In the same instant when Milton collapsed and obviously wasn’t capable of continuing, the crowd dispersed in a few seconds.

Before leaving the scene, Raj gave the dizzy Milton his hand, saying, “I don’t have to be filthy because I am darker than you. You don’t have to be aggressive only because I am different. You can choose better.”