A commotion at the end of the corridor made us all curious. Me, trying to be cautious, waited at the other end of the corridor to hear what was happening from others who had ran towards the commotion. Little did I know it involved someone I knew.
Lewis, 11, had complained to his mother of pain in his leg some months earlier. Tickled by his captive imagination to get himself out of chores and homework, she had given him a 'paracetamol', a glass of milk and told him to stop the rough football he played with his friends and just sleep it off.