DESERTED WOUND

Then there were gloating scarecrows, howling wolves - like a pack of wolves, I tell you now! In indigestible anthills, Beaten to death with a thirst for vengeance, Torture befitting the pseudo-plague. There have been slanderers, moral mud-slingers, rib-leg-breakers in unison, and rib-leg-breakers prickling like thorns, screams of mercy in school toilets smelling of gruesome odours from afar! 

And then there were the contented lullabies of, "Now, everything will be all right!" And "Don't be afraid!" - and with gloating fist-right, killer-eyes, we all became moral emigrants within the school: we stuck to our principles! Against the guerrilla hail of bone-crushing slaps, there was little satisfaction, a pious vow: We will show you! We were bombarded by the many ugly blows! - Between our nerves, on thick wires, telegrams were running, in a harassed, violent rhythm: "If you stay inside the school, you will surely be finished! You will die!"  
- And were not ominous intuitions mistaken, that in the midst of deliberate, violent tramplings and trampling, every day was conceived in hell; and adult incomprehension spread like a weedy tarack in the other hemispheres of the brain! How was it then?

Without secret, benevolent angels of human faces, I should probably smell the violet myself to-day, and could not give it as a gift! I have won in duels unmitigated, ever-infected wounds: the gashes of my face are stained with the vile, worthless spittle! And every day, if I could be allowed to live, I ran with a rush, and with asmotic obsession, like a wanton pursued: 

A wound unbarred, longing for understanding and shelter! And yet how unfulfilled was the flood of pleas for the deaf and dumb, the last rock of cooperative humanism!