The punishment, dutifully chronicled in her spiral notebook, was shakily penned days before: hand spanking, paddling, strapping, finished by another hand spanking. Strokes to be determined; additional measures may be taken.
She left blanks by each entry, for later notes.
Infringement: Reckless Behavior
It would be a spanking she would feel, he promised. Long overdue, he stated with a clucking of his tongue. What you need, he said.
“Here are your rules,” he instructed as her insides quaked. “Write them down.”
Rules, she repeated, feeling the delicate roundness of the word in her mouth, learning its new definition. Until this hour, a rule had been a challenge: how could she twist it to her own liking without the rule-maker noticing — or caring?
His rules were soldiers marching across the page, in full gear and brandishing consequences. Neatly numbered and aligned, these rules stood guard against her frivolity. They were mathematical by nature — if, then statements — and held only one answer. Obey.
In the margins of the page, she wanted to tell each numbered soldier how she felt. But how does one enunciate the stillness that comes with certainty? How does one express quietude and peace married with anxiety and anticipation?
As it was not instructed, she did not attempt to write her thoughts in the margin of the page. Not even in pencil. Instead she took those thoughts to bed and prepared herself to face the wall: bottom out, back arched, feet together, and lips sealed to await her Disciplinarian.