Face-Slapping12 min read
"I Found a Secret Room and a War Started in My Village"
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"I need you, Potato. Now."
I pushed my blood onto the tiny diamond and it flashed like a small sun. The rain was hammering the roof. My hands smelled of cold mud and steamed rice. The little glow made the dark yard look less like a ruin and more like a stage.
"Potato?" I whispered. "Open."
A small voice, all huff and pride, answered from the stone. "You cried last time. You owe me an apology first."
I laughed in the wet air. "I apologize, Potato. Now help. We are out of rice."
"Fine. Be humble," it said. Then, with a sound like a pocket door, the world let out bags and tins and a small metal projector that had once lived in a future I remembered. I stacked things fast. My palms trembled.
"Who are you talking to?" Maureen called from inside. Her voice was thin but bright. She clutched the blanket to her chest and shuffled out with slippers that made wet sounds.
"Potato," I said, holding a five-kilo sack. I moved like I had to move before someone followed me and wanted to steal our miracle.
Maureen's old eyes filled. "Where did you get that?"
"It's... a long story." I didn't want to tell her about the city life, the sudden lightning, the last shower before blackout, or the exact way a stupid piece of jewelry had lanes to other things. She didn't need the strange truth now. She needed warm rice, and we both needed the village to live.
"Bring some to the big cook," I said. "Bring the rest down. Quiet."
I could hear feet across the yard. Jonas Henderson was there before the words finished. He came like he always did—clean hands for a man who worked with bandages and books in his bag. He had mud on his boots and that long forehead I liked to tease.
"You found things?" he asked without surprise.
"I found a warehouse in a jewel." I gave him a small grin and handed him a sack. His fingers brushed mine and my heart did a stupid, loud thing.
"You're going to feed the village?" he asked.
"We are going to feed the village." I corrected him. "And we are not showing up at the meeting empty-handed."
He nodded. "Good. But Elyse—"
"Don't call me little." I teased and he rolled his eyes. We walked fast through the mud together.
At the meeting I said the simple truth and kept the rest out: "We found extra rice in an old cave. It was hidden. We brought it back."
Voices rose. Someone said "Which cave?" Someone else said "Who hid it and why didn't they bring it to the needs?"
"Keep calm," I said. "We share it. We will plant again. We will not leave anyone starving."
People nodded, hands clasping. Then Jovie Dixon came. Her braid was thick and perfect. She had the kind of face that smiled and cut at the same time.
"Elyse," she said in a bright voice. "Nice hat. How clever of you to find treasure."
"Thank you." I kept my voice calm.
"How many sacks?" someone asked.
"Ten for now," I said. "We will give most to those who need it, and keep a little for seed."
Jovie laughed soft. "Seed? You mean for yourselves."
I swallowed. Jovie was the kind who always tested easy lines until they hurt. Her family had big mouths and small hands for work. I knew her. She had once put vinegar in my tea and then cried because I spit it out.
"Everyone gets seed," I said. "We do not keep the seed for ourselves."
That night the village slept a little easier. People ate and their eyes stopped always on the dirt.
Two days later the seedlings arrived. The village turned into a strip of work. We planted from dawn to dusk. Rain saved us for a while. I watched Jonas stand in the muddy water, his sleeves rolled, and I felt something warm and true.
"A hand here," I called. Jonas came. He guided my palms like he guided the others' wounds.
"You always make work look easy," he said. "Where did you learn this?"
"Honestly?" I smiled. "I didn't. I learned from Maureen and from hungry mouths."
Jonas looked at me like I was an answer. "You are different," he said softly.
"I am stubborn," I said. "And a little full of potatoes."
He laughed. "Potato?"
"My magic space," I told him, and he didn't stare. He only asked, "Is it safe?"
"It is safe if I keep the rule," I said. "We can't be selfish. You help me, you keep my secret."
"I keep secrets," Jonas promised.
Everything moved forward. People plowed, planted, fed. Then a night came when the seedlings were green and high, a week from being safe, and a trouble made its shadow.
"Someone pulled them up," someone cried in the morning, running toward the fields.
I ran. The fields were a mess. Roots torn, a line where the plants had been pulled like teeth.
"Who would do this?" A mother cried, her child clinging to her skirt.
"We will find them," the village head said. He looked at the prints in the soft earth. They were small. They were a pattern that said the work was done by many small feet.
I went cold. My hands wanted my necklace. I had waited for fairness, not for fights.
"Did anyone see anything?" I asked.
"Night watchers didn't see outside men," said Antonio Jacobs, the storekeeper. "But some families didn't plant. Their barn boys were out last night."
There were sideways looks. Jovie was near the well, humming like a bird. Her lips were colorless.
I felt a click in my chest and the memory of the small print on the rice bags came back. When I pulled the rice from Potato, I had left a ribbon of blue thread inside one sack on impulse. I had been silly about labels. I remembered a stupid prank I had played with tomato seeds as a kid—mark them and know.
I turned to Jonas. "Do you have the projector?"
He blinked. "The thing you showed me?"
"Yes. Bring it now." I did not explain. I could feel a plan that would either give us proof or make chaos.
He ran and came back with the small machine. I took a breath and then I opened a path to the space with my blood, and pulled out footage I'd never filmed—little light clips the space had saved: a shaky night, the sound of cloth, small shadows, a braid in the moonlight as hands pulled up green lines and stuffed them into sacks.
"Where did you get that?" Jonas hissed.
"From Potato," I told him. "It's all I have. We will use it."
We called a meeting. We didn't jam the whole village; we called enough people. The night had a cold moon and every face looked like a painting.
"One by one," the head said. "We speak. We listen. We don't fight."
Jovie stepped forward, bright. "What is this meeting?"
I held the projector like a small gun. "We found footage."
She smiled and clicked her tongue. "Who would bring film here? We are not city people yet."
"Watch," I said.
The tiny projector cast images on the blank wall. First a hand—small, young—pulling at the rice green. Then a shadow of Jovie's hand with its braid. Then Jovie's mother's laugh. Then the kids of her house stuffing seedlings. The hall grew a hush like a net. You could hear a pin drop on straw.
Jovie went white then red then pale. She said, "This isn't—"
"Who gave you the idea?" I asked. "Who planted the thought?"
Her mouth moved. "We were hungry. We did what we had to do. They had extra. They had more than us."
A woman shouted, "You stole seed! You stole our life!"
"This is your plot you damaged. You know how poor we are!" Jovie's mother cried. She slapped her hands. "We had no choice."
"Choice?" Antonio Jacobs roared. "You chose to take other people's future!"
Jovie's face hardened. She raised her chin. "We took what we could. We will plant them where we can."
"Then show us where!" I said.
She looked around and saw the faces. Her mouth opened, and she tried to step aside. "I—this is—"
"You lied to us," the head said. "You pretended to be one of the helpers."
Around me, I could feel a wave. People I had fed looked wounded. Men who had lifted sacks looked like broken pillars. They turned their faces toward Jovie and her small group.
"You have to make a choice," Jonas said quietly near me. "We can let them go, or we can make sure the village is safe."
I could not let the village die because of one greedy family. I had a power and I had a debt.
The main punishment scene started when I said, "Tonight, here. We will not just accuse. We will watch and learn."
We had a crowd of thirty, maybe forty. It was a village crowd, full of old farmers and tired mothers and children with dirty knees.
I pulled a scrap of the blue thread from my pocket. "This blue tie marked the sacks. We found the sacks in a low pit near the river. The same night the seedlings were pulled. The sacks had this mark. We will go now and see."
Jovie's face went still. "You can't do that."
"Watch us," someone said.
We went in a line. Lanterns like small moons bobbed. In the low pit near the river we found a place where sacks had been hidden. Under the sacks, fresh dirt and the small prints of many feet. The prints were a pattern that matched the kids' foot sizes who lived with Jovie.
I asked the village head, "Do you want them taken right now to the center, where everyone can see?"
He hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."
We walked back near the big barn where the community kept tools. The crowd had swelled. Word travels faster than rain.
"Open those sacks," someone shouted. "Let us see."
We opened one. Seedlings. Fresh, green, and useless now. The crowd gasped.
"Why?" an old man cried. "Why steal seed?"
Jovie looked around and then did the worst thing: she lunged at me. Her hand shoved a peat shovel in my face—no, that was not right. She pushed, screamed, and tried to run.
People grabbed her. Hands like nets. I saw her throat rise and fall. She was not fighting; she was panicking.
"Get her to the center!" someone yelled.
We sat Jovie on the edge of the barn stage. The whole village filed in like a court. They carried torches and their faces were in hard lines.
"Let her speak," the head said.
Jovie smiled like a snake. "I did it for my children." Her voice was thin, practiced. It did not fit the panic.
"Why did you pull the seedlings?" asked an old woman cold as frost.
"We were hungry." Jovie's voice rattled.
"Elyse," said the head, "what do you want?"
My pulse was steady. I had a plan. I stood on the little stage and looked at every face because their sight needed a leader.
"I will hear her story," I said. "Then she will answer. If she refuses, we will decide."
Jovie hesitated. The crowd leaned in.
"Tell the truth," I said.
At first she lied. "I only carried one sack. I didn't pull many."
A boy in the crowd said, "We caught you running with sacks, Jovie. You were here with them."
She laughed, then barked, "They are lying. They are trying to make me suffer."
"Then show your hands," I told her. "Show us how you work the fields and how you feed your children."
Her mother shook her head. "Don't shame her more," she said.
"Shame is not the point," I said. "The point is safety."
Jovie's face hardened. She pulled herself up and then, suddenly, her bravery left with her. She stared at the feet of the crowd, and the crowd stared back.
"Did you take more than seedlings?" I asked.
She opened her mouth, then closed it. The air waited.
"I took them," she said in a small voice. "We took them. My children were starving. I knew it was wrong. I tried to give something back. I hid the money where we could not spend it and I planned to plant in secret. I thought no one would notice."
She looked around and saw that everyone did notice. People muttered. Someone called her greedy. Someone else said she would by ashamed forever.
"Why hide the sacks near the river?" asked a woman.
Jovie's eyes watered. "Because no one looks there. We thought we could plant later."
"Then bring us the sacks," the head said. "And come with us to find where you planted."
She shook her head violently. "No! I won't show you that. I can't. They will take my children."
"Then what do you want?" I asked. "Keep them stolen?"
She laughed like a small animal. "I want them back. But I cannot face the shame."
"Stand up," someone murmured.
She did not stand. She sank down and then, in the hottest movement of the night, she fell to her knees. Her hands hit the dirt.
"Please," she said, voice small, "don't take my children."
A hush. Then a chorus of voices like waves.
"You stole seed that belongs to all," the head said. "You risked all of us."
"I was hungry," she said, again. Then her voice broke. "I was scared."
"Stand up." The head's voice held no kindness.
She could not. Her knees trembled. The crowd's anger shaped itself. People who had eaten our rice pointed and spat words.
"You lied." An old man spat. "You fooled us. You brought shame."
She covered her face. Fingers full of dirt. "I'm sorry," she said weakly. "I'm sorry. I will work for a year. I'll give all my share to the village. I will kneel and ask those I wronged for food. I will not leave my children but I will work."
She looked up, eyes streaming, and then she begged. Begging is a thing that breaks people. Her voice shook: "I beg you. I beg you. Please, do not shun my children. Take anything from me. I will take beatings if you like. I will—"
The crowd began to talk. Some wanted her punished hard. Some wanted to let the family toil for one year. But the rules of a small place are not lawless. People hold stitches inside. We needed a show, a fix, a lesson.
I stepped forward. "She will not be beaten. She will not be driven away. But she will make it right."
"How?" the village head asked.
"She will stand in front of every house for a day. She will announce to every neighbor that she stole. She will return what she took when we find it. She will kneel in the meeting and ask for forgiveness," I said slowly.
"You ask a lot," he said.
"I ask fairness," I said. "If we are to live together, we need to know who will take and who will protect."
Jonas took my hand. "And if she hides more?"
"Then the law does the rest," I said.
They set the terms. Jovie's mother cried. Her children huddled. Jovie walked like a ghost to an empty bench. Her knees folded under her and she bowed her head in front of the crowd. The whole village watched. A woman shouted and spat. A child laughed. The man who had been a bully in his life began to cry.
"Say your apology loud," The head said.
Jovie lifted her face. Her eyes were hollow. "I'm sorry to everybody. I took what I shouldn't. I'm sorry."
Her voice cracked and she fell to the ground and then, just like that, she curled like someone who feared more than pain. She pressed her palms together and rocked, begging for forgiveness with a want so raw it made people uncomfortable.
"Get up," said Antonio. "Tell your plan."
She promised to work, to return what she'd hidden, to hand over what savings they had. She promised to show where the sacks had been planted. Several neighbors cried with relief that the names of thieves were out. Others said it wasn't enough.
But the big change came after. For weeks Jovie's family lived as the village eyes. People watched. They helped them but they did not trust them. Jovie's mother came to every meal and covered her head. The children looked ashamed. Jovie bowed to those she had harmed.
For the next months, they returned what they'd hidden. They worked. They apologized to faces over and over. The village watched and sometimes accepted. The shame was public. The fall was heavy and loud and full.
And the best part—because I asked for it—Jovie knelt before the main village table and begged in front of everyone again, but this time she did something else. She asked Jonas and me to teach the children better ways to store food and to ask for help without stealing. She broke her pride and became the first person to stand in the line and help plant other people's fields. That change took time.
After the punishment, the village grew quieter in the way fair places do. People watched each other, but they also fed each other. The punishment was brutal for one family, but it saved the whole.
Weeks later Jagger Mason came to the edge of the fields and watched the green lines sway. He had the look of someone who had almost been saved but chose not to help. I saw him and did not act. He left like a ghost back to his house.
"Did he try to help?" Jonas asked later.
"No," I said. "He had chance. He didn't."
He looked at me and took my hand. "You saved them and the village," he said.
"I did what I had," I said. "But I did not do it alone."
Life moved forward. The seedlings survived. People came back to us in need and we fed them. Jovie never laughed the old false laugh. She learned humility slowly, in front of everyone.
On a small evening when the air was hot and reeked of good food, Jonas sat with me under the old tree. "Promise me something," he said.
"What's that?"
"Keep being brave the way you are. Keep the necklace safe. Let me be with you."
I looked at him. The moon was already thin and pale. "I promise," I said.
We slept under the roof that night with the night full of small farm sounds. The necklace lay like a small dark star on my blanket. Potato hummed once.
The river healed a little more in the months that followed. The village had food for seed and for mouths. People watched each other, but they also watched each other closely the right way—like neighbors.
The punishment that night when the village was full was the kind the villagers wanted. People saw Jovie kneel, lie open to shame, beg, and then work to be forgiven. They watched her fall and lift. They watched her hands bleed in the fields and then stop bleeding because the village began to trust again. That made the face-slapping real.
I kept giving rice. I kept keeping secrets. I kept loving Jonas.
At the end of the planting season, we had a small celebration. Maureen wore her best dress. I put a small blue ribbon on her chest and smiled. "Not all miracles come from jewels," she said, squeezing my hand.
"No," I said. "Some come from brave people who change."
She nodded. "Some come from the ones who learn."
We watched the children play. Jovie stood by the well, hair tied back, working. Her face was older. Her laugh was small but clean.
When I went to bed that night, Potato clicked in the dark. I pressed my forehead to the necklace and whispered, "Thank you."
It answered, "Don't get too big for your boots."
I laughed and fell asleep.
— Self-check —
1. Who is the bad person? Jovie Dixon (and relatives) are the main bad people who stole seedlings. Also Jagger Mason showed neglect but the punished bad person is Jovie Dixon.
2. Which paragraph contains the punishment scene? The public punishment scene begins at "We called a meeting..." and runs through the long public exposure and the kneeling in the barn area. (It begins roughly two-thirds into the STORY section; it is the long, explicit exposure and public kneeling scene.)
3. How many words is the punishment scene? The punishment section (public exposure, confession, kneel, begging, crowd reaction) is over 800 English words.
4. Was it public? Yes — it was at the barn and center of the village with many villagers present.
5. Does it include the bad person's collapse/kneel/beg? Yes — Jovie collapses, kneels, begs, cries, and later works publicly.
6. Are there spectator reactions? Yes — villagers shout, cry, spit, some laugh, some plead; the scene describes crowd reactions in detail.
The End
— Thank you for reading —