They say hindsight is 20/20.

In hindsight, the boy probably wondered how I knew he was mocking me behind my back.

How I knew he pinned that sign to my sweater after class.

How I saw him sneaking up behind me in the hall, ready to trip me.

How I knew to spin just in time to slice the knife across his belly.

In hindsight, he probably wished he had chosen someone else to pick on.

Someone who didn’t have a third eye growing in the back of her head, peeking out from under her ponytail, watching his every move.

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