School is Hell F.G. Baker 6/15/15 I was a dead man, lying spread eagle on my back, face turned up toward the mid-morning gloom of another overcast Chicago day. My skinned knees told the story of how valiantly I fought against the insurmountable odds, like Lancelot fighting barehanded against the huge and overwhelming Dark Knight and his heavy, spiked Mace. Blood seemed to ooze from every pore of my knees and elbows, where they had been savagely ground into the gravel surface of the ground. My face, pale and in repose, was a swollen mass of contusions from the beating I had received, blood everywhere, torn by mighty fists. I had fought bravely, desperately using my arms to block the heavy blows as best I could.Read More