From the outside, Jymbo High looked like a place where dreams were built. Trophy cabinets gleamed under bright lights, banners celebrated excellence, and parents spoke proudly of having their children enrolled. It was a school people admired.
But admiration can hide the truth.
I was twelve when I first walked through Jymbo High’s tall oak doors. By the end of my first week, I understood why older students avoided eye contact and spoke in whispers. Fear lived in those hallways—quiet, heavy, and constant.
The teachers were known for being “tough,” but toughness soon crossed into something darker. Punishments were humiliating, expectations impossible, and kindness rare. Students were made to feel small, weak, and helpless. Worse still, when we tried to explain what was happening, we were told we were exaggerating or making excuses.
During parent meetings, everything changed. The same teachers who terrified us became warm and charming. They praised discipline, spoke of “building character,” and assured our parents that we were thriving. On the drive home, we were scolded for lying.
And so, the silence continued.
For three long years, students endured the same fear, believing they were alone—until one day, someone spoke up. Then another. Then many more. We began to realize the problem wasn’t us. It was the system that refused to listen.
We met quietly, after school and away from watchful eyes. We shared stories, supported one another, and gathered evidence. What we wanted most wasn’t revenge—it was to be believed.
When the truth finally came out, it shook everyone. Investigations followed. The school was closed. Adults listened at last.
Years later, Jymbo High stands empty. Its windows are dark, its halls silent. A small plaque on the gate carries a warning for anyone who reads it:
“Power without compassion destroys trust. And when voices are ignored, harm grows in the shadows.”
Looking back, the lesson is clear.
Cruelty doesn’t just hurt in the moment—it leaves lasting scars. Authority must always be guided by empathy, and young voices deserve to be heard. When people in power forget their responsibility, they risk creating fear instead of growth.
And for students, the lesson matters too:
Standing up for yourself should never require losing who you are. Justice must be sought with courage—but also with wisdom.
Some lessons are taught in classrooms.
Others are learned when those classrooms fail.
We’re excited to invite young storytellers and artists to be a part of our vibrant community! Whether you love spinning tales or drawing pictures, you too can get involved here!
You can also support our storytelling journey by purchasing our storybook on Amazon Today
