His mind kept replaying the hatred that had flashed in Amanda Smith's eyes that morning, his fingers becoming tighter and tighter.
He was now waiting for an outcome, to live together or to die together.
"Samuel!"
His mother's sharp voice came through his ears, and Samuel Johnson slightly shuddered, lifting his eyes to look at her.
Mrs. Johnson rushed forward, grabbing both of Samuel Johnson's wrists, and only then did he realize he had pinched his own hands to the point of bleeding.
"What are you doing, Samuel," Mrs. Johnson said, seeing the blood flowing from Samuel Johnson's hands without him caring, tears almost falling from her eyes, "Why did you bleed? Does it hurt? Does it hurt?"
Samuel Johnson's hands were still tightly clenched, blood leaking through the spaces between his fingers, dripping down onto the snow-white tiles in a shockingly red display.