I used to be an assistant martial arts teacher at a school that taught kids aged 5-18. It was located on a military base, so we had a variety of students who had traveled around the world and had experienced more than most kids their age. Different personalities, open minds, and a willingness to explore were common traits among the children.
There was one little girl who possessed a completely different trait.
I was a 20 years old at the time, and this girl, let’s call her Olivia, was around 10 years old. She had black hair, a fair complexion, and was always smiling. She became quite attached to me and always found ways to get my attention. Sometimes she would run up to me, playfully hit me, and then run away giggling. Other times, she would misbehave in class out of spite just to gain my attention. Overall, she seemed like a normal young girl, discovering herself and the world around her. That’s what anyone would assume.
However, one day I noticed that Olivia began acting strangely, unlike her usual self. She appeared heartbroken about something, looking tired yet antsy and nervous. I asked her if she was okay, but she simply replied with a “yes” and didn’t elaborate. I would have raised my concerns with her parents, but they were never present.
As the days went by, Olivia continued to appear downcast and sad. Then, one afternoon after class, she ran up to me with her familiar smile on her face—the one that always made me smile too.
She handed me a folded piece of paper.
“What is this?” I asked, starting to unfold it.
“I drew it for you,” Olivia said with a smile, giggling.
As soon as I saw what she had drawn, shock instantly coursed through me, leaving me at a loss for words. A chill ran up my spine, and my hands trembled.
It was a crude drawing of me dressed in my martial arts uniform, with Olivia depicted stabbing me with a kitchen knife. Multiple stab wounds on my body were oozing blood, which also covered Olivia and the knife she held. Strangely, both of us were smiling in the drawing.
“It’s me killing you!” Olivia exclaimed, laughing.
I quickly folded up the drawing and returned it to her.
“Thank you, Olivia, but you can keep it,” I said, my voice flat, still in a state of shock.
I didn’t see her after that afternoon. She had quit the class. Deep down, I felt relieved that she had decided to quit.
Even though Olivia had left, her impact remained. I was left grappling with unease that refused to subside. The image of her drawing was etched into my mind, an eerie reminder of the complex emotions children can harbor.
I don’t know where Olivia may be in life now. She would be the age I was at the time she handed me that drawing. I hope she’s a healthy young woman, mentally sound, and living a good life. I only hope that the drawing was a single occurrence with Olivia, and no one else had to experience such a disturbing situation like I did that afternoon.