I Had a Heart Attack During Orientation

“How much longer do you plan on staying sprawled on the ground?”

Dad’s voice thundered so loudly that everyone on the field could hear it.

More than 3,000 students stood under the baking sun, but no one dared to breathe too loudly.

One side of my face was stuck to the sizzling rubber of the running track.

My chest felt so tight that I could have sworn there was a block of cement crushing it. Every breath tasted metallic in my mouth.

There was a small bottle of medication I could feel against my thigh, but I could not muster up the energy to grab it.

One of the orientation leaders, Mr. Mantooth, could not watch any longer. He was new to the school and had only been sent here this year. He was not even thirty years old.

He bent down, reaching out to press the back of his palm to my forehead.

He turned to Dad and said, “Mr. Helman, Felix is really burning up. Can we let him rest in a shady area?”

Dad glared at him. “Lead your own group, Mr. Mantooth. You don’t have to interfere with mine.”

Mr. Mantooth opened his mouth to say something, but another orientation leader grabbed him and shot him a meaningful look.

After another glance at Dad, Mr. Mantooth stood up and went elsewhere.

No one dared to speak up again.

Dad was the head orientation leader, and he was in charge of this whole orientation program.

Whatever he said was law.

Dad strode over and grabbed me by the back of my collar and lifted me up.

Just like that, I was suspended midair. My head fell backward limply. I felt like a scuffed kitten.

“Look at you. You can’t even stand straight! Heck, you can’t even faint properly!”

Dad dragged me off the field. The tips of my feet left two shallow lines on the ground.

“Mr. Helman, should we get the school’s doctor to have a look at him?” Mr. Mantooth could not help but pipe up from behind.

“What are you looking at? Do you think you know better than me how to handle my group, Mr. Mantooth?” Dad did not even look back.

Mr. Mantooth promptly shut up.

Dad hauled open a steel door off to the side of the field and hurled me outside.

The back of my head slammed against a steel shelf, and I let out a grunt. My vision was going dark, and there was a steady buzzing in my ear.

I was in the equipment storage room. There were hurdles, shotputs, discus, and other equipment in there. The air was stuffy and smelly, and I felt like I was in a sauna.

Dad squatted down. He grabbed my chin and pulled at me. “Open your eyes, Felix!”

But I could not.

It was not that I did not want to, but my eyelids were heavy as though they were lined with lead. I could not open my eyes for the life of me.

“Playing this game with me again, are you?” He chuckled sinisterly as his gaze swept across my chest.

The skin under my uniform’s collar revealed mottled bruises. They were the remnants of his beating from a few days ago with his leather belt. It was all because I had taken too long to run three miles.

“You’re just like your mother. You cry at the drop of a hat to gain sympathy.”

He took out some napkins from his pocket and perfunctorily wiped my forehead. Then, he crumpled them up and tossed the ball at my face.

“Lie here for a bit, then. Let’s see how long you can keep this act up.”

Dad stood up and brushed his hands off. Then, he turned and left.

The door was locked from the outside with a click.

Right then, my body felt light and floaty.