Blotted

I went to my class teacher, to get my notes corrected, of history of bloodshed and wars, that the past had collected. I stood there, still and straight, with my head lowered slightly. "Why learn about such disgrace?" I whispered to myself softly. As her dog ears caught my words, she blotted my notes with blood ink. Terror seized me like never before, my brain could neither process nor think. She looked at me with almond eyes, "Can you erase this? Not cover, erase." She raised her eyebrow as she asked, and I said, "No", with a small, pale face. "Unpleasant events are etched deep, they can't be erased, at best be avoided. To not repeat such an incident, learn from it, so it can be prevented."