"Antwerp," Suzola said firmly, and with utter and complete confidence. The strong, semi-sarcastic pronunciation of the first syllable indicated her digust with the simplicity of the question. The word was abruptly cut off, the communicative value of the word being so little that it scarcely deserved to be sustained for any more time than necessary. The 'p' was harsh and mocking, giving a distinct impression that Suzola did not think very much of the 'p' sound, particularly when used in conjunction with this utterly useless set of sounds. Her smile was trite and cynical.
"Very good, Suzie," Mrs. Breskulicture replied encouragingly, in a voice which seemed to say 'you sure know your Belgium'. "Alright now, class, what is the capital of Belgium? ... put your hand down, Suzie, I know you know. How about you, Baline?"
"Is it... ummm... Utrecht?" Baline offered feebly.
"Wrong," replied Mrs. Breskulicture. "The answer is Brussels. Can you say Brussels, Baline? G'wan, try. Bruh, sells. Bruh sells. Bruh-sells. Go on. Bruh sells. As in 'bruh sells my body on the streets and pays me half'. C'mon, Balie, you should know something about that, shouldn't you? Utrecht is in the Netherlands. The Netherlands and Belgium are two different countries. Surely you know that! You couldn't be that ignorant, could you?" Mrs. Breskulicture stared at Baline with a condescending smile.
Indeed, now the entire class was staring at Baline, many laughing. Faint murmurs of 'moron' and 'Utrecht' could be heard. Baline burst into tears and ran from the classroom, muttering under her breath that she would make them pay.
Baline's development as a normal child was destroyed that afternoon. Running home, she had immediately read the entry on Belgium in her father's encyclopedia set, and then cross referenced anything which had anything to do with Belgium. She began spending her afternoons travelling first to the local libraries, then the downtown libraries, learning everything that could possibly be known about Belgium. She ordered books from other libraries across the country and around the world and read them all, foresaking all other interests.
When Baline completed grade 10 with D's in every subject except French, her parents realized that things had to change. They gave her an ultimatum: "It's Belgium or us". For Baline, the choice was obvious, and using money she had stolen from her parents, she purchased a one way ticket to Belgium.
She attended school in the day, excelling in languages and Belgian history and coping in the other subjects. She worked from after school until dinner as a historian's research assistant, and after a proper Belgian dinner she attended night school in Belgian politics, history, languages, culture, religion... everything. Within months, she knew more about Belgium than anyone else ever had. She knew everything about every region, every town, every lifestyle, every inhabitant. There was nothing she didn't understand about Belgium. She had, in fact, developed a symbotic relationship with the nation, and she fed on its essence. When Belgium was upset, Baline knew.
Shortly after Baline had completed university and was working in the Belgian diplomatic core, she stumbled across an ad for a Belgium trivia competition to be held in New York at the end of the week. She would be there.
Suzola Awoet stared at Baline coldly from the podium where she stood beside Baline. Baline thought she heard something about Utrecht, but she wasn't quite sure. The questions began, and Baline knew all the answers. And she won. And Suzola felt just rotten, and she went home and killed herself, and her two young children died shortly after from hunger. Poetic justice sucks.