Before I begin today’s prompt I have to admit that I missed yesterday’s. I wanted to but, sometimes life throws you curve balls. Being an Ob/Gyn can make scheduling tricky. Add to that a son with autism who tends to need a bit more of your time than others his age and I end up occasionally falling asleep on the couch at 6:30pm and never fully recover. I apologize if there is anyone out there who actually reads these posts everyday. In order not to get out of order, I went ahead with todays knowing I still owe you the other days (which I switched as well). That one is taking up more of my time than I expected. I will do it. I will do every single one. But whether that happens today or tomorrow, I can’t say.
P.S. I tried playing around with anagrams today. See if you can figure them out.
Prompt Day #159: The students do something cruel to the substitute teacher. But there’s more to this substitute than meets the eye.
Mr. Perera Takes a Vacation
Mr. Perera entered the classroom and stood a moment, taking in the young, healthy fifth graders. They were a welcome change.
The kids look right back at him, most were smiling at him. Of course Mr. Perera didn’t realize there were different kinds of smiles because he rarely saw anyone smile.
“Hello everyone. My name is Mr. Perera and I am going to be your substitute teacher today. Your regular teacher, Mrs. Addodeby is very unwell and may not be back any time soon.” The children were giggling and chittering. He could tell they were not paying attention. “I say, Mrs. Addodeby is going to die.” The class fell silent. Their little faces peered up at him slack-jawed and unblinking. A small girl in the front of the class raised her hand. Mr. Perera acknowledged her by nodding.
“Um, well,” she looked around at the others hesitantly “Mrs. Addodeby said that today was supposed to be a fun day and that we were going to play games all day.” The rest of the class nodded in solemn agreement
“Well, I am not Mrs. Addodeby. Today we will be learning about many interesting things. Let us start with the Spanish Inquisition.” A boy raised his hand. “Yes, boy, what is it?”
“So, Mrs. Addodeby always lets us eat snacks during her lectures. Is that ok?” He held up a bag of sour cream and onion chips and shook it for effect.
“No. No eating in class, please. Besides, what I am about to tell you about the Inquisition may induce vomiting.” Mr. Perera tried to smile, he’d never smiled before so he wasn’t entirely sure how to do it. He was trying to joke and be friendly after all, this was a vacation. The children were not amused.
Mr. Perera turned to the chalkboard and began to write METHODS OF TORTURE IN THE MIDDLE AGES on the board when something tickled the back of his head. He shook his head and went back to writing. He assumed it was the hair doing something strange. After all, he usually did not have hair, so he was just not familiar with the sensations associated with it. The feeling hit again and then again. He heard chuckles from behind him and ran his hand over the back of his head. Something wet and slimy came away in his hand. He investigated the gooey clump in his hand and swirled around to face his class. The children snickered behind hands.
“What is the meaning of this?” Mr. Perera asked. The children shrugged. No one responded. He glared at them for a moment but turned back to his work. Death was so much more interesting in the dark ages. He missed those days.
He began listing torture devices when he heard chairs scooting and desks squeaking. He turned, slowly this time to see that they had all switched seats and were now sitting, hands folded sweetly on their desks, staring innocently up at him as if they hadn’t done anything wrong.
“I don’t know what you children are doing or trying to do but I warn you that I can only be patient for so long. You do not want me to lose my patience, I assure you.”
“You can’t do anything to us” a dark-haired trouble maker called out from the back
“Yeah, my dad will sue.” Said another.
“Your fathers will do nothing of the sort.” Mr. Perera assured them. “Pay attention, I will be testing you in the last hour of class.”
He began to lecture about pain and torture, witch hunts and murder. Students began coughing but he could hear their taunts of bullshit and who gives a shit hidden within the coughs. He had simply had enough. He had come here in these corduroys and this sweater vest on vacation! He chose to be around vitality and youth to escape the doldrums of his daily existence and here were these horrible little humans ruining his day. He felt the rage billowing through him.
Turning to face the class, he could feel the skin he was wearing begin to loosen and slide off him. He walked over to the boy who had shaken the chips at him and laid his hand on the boy’s head. The boy fell stiff to the floor dead. The shriveled, skeletal specter stared at his class, his escape and dared them to say or do just one more disrespectful thing, just one more.
The children did nothing except cry and wail. He walked over to the bag he had left by the desk and put his hooded cloak back on. He had left his scythe at Mrs. Addodeby’s house. He was going to end her after his first day of vacation and use her home. Now, though, he decided to let her live. This job was, as far as he was concerned, worse than death. She could have the children, save the boy he’d taken in her place. As for his vacation, he decided he’d book a cruise on the river Styx next time.