 |
| Mischief Managed |
“The monsters are coming, the monsters are coming,”
yelled the teachers. The students ran aimlessly looking for the exits with no
monsters. “They are here, they are here,” screamed the parents in unison.
No one expected this reaction of panic, after all the
students had been taught what to do in case of catastrophe. Single file to the
right, exits right; single file to the left, exits left. Everyone gathers in
the yard, either to the right, or to the left, accordingly. They practiced it
so often, mornings on a row. The parents bragged about this school being the
most efficient and safe, of all schools, also the most expensive. It built up
the curriculum, it had a sound name, and it would open doors. It would, but not
if everyone died at the hands of the monsters.
The running around, the screaming, the shoving lasted
a few minutes that felt like an eternity. Well, they lasted up until the moment
the director of the school arrived from an unexpected meeting at the National
Board of Education, much to his aggravation, because he always wanted to
welcome the students and their parents on the first day of school. He could
hear all the yelling all the way from the end of the driveway. He could see the
monsters too. As he stepped outside of the car, he blew his whistle, the one he
always carried around his neck for rebellious emergencies, and brought
students, parents and teacher alike to a halt.
“What is going on here?” he asked. “The monsters, the
monsters,” someone screamed. “These?” and the director pointed at the gigantic plastic
tentacles peering through the windows. Everyone felt a bit silly. They were
made of plastic and no one had noticed.
The
students and teachers went sheepishly to their classrooms. The parents were embarrassed.
The director headed back to his office smirking. “They will never know what hit
them.” When he took his hand out of the pocket of his jacket, it wiggled, and
it was a tentacle, but not a plastic tentacle.
