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| Fear the Unknown |
Fear the Unknown
By Nomar Knight
Once
again I find myself on the short end of the stick, wondering when people are
going to learn to accept fate for what it is.
It’s a cruel, but necessary learning process. My name is Mr. Coffin. I teach high school English. Every year I’m forced to move to a new school
because where I reside, common sense doesn’t exist. I perform to the best of my abilities. Gain popularity with the students, and yet, I
don’t even have a classroom.
It
amazes me how my students constantly overachieve in the standardized tests, yet
the mediocre teachers continue to get rewarded.
So as I sit in my Honda, wondering how I can change my luck, a thought occurs
to me. I haven’t identified the
enemy. At first glance, it appears that
another frightened teacher, unwilling to deal with the unknown, used her
feminine tears to convince the powers that be to screw me again. At least, that’s how other teachers will view
her act of treachery. Too bad they don’t
know that I’m not an ordinary teacher.
In fact, I am no ordinary human.
At
last, the troubled teacher arrives in her grey vehicle. A hint of sorrow touches my heart for I hate
to see anyone cave in to fear. I mumble
to myself, “Best put this one out of her misery.”
I
open the glove compartment and brush my fingers on the handle of a seven inch
blade. I stare at her as she finally
exits her car.
Danger!
My
heart races and slams against my chest.
The anticipation of blood causes my manhood to begin to rise. Images of brutal beatings bombard my
mind. It feels as if my darkest thoughts
become reality. I see myself moving in
slow motion. Another version of me
hurries to the teacher and plunges the blade in her spine. I even hear my imitator whisper, “How does it
feel to get stabbed in the back?”
A
horn blows, regaining my attention. In
the far distance I hear a tormented soul scream for her life. For one instant, as the haze clears, an
alternate reality seals off the visions and I sit in my vehicle. My fingers stroke not the handle of a knife,
but of a hairbrush.
I
take a deep breath and watch as the troubled teacher carries books up the
stairs. I grin, thankful that in this
dimension, violence usually is the byproduct of poor choices. Perhaps in an alternate universe I committed
an unspeakable act, but in my current existence, I choose to meet fear of the
unknown head-on. I choose to rise to
whatever challenges life has to offer.
As I retrieve a briefcase from the trunk of my car I mumble, “Lord,
protect me from evil.”
I
go to the office, ready to take on the groups that the frightened teacher left
behind. I wonder if I am given a
classroom, how many rodents will come out of hiding to greet me.
