The Ocean

 

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The Ocean

Blue light lit up the classroom. Cold days, even in July. Miss Taylor watched the children, scanned their every move; even the slightest flinch could not escape the black holes that were here eyes. Thirteen of them sat side by side, equipped only with a dull pencil and a crumbled piece of paper. They drew circles with an eagle inside. Miss Taylor's steps haunted the floorboards as she strolled down the room. "Circles, children," she said and continued to strolled up the classroom, "Circles, and an eagle amidst." She stopped in front of the girl - the only one to be seen, aside from Miss Taylor. "Elizabeth," Miss Taylor muttered down to the girl.  It was as if a wave of ice water crashed through the room. The girl's stare remained on the drawing. In a menacing swing, Miss Taylor grabbed the paper. "What is this," she asked and shook it in front of the girl. "Are you deaf, child? What is this?"

"A drawing, Miss Taylor."

"But of what, little girl?" 

"The ocean." It gathered the attention of the other twelve. 

"It is quite good. You must have spent many hours on it," she said with no credibility and analyzed it sarcastically. 

"Stand up," Five heartbeats passed. Miss Taylor pulled her up from the chair. "Look at me," she said. "Look at me Elizabeth." The girl obeyed. "How many pencil strokes would you guess went into this?" Her grip on Elizabeth's shoulder grew tighter. Tears trickled down the girl's cheek. "I don't know, Miss Taylor." she muttered.

"A hundred, I believe," said Miss Taylor and crumbled up the drawing and threw it into the fireplace, which swallowed the paper as if starving. She pulled the girl towards the fire. "Your hand, please," the girl hesitated. "Your hand. Now." Elizabeth held it out, and Miss Taylor grabbed it so firmly that her long nails dug into the poor girl's skin. "A hundred seconds on the stove should be an adequate punishment I suppose," she said and without a moment of doubt she pressed Elizabeth's hand down onto the burning hot stove, and immediately the skin started sizzling and smoking. Deafening screams filled the classroom and many of those beyond. All the other children swayed away and stuffed their ears with what they could. 

Ninety seconds had passed, and the skin on the girl's hand had become crickly-crackling. The screams were gone, but whether the girl had torn her vocal cords or if the nerves in her hand were gone was unclear. Miss Taylor pushed the girl on the floor, and let her cry deep tears. She scanned the classroom and looked over the petrified children.

"Well go on, children. Get back to work." 

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