Rest In Tissues
The whole of class 2B was playing a game of musical colds, competing for who could cough the loudest or who had the most aggressive sneeze. But as soon as the teacher turned around, breathing halted as students struggled to keep their colds at bay.
Noses dripped, throats were as sore as extra homework, and headaches played merry havoc on the student's ability to concentrate- not that they had it in the first place.
Overall, the classroom was a cesspit of germs and bad tempers. Even the teacher didn't want to be there.
The windows rattled as the cruel winter wind bullied the glass panes, slamming repeatedly into them like fists on a door, and the signs taped to the doors politely requesting that they be kept shut to save electricity were whisked away; white sheets disappearing into a white sky that lacked all empathy. If the sky was a person, it would be that psychopath who sat in the corner and killed animals in their spare time just because they could.
Class 2B was the sky's animals, tortured before slaughter, their suffering prolonged by a French test that hung ominously above their heads. One final task before they could leave peacefully.
One boy didn't make it, his head slumping on his desk as Cold's icy fingers gripped his heart. He gave a final pathetic moan before he went still. The teacher, holding no sympathy for the recently deceased, walked up to him and whacked him on the head with Class Guide: French Level 3. The sudden impact shocked his heart back into beating and he sat back up, grumbling and rubbing his head.
Unappreciative of the miracle that had just been performed, a short girl at the front of the class raised her hand to go to the toilet. The teacher, ever the empath, said she could go if she asked in French. The girl lowered her hand and prayed that her bladder could withhold the freezing temperatures.
The teacher returned to teaching, her heavily accented voice lulling the students to sleep. She was also suffering, every second sentence punctuated by a cough or a muffled sniff. She paused in the middle of explaining the pluperfect tense to break into an almighty fit of spluttering and wheezing. The class watched as if they were watching the greatest show on earth.
The girl at the front raised her hand again and the teacher waved at her, too preoccupied to demand the use of a different language. The girl got up, shuffling awkwardly, too afraid to uncross her legs. In the end, she decided to risk it and pelted towards the toilets. Her hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Another gust of wind rattled the windows as it mourned the loss of a victim. However it had twenty- eight playthings, each sniffing and sneezing and incredibly fed up. They may be miserable now, it thought, but it was only lesson one and they had PE next.
All donations to the Save the School Children Fund are appreciated. Recommended donations start at a spoonful of cough syrup and end at a doctors note to allow a student to stay home. If you wish to donate, please deliver all items to the fire exit at the back of the sports hall where the most bribable student will be waiting. Please be careful to avoid all evil teachers that will be patrolling the school perimeter.
This appeal for help was brought to you by the Save the School Children Fund. For further information and contact details, shout anti-school slogans outside your window whilst setting fire to all available maths homework.
