The Blackboard

Rufus and Daniel entered the classroom and sat down on their desks. A teacher followed them inside.

“Do you know why you two are in here this time?” she asked as she stood in front of them with her arms crossed.

“Yes, Ms. Flora,” they both said without any effort.

“Why?”

“Because we were throwing paper balls at you…”

She nodded. “This is the tenth time you’re in detention. The tenth! I hope you will both think about what you’ve done, and never do it again!” She grabbed a chalk and began writing on the blackboard.

The classroom was pretty ordinary. It had posters of the alphabet and numbers, the rules of the classroom, and how to have proper hygiene. The students’ desks were arranged in six rows of five. Some of them were covered with poor graffiti. The walls were decorated with students’ artwork and stories. Ms. Flora’s desk was neat and organized. It had students’ finished homework on one pile, graded tests on another, and folders of what the students have done all year. That’s all there was. No picture of family, no apple on desk, nothing. The rest of the homework and classwork for the students to do in the future was put away in her drawers—as well as pencils, paper clips, pens, thumbtacks, chalk, crayons, and any other tools she—or the students—needed to use for class.

She was writing down the lesson for tomorrow: adding and subtracting. She wrote down problems to solve. Rufus put his head down on his table and Daniel sat in silence. When Ms. Flora was finished writing, she put down the chalk. She opened the blinds, revealing a pleasant day. The sun wasn’t out, but the sky was blue, and it wasn’t too cloudy. Kids were having fun on the playground. They were swinging on the swings, playing tag, basketball, and played with their wrestling action figures in the sandbox; some just spoke to each other. She watched them all smiling, not worrying about life and having a good time.

“Look at them,” she growled. “How repulsive.” She stared at the blackboard, and then she picked up the chalk again.


Two plus two


Three plus three


Five minus four


The chalk tapped against the blackboard, with an inconsistent rhythm.


Twenty minus eleven


Ten minus seven


She cringed when she heard the children’s laughter.


Fifty minus twenty


She kept hearing the children outside. She gritted her teeth, and tried to ignore them.


One thousand plus three hundred seventy five


Five hundred thousand minus three hundred thousand, one hundred and seventy five


She became hasty with her writing.


Seven hundred thousand plus four hundred thousand, six hundred twenty one


One million minus one hundred thousand, seven hundred and three


She grunted out of frustration and stopped. She took a deep breath, and then began writing with more intensity.


In all my years of teaching, I’ve never met such spoiled little brats!


You’ve super glued me to my chair, ripped up homework and classwork that I had ready to pass out, put gum on the blackboard, and you’ve even eaten my lunch! I despise all of the students that I’ve ever taught. Well, maybe not all of them. Only a select few behaved. Each year, I would only have about four or five of those in each class. They were rare. But as for all those other pesky kids, I hate them all. They spoke during the middle of my lessons. They didn’t do their homework. They didn’t pay any attention to me at all. Many of them slept, not caring.


You delinquents make my job impossible!


I have a bad reputation. Those other damn teachers, telling me that I’m not a good enough. They tell me that I don’t put in enough effort to try to keep you pests under control. They tell me that I should quit! I put all my heart and soul into teaching! And you know what I get in return? A slap in the face!


You don’t care, none of you do!


Only those few cared… but now they’ve moved on in life. And this year, I only like one or two out of all my students in each of my classes. Their numbers keep decreasing! So this doesn’t apply to those students that I like.


You know what I’d like to imagine doing to all of you troublemakers? I’d like to imagine locking you all up in my basement. There wouldn’t be food or water for any of you to have in there.


I’d listen to all of you beg... just begging me to let you out! Telling me that you’re hungry or thirsty.


Daniel watched what Ms. Flora was writing. “Hey,” he whispered to Rufus, “look at what she’s writing.”

Rufus lifted his head up, half awake. He groaned. “But that’s so boring.”

“Trust me, it isn’t,” said Daniel while trying to sound convincing. He pointed at the blackboard. “Just look!”

“Okay, I guess…” Rufus watched what the teacher was writing.


I’d like to imagine tying your hands behind your back and blindfolding you all. I’d line you up. I would shoot you all down, one by one.


He frowned. “What? Why is she writing all this crazy stuff?”


I’d like to take you all to my home, and throw you into my fireplace. I’d enjoy listening to all of your screams of agony as you burn alive.


“Did we hurt her that bad?” asked Daniel.

“I don’t think so.”


I’d like to perform surgery on all of you, without any anesthesia.


And I’m no doctor!


“But, what we did to you was harmless!” said Rufus out loud to the teacher. “And you want to make us suffer in the worst way possible? And then, have us killed?”

Ms. Flora didn’t pay attention to what he told her, and kept on writing.


Do you know how hard it is having to deal with all of you? It’s a living nightmare! I dread every single day that I have to come into this classroom. Why should I allow you all to keep making my life miserable?


No, not this time.


She put down the chalk and searched her desk. She checked through all her papers and tools, throwing them on the floor. She tipped the desk over and pulled out the drawers, one by one. She dropped out everything that was in them and threw the drawers against the walls.

“Um… Ms. Flora, what are you doing?” asked Daniel.

She dug up the mess she made. Papers and tools went flying in all directions.

She picked up a gun that was in the pile. Shaking her head, she said, “This school has such lousy security.”

“W-Why do you have that?” asked Rufus

She laughed.

“Please, j-just put the gun down.” said Daniel.

Her laughter continued.

Rufus tugged on Daniel’s shirt and pointed at the door.

They both ran for it and tried to open it. It was locked. Ms. Flora stood there—for what seemed like hours to the both of them—facing the blackboard, while holding the gun in her hand.

“We’re sorry, Ms. Flora. We didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. We won’t do it again! Honest.” Daniel backed away to the back of the room slowly.

“P-please stop! If this is a prank to make us stop bothering you, then you win!” said Rufus.

She didn’t respond.

Rufus sat down on the table and held his head in despair.

"I'm sorry. I-I'm so sorry." Daniel repeated these words while he had his back against the wall, sliding down it.

More silence. Ms. Flora flipped the gun over and over. She observed all the words that she put on the blackboard. She heaved a sigh, and then picked up the chalk once more. She wrote:


You poor thing… suffering for all these years.


Look at you, you’re so pathetic.


You could never handle mischievous children, and you never will.


The pain just keeps growing, doesn’t it? It’s gotten to the point where you can’t take it anymore.


Don’t worry.


You won’t have to suffer anymore...


It'll all end.


She put the chalk down, and put the gun to her head. She gave Rufus and Daniel an odious grin, and pulled the trigger. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she dropped the gun. Her body landed on the floor with a loud thud.

They both stood up, mouths open. Petrification took over their bodies—they didn't make any noise. They couldn’t refrain from staring at the blood that poured out of Ms. Flora’s head.

Sorry, guys! This story was intended to have words italicized, in order to make the reading experience better. However, I didn't realize that they weren't showing. I managed to fix it now, though.

This was quite good. I tend to be put off more and more by all the carnage I read in many of the stories on this forum but in this case it worked for me. This is an excellent description of someone having a nervous breakdown. Frankly, I can't ever remember actually reading a description of a nervous breakdown in progress. I thought you handled it quite well.

My only criticism, and maybe it is unfair, is to say that the first arithmetic problems the teacher wrote on the board were too elementary for children capable of reading the words she was writing and being able to make sense of them. "Unfair" because, well, she was having a nervous breakdown and wasn't necessarily behaving in any logical manner ... so maybe I am wrong for pointing this out.

Nice job!

I liked this too. Well done and realistic. The inner process that led up to the outward violence showed considerable thought.