The School Project

[Man_with_a_killer's_mind]

WARNING: THIS STORY IS FICTIONAL!!! PLEASE DO NOT TAKE IT SERIOUSLY!

“Alright class, settle down!” The old teacher screamed from behind her aluminum and faux wood desk.

“I’m not dealing with you kids today. I want you to copy fifty pages out of the Webster dictionary as your punishment, and I want it by tomorrow after recess.”

Gasps filled the air as the children of Mrs. Hollow’s fifth grade class realized their fate. They would be forced to copy out of the dictionary, which would take most of their T.V. time to accomplish. The children hated that, and some spoke out against it.

“Mrs. Hollow,” one male child screamed from the back of the class. “you can’t make us do anything. You’re just an old hag, what can you do?”

Mrs. Hollow was appalled by the boy’s horrible attitude. However, because she always believed in turning the other cheek, she simply kept silent as the entire class began mocking her. They’ll get their day, she thought.

The school bell rang, signaling the end of the day just as the children had begun to quiet down. They all slipped on their colorful jackets, grabbed their character lunch pales and book bags, and headed out the door. Mrs. Hollow had grown unable to escort the children out of the school. She was afraid of the children’s parents. If the children were bad, how bad could the parents be?

###

Chris arrived home with his parents at around 3:45 PM, which was a quite a bit later than usual. They had stopped to buy dinner at the local taco joint and he found that to be the perfect opportunity to ask his parents for supplies for his latest school project.

“We’re making homemade rope.” He had said in a sweet voice. “I need about twenty feet of twine.”

His parents seemed uninterested as they conducted their constant business calls. They simply nodded and said they had the twine in the garage. As the family turned into the driveway of their single-family suburban home, Chris thought about the elaborate plan he and his fellow classmates had devised concerning their teacher.

“Hey Chris,” His father yelled from the driver’s seat. “the twine’s in the garage in that bin where we keep the Christmas decorations.”

Chris jumped out of the black SUV and ran to the garage. It had always been a chore for him to open the garage door, but today he was so full of energy that it seemed like he was lifting a feather. The garage was in disarray, as it usually was, but he was able to find his way through the jungle of wires, boxes, and old magazines. There, along the back wall, was the box labeled “Christmas décor.” He lifted the top and set it aside as he dug through the meaningless items. A few glass ornaments, some tinsel, and some crappy garland were all that were left. His family never celebrated an actual Christmas anymore. They barely remembered presents, usually giving him some cash from their pockets to tide him over until his birthday, which they also forgot more than once. They were just too busy with their own lives to worry about such trivial things, and it killed him inside.

He finally found the twine among the garbage in the box and stuffed it into his pants pocket, while placing the lid back on the box. Hopefully the plan would work, otherwise there would be hell to pay.

The next day, in Mrs. Hollow’s class, recess was about the start.

“Alright kids, your dictionary assignment is due after recess. If you don’t have it, I suggest you do it now!”

Just as Mrs. Hollow finished her sentence, the recess bell rang. The class full of snotty rich kids ran out into the warm spring day to put their plan into action. Huddled around a large tree toward the back of the playground, Chris and his classmates presented their supplies. Everyone had brought twenty feet of twine and Chris had brought his backpack out with him.

“Alright,” Chris started. “let’s get this rope made before recess ends.”

Just as the bell rang for the end of recess, the kids finished creating the twenty-foot-long rope. Chris stuffed the creation into his backpack and calmly walked back to Mrs. Hollow’s class. He had always hated her; not only was she poorer than anyone he had ever met, but she was stern and demanding as well. None of the children liked her at all, and they let her know it. But today was the last straw. What’s one less teacher anyway?

The children were settling into their desks when a tiny girl from the group shyly raised her hand.

“Yes Ms. Demetria?”

“May I get a tissue?” Asked the girl, in the sweetest voice she could muster.

“Of course you may. And thank you for being so polite.” Mrs. Hollow pointed at the rest of the class. “If only the rest of you could be as nice as Ms. Demetria here.”

The girl, whom the rest of the class knew as Susan, walked to the corner of the class room where the tissue box sat along with a large stone paperweight. While Mrs. Hollow was turned, sorting some papers she had produced from a small folder, Susan grabbed the heavy paperweight with two hands and walked behind Mrs. Hollow’s desk, toward the garbage can. Just as she passed the desk, Susan lifted the stone above her head and brought it down on the cranium of Mrs. Hollow. Blood spattered onto her uniform as Mrs. Hollow fell forward onto her desk, dying her papers a dark red.

Chris quickly reached in his backpack and grabbed the rope the class had just made. He tied it into a noose as he had read in a book once and threw the other end around a light fixture hanging from the ceiling. He tossed the untied end to another classmate as he lifted the teacher’s head by her hair and slipped the noose around her neck. Mrs. Hollow’s eyes were moving, and they began welling up with tears. Could she still be alive, he thought? His mind reassured him that the next step would solve that.

He formed a line of classmates from strongest to weakest to pull on the rope, himself being in the back.

“Pull!” He yelled.

The kids began pulling the rope as hard as they could, lifting Mrs. Hollow into the air by her neck. Chris could hear her struggling to breathe, which soon turned into liquid coughs, then nothing. Finally, he heard the snap of her neck as she hung suspended in the air. She was dead, he was absolutely sure of that. They let go of the rope and watched as the limp body fell to the floor, making a loud thud.

Frantic footsteps could be heard in the hall outside, as the children struggled to make themselves cry and appear to be in a state of panic. The door swung open and the principle stood in the doorway, staring at the horrible scene.

“Oh my God!” He yelled, covering his face with his shaking hands. “She committed suicide.”

Chris smiled within himself, proud of the elaborate plan they had produced.

###

Chris felt a bit guilty as he was herded out of the classroom, the police filing in and covering the doorway with crime scene tape. They quickly realized that Mrs. Hallow had not hung herself; they saw how her head had been bashed in by a blunt object. Chris decided that maybe the plan wasn’t foolproof after all. The police put the school into lockdown and began shouting commands left and right. In no time at all, Chris and the other children, as well as most of the teachers who came running to the scene had found themselves locked in the gymnasium of the huge school. As he waited to be interrogated, he again felt no remorse for his actions; he even decided to tell the truth to the detectives. He didn’t care the least bit what happened to him. He would be away from his unloving parents, and besides, what’s one less teacher anyway?

Creepy, huh? This was one of my earlier stories. Please leave feedback!!!

[Homicidalheathen]

Yes its creepy.

I kinda do but don't like how you mention the unraveling of the fabric of the all american family as a lead in to why this boy is so down hearted...which is an understatement.

I also like how you mention the teacher is poor, and the (obviously well off kids) don't like her for that.....as if social status is enough of a reason to bully and maime.

But yah its pretty gross and wierd....I would want to see the story in total...what leads up to this......and where it goes. Definatly.