Evil Alien Scum
With his backpack in his hands, eyes locked on the floor, Zachary walked up his driveway to where his mother was watching him get off the bus. She could tell from afar something was wrong. The way Zach was walking in a ditzy manner, sort of like a drunk and the fact he was walking so slowly towards her. He usually ran off the bus, bouncing around like a tempest.
Zach was in the first grade with an overactive imagination and still very timid of the big school environment. He was afraid of the teachers the most. He saw them as ugly Martian monsters. Though he did not know what they were exactly, he had seen enough of them on TV to know they could not be good. He was afraid that at any second they were going to pull out a laser gun and blast him into a pile of ashes, especially if he did something wrong.
After a few days of school, he had learned a good way to trick those lousy scumbags. All he had to do was do what they said and he got a smile and a sucker—he still doubted whether or not the sucker was poisoned. During the first week of class, he learned three important things that made Mrs. Ears mad the most (pronounced like airs, weird I know but what can you do).
First, she hated tattletales. The worst thing you could do was tell on somebody else. Trevor McGregor had made the mistake of tattling on the second day and he had paid the consequences dearly. Right before recess, Mrs. Ears walked to the closet behind her desk and pulled out the tattletale. It was a long white rope with a resizable loop. If you were a tattletale, you might as well wear your tale, she had said.
Second was tidiness. Everything had its proper place inside of the desk. Every paper was to be properly organized in its color-coded folder and every pencil in its designated pouch, color pencils in one and regular pencils in another—strictly forbidden of course, the mechanical pencil. Nobody had gotten in trouble for having an unorganized desk yet and Zach feared the consequence for that offense. Maybe she’ll make you carry your stuff with you everywhere, he thought.
However, the greatest and ill of offenses was one that Zach paid the most attention to. DO NOT WRITE IN YOUR BOOK. Mrs. Ears said it repeatedly until it lay embedded into his mind. He slept thinking about not writing in the book. Mind control is how she done it, at least that’s what Zach thought. Whenever he had a book out on his desk, he made sure his pencil was nowhere near it. If possible, he kept it in his desk while the book was out. If telling on somebody resulting in embarrassment, and untidiness resulted in—well he didn’t know but he knew it had to be bad, then the act of writing in school property must get him a hundred years in prison. Worse, maybe she would take him to her leaders and have them probe him. That very thought made him shiver.
And today, he had done the unthinkable. On his way home from school on the bouncy, boring, dizzying bus he soiled his book. The smell of a fifth grader cucumber melon cream, the passing of a dead skunk and to make it worse, the smell of a cow field, all mixed together and punched his stomach with a ninjas fury. The small dizzy spell he got was nothing compared to the sensation before his dam broke. He could feel the vomit coming up to his mouth and caught it once. He swallowed it back down but was hit again with another wave soon after. There went lunch.
Not many of the other kids had said much to him about it. There wasn’t to many kids left on the bus to get on to him though. The one thing that they all seemed to care about was the smell. Apparently his vomit was smellier that then smell of the skunk, cow manure and surprisingly enough, the cucumber melon lotion. Zach didn’t see what the big deal was about the smell. He wanted to scream at them, “Get over it, it’s just a smell. Look what I did to the book.” However, when he tried talking, he could feel his stomach turning over another beat. Instead, he just waited until he got home and walked off the bus with his backpack in his hands, eyes locked on the floor.
Halfway up his driveway, his mother starting walking towards him, obviously cluing into the fact something was wrong with him. His eyes started to water and followed milliseconds behind by the burst of another damn, this time the one behind the eyes. Streams of tears flowed from his eyes and ran down his face.
“Honey what’s wrong?”
“Mommy, the Martian teacher is going to kill me.”
“What? Why? What did you do hun?”
“I threw up on the book.”
“Is that all? She is not going to kill you for that silly, there is no harm done. We will simply buy the book from the school and they will get a new one.”
“You sure?”
“Of course I am sure; I did the same thing when I was your age.”
“That doesn’t count. Your teachers weren’t evil alien scum.”
[social]
