The Schizophrenic Teacher

'Sirs gay!'

'Ha ha yeah sir's a homo!'

'And pedo!'

The desk groaned and felt as though it were about to snap. They jeered and taunted.

'Quiet please...' I practically whimpered. Any other man would have been disgusted with themselves letting children bully them, but they didn't know what it was like.

'Aw look at the little baby'

I'd be picking out more splinters from my fingers tonight, at this rate I'd need another desk soon. My desk looked pretty much how I felt. A fractured, broken wreck.

'Silence', this time louder.

'Uh...NO!' The words ran like a wave around the class. They carried on defacing the school's property. If you'd walked in now you'd have thought that you'd walked into the local estate. Graffiti dominating the walls, and all sorts of repulsive things stuck to the ceilings. Another less fortunate window shattered as something, undoubtedly against school rules, went through it. Then for the first time in years I gained confidence. Sitting down I appear a small man but I stand at 6'1. So then I stood up.

I stood with such force that my chair flew back into the wall with a BANG! I saw several students jump and everyones necks snapped round to the sudden noise. All but one. One who had sat and watched me break. Seen me as wrestled with my insecurities. And now he smiled. My hand swung round to the side of my desk as I pulled my self round gaining speed much like an ancient catapult. Unfortunately there were fag boxes, and needles on the floor. Laid with such precision a ballerina would have had trouble getting through. I stood no chance.

I slipped and my arms flailed desperately for something to grab on to. My mouth opened wide to cry out but what was the point. The closest person who wasn't a child was Mrs Cushing next door, and she was probably next door cowering behind her desk much as I had been. My hand managed to catch the lip of a desk. I'd only fallen to my knees but that in itself was awful. A sign of weakness. Though there had been plenty of those.

They started laughing though. Like hyenas. Chattering at their prey. My hands came up to my head and clutched my temples. I was seeing double as their tarted up faces leered at me. My eyes darted around looking for something to fix on. And he was there again. Sucking on a cigarette. Everything was blurred, where the hell was my inhaler? My hand shivering as it searched down from my face to my shirt pocket, to my trouser pocket. Dammit I could barley control myself. I fell to the floor on my side and curled up in the fetal position. Their phones out now, with their little LED lights flashing. Looks like I'd be an Internet star now.

I finally found my inhaler and took two deep lungfuls of the chlorine, fluorine and oxygen goodness. I dragged myself up still gasping for air and a girl shoved her face in mine so I shoved away. Her balance obviously wasn't great as she went THWACK. I stood, shoulders forward, arms and fists tensed. I smiled and my eye twitched. I turned my head sideways and clicked my neck. Once, twice, thrice. Someone deep in my subconsciousness screamed NO! They're only children! I was definitely going to suffer from arthritis in old age as I cracked my knuckles, jaw and shoulders.

I stormed forward, and my brain registered something on his face. A frown. This was the first emotional response I'd ever had from him. Then years of anger came surging toward my heart, soul, and mind. Anger at my father who had sat and watched me cry, sat and watch me hurt. Anger at the teacher for doing the same. Anger at the boy who had graced my face with the presence of his fist, and my ears with his words. They all blinded me. The red burning tip of his cigarette said toro! toro! And like a bull I charged.

Blinking several times, I opened my eyes. Though I was more concerned with the sound. Silence That could only be bad. Next came to me that I was on my knees. Only now did I notice that blood ran out on the floor. It was a wonderful deep rich red. I wondered if the art department would want it. It'd be great for tears in portraits. A new media perhaps. I rose and noticed the ripples. Perfect they were. Then I saw the source of the blood.

Him...