Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task 2 - Massacre (NN)

Doors: the equivalent of uncertainty. For years upon years, centuries, these peculiar things have existed. But they are only peculiar when one really thinks about it. Who had come up with such a thing that blocked one's view from another? Had to been simply to hide someone away, or to keep someone out? No matter, Naomi couldn't bring herself to care about such a normal aspect of everyday life. Sure, she appreciated being able to tune out Radley's poetic droning from across the hall with just the flick of a wrist, and she was grateful for being able to close herself in when going to the little ladies room. But she was so used to them that she saw it not as a privilege, but as routine.

Still, again her fascination with studying such things had kicked in. How was it her classroom door hadn't rotted from all the dirty looks her students gave it, how hadn't it crumbled under their gazes by this point? Did they not have the power to decompose it by touch alone? You could've fooled Naomi, for each of her students were staring at the white board behind her, and if she hadn't known any better she'd have thought they'd all died and come back as zombies. The dark circles under their eyes certainly led her to believe such a thing was true. Poor things. I still think whoever came up with sending children to school before the sun comes up was an idiot. How are they supposed to focus on five hours of sleep?

Sighing, she stepped away from the board, thankful for the new set of heels hugging her feet. She'd nearly tripped and fell flat on her face about twenty bazillion times, but she was content. Especially having no grass between her toes. Not mowing day, I am all set and ready to go. She spun, tossing her dry-erase marker at the board like a dart. When it struck a letter 'o' in the center, she cheered, giving a high-five to the student closest to her. Caster returned it with enthusiasm. "Bulls-eye!" she called, winking at the audience of students.   

The dumb looks on their faces showed that she'd failed in waking them up. She didn't try to hide the look of defeat that passed over her. Splaying her arms, she squinted, giving them a look as though they were completely different people entirely. "C'mon guys! I really don't want to have to bring my zombie apocalypse team in here. And believe me, they will kick your asses if you don't stop acting so dead."

A few chuckles broke through the group, but they were forced.

Naomi placed her hands on her hips. She was determined to make these kids pay attention, and if she had to use the most clever of her tactics to do so, she would damn well do it. "Okay, listen here, porkchops," she said, lowering her voice, "If you can't recite to me the differences between classical and operant conditioning in perfect detail the second you step into class tomorrow, I will not hesitate to call up my second in command Daryl Dixon to come and dispose of you all, because you are all obviously dead."

When the students still made no move, Naomi let a smirk creep onto her face. "I'll add in Lady Gaga."

At that, the room exploded into action, each student - excluding Briar in the corner - scrambling for their notes and scanning the papers with hungry eyes. Satisfied, Naomi let them all scratch down what she'd scribbled on the board, returning to her desk. A thermos found its way to her mouth. I'd say I deserve this. A reward for being the best teacher there ever was. She smirked as she sipped up coffee.

The bell resonated through the class, and all the students that had just pulled out their papers were forced to stay after to shove them right back in their bags. I'm also probably the cruelest, but hey, what can a teacher do?

Two minutes later, only one student remained: a girl by the name of Dabin, head nestled in the crook of her arm. The girl had done this more than once; missed the bell in favor of sleep. Honestly, Naomi would've preferred it to class too, but a job was a job, and Dabin needed to do hers just as much as Naomi needed to do her own. So, reluctantly abandoning her coffee on a desk, she made her way to the child. Her nails lightly drummed the desk, and Dabin slowly peeked from her sweatshirt. The glare she cast Naomi's way didn't faze the woman - she'd been through far worse.