The Teacher's Assistant

The Professor's Assistant

At least 6'4 he towered above the rows of old hickory desks. His presence had a sense of dominance, his figure absorbed the very room, making everything seem smaller and claustrophobic. If his abnormal height wasn't enough to distinguish him, he had dark eyes; so dark they looked almost black, but for a tint of green that seemed to shimmer off the corners when he looked your way. He held a large black briefcase in his left hand which was dropped on his desk. It fell with a "Thud!" that sounded like it was full of bricks.

Both his physical and mental stature carried superiority to everyone. Even the husky football players didn't appear so ruthless next to him. Never had Peter beheld a teacher who so quickly commanded the attention of a whole class and without uttering a single word.

He unlocked his briefcase; it sprung open with a satisfying "Click!" He didn't look down at it though, he simply stood there, looking on at the class. His lips curled into a soft smile; but deeper in his face you could see something else, a secret, perhaps? Whatever was in the briefcase seemed to reflect off of his narrow pale face. It cast a chill over the room as if a cloud had passed over the sun suddenly on a warm summer day.

Looking over the class one by one, his beady eyes penetrated each student briefly before he went on to the next. His gaze fell on Peter and he stopped.

Every second he looked at him Peter felt more uneasy. There was a feeling of anticipation, like something was about to spring into action at any moment. Peter held his breath. The room began to fade out. Only the teacher remained in clear sight. He felt his heart begin to beat wildly; each beat stronger than the next, pounding against his rib cage harder and harder until he thought it would fly out of his chest. His ears were ringing with the sound of blood pulsing through his temples. Then the teacher reached into his briefcase and his dark beady eyes lit up like a lava lamp into a soft green glow.

Everything vanished.

Peter woke up in a cold sweat and shot up from his sheets. He was gasping for air as if his dream had been so real he had really forgotten to breath. His heart was still racing. He looked around his room. Pale light was piercing through the curtains. It was wet and cloudy outside, he could hear rain pattering against the roof. He hated cloudy days, he hated rain. With a scowl on his face he got up and started down the stairs into the kitchen to search for food.

His smallest brother Timothy, who was seven years old came whirling by screaming at the top of his lungs. He was being chased by one of his older brothers despite their mother's shouts to stop. The noise stung his early morning ears

"Good morning!" Peter's mom took a step toward him and tried hiding the frustration in her face.

"Morning." He said gruffly his dry morning throat making him sound all the worse.

"Well you are pleasant in the morning!"

"I'd be a lot pleasanter if my alarm clock wasn't three boys stampeding through the house every day.

"Well what do you want me to do? Throw them outside in the middle of winter?"

"Yes, or put them in a school and stop trying to homeschool three wild animals."

There was a loud "Crash!" in the living room. It sounded like a head just hit the floor. Both Peter and his mom paused for a moment intently listening, waiting, praying there would be no crying children. After a brief moment of silence the action resumed and they were chasing each other again.

"How did you sleep Peter?"

"I had a weird drea...."

Peter was cut off. His youngest brother dove into his mother's legs grasping them like they were his only ticket to salvation, "Mom! mom! Tell Mark to stop! Tell him to stop!"