• The teacher droned on, her speech so repetitive that it lost all meaning ages ago. I looked around at the students, their faces showing various stages of agony and boredom.
    The classroom décor was grey and bleak; it matched the teacher’s personality brilliantly. Even the windows, which would have otherwise provided mental escape from speeches like this, were covered by long slate curtains. Its times like these that I actually wonder if the classroom was designed for this kind of sick sad sadistic torture in mind.
    Students whispered vicious rumors about “the old hag” teaching this class. I could not blame them. She was a short plump, grey haired lady that time had not treated well on the way past. Her face was lined with wrinkles showing evidence of her life; no matter how hard I looked I could find no trace of laughter lines.
    The teacher, who was oblivious to the comments that questioned everything from her parentage to her sexual preferences, continued the lesson in the same droning tone that blended the words together and drove people to sleep. Her speech went on and on as if she found the sound of her own voice vastly amusing.
    “Now turn to page thirty two and answer the questions about what we have just discussed” the teacher announced, finally realizing that nobody was listening. The collective groans from the students were deafening for a second before they realized that the answers were in the back of the book. They soon got to work.
    Studious faces surrounded me, all waiting for the chance to flip to the back of the book to have a peek at the coveted answers. Whereas the teacher was constantly vigilant, making sure that all of the students was doing their work “the proper way”.
    One of my more daring classmates ignored the withering gaze of the ever alert teacher and flung their book open to the last page.
    “And what do you think you’re doing?” the teacher asked full of self impromptu.
    “Just checking my answers miss.” He smoothly lied
    “Let me have a look then.” as she said this face visibly paled.
    “Oh wow you’ve done…. None.” Sarcasm was laden in her voice.
    “Detention.” she said barbarously. The trouble making student soon absquatulated the classroom.
    The class soon learnt by example and stubbornly ignored the temptation to turn to the answers. Instead we stared at the clock waiting for the anguish to end.
    The clock slowed down to a crawl. “This will be a long ten minutes”. I thought to myself miserably. The class dragged on, each second seeming like an age, each minute like eternity. Salvation was in the form of the bell signaling the end of the torment known as class and the beginning of lunch. I was picked up and put in a dark cave like contraption, never to return again till next class. My life stinks but someone has to be a pencil case.