The Lesson

Sometimes Lucas would come into Charlottetown and pick me up on the weekend. Later that night we would go to a dance at the school. Lucas was my beau, although there wasn't much 'beauing' going on between us. But he had a car and he was smitten with me. And what girl doesn't like to be adored. One time I caught the eye of another fellow at the dance. He was tall and handsome and so charming. Melvin was his name. We danced. He drove me home. I'd forgotten all about Lucas. When I got into the house, I was met by mom and her stick. She thrashed me across the back of my legs. Dad had to take the stick off her. 'You come home with the boy that took you to the dance,' she screamed.

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The rain was black. Glistening asphalt like an engagement ring. Moon shattered in the puddles of shame, shards in the faces of pools. Motor oil slicks, cheap impressionistic cringes. Two dancers , Everest and Edna McGuire. The gentleman wore white. His lover wore red, glided across the parking lot. Glenn Miller was playing over the intercom that blasted out into the cafeteria after the events in Sandy Hook. Everest looked up to the heaven. Listen to those horns swing, he thought, without noticing that the sky was empty.
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Lip Gloss and Movie Making

(excerpt)
I have these awful thoughts. In the middle of the night. When I can’t get to sleep. Like a slide show. The planet. Devastated. Hardly a sign of life except for the odd building on the landscape. And the sky is a deep purple. Silver clouds drift by. And the land is black. Except for the ditches where water runs red. There are leafless trees on the horizon that look like crucifixes. And I’m the last person on the planet. Except for a mysterious dark stranger. We’re the Adam and Eve of the planet. And he’s a serial killer.

War

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War

 

(excerpt)
“You know why these boys are being punished,” Mr. Wickenhauser bellowed out his well rehearsed speech. As he spoke his Adams’ apple bobbed up and down in his throat. If he’d had a hanger he could of hung his jacket on it. His jaw was clenched like a prize fighter, his cheek bones shining, sweat dripping from his eyelids. As he babbled on for several minutes about good and evil, right and wrong, setting examples, David could hear the mocking mumblings of Marcus behind him. Then the great man took the black leather strap out of his trouser pocket and waved it threateningly at the three boys.
“Dunn!” he barked and turned on the small boy beside him.
Stepping forward, Brady whimpered, clutching his hands to his side, his head receding between his frail trembling shoulders. Mr. Wickenhauser reached for Brady but Dunn retreated to the blackboard, and began sobbing.
A couple of girls giggled nervously.
Mr. Wickenhauser turned on the class, spotting the girls.
They gasped.
“What’s your name?” he asked one of the girls.
“Mary Alice Deverell,” one of the girls said, her voice shaking.
“You want to take Mr. Dunn’s place, Mary Alice?”
The girl shook her head.
The tall menacingly handsome teacher grabbed one of Dunn’s hands, wrenched it from his side, and brought the strap down twice on Brady’s fist.
“Palms!” he cried.
Reluctantly Brady opened his hand. Lightning fast, the strap fell slapping the tips of Brady’s fingers. Brady fell to the floor weeping and crying, begging incoherently.
“Open your hands, Mr. Dunn,” the teacher growled once more, still holding onto Brady’s hand.
Brady opened his hand again. Three times the Gattling Gun strap fell on Brady’s palms punctuated by the most awful screams any boy could have produced. Mr. Wickenhauser called for the other hand. Brady had all but given up now, his hand awaiting each blow, like a steak on a butcher’s block.
Kim Levy, the great beauty of the classroom who had earlier been giggling, burst into tears and ran out of the class. Miss Ponick glared at Mr. Wickenhauser briefly then flew after Kim.
“Perhaps some of you think that all of this is amusing. How about you sir?”
“No sir,” Jimmy Higgins stammered.
“And you, Mr. O’Reilly!” the teacher turned his laser vision on Marcus.
Marcus shook his head.
Flannery was next. He stepped forward, his eyes red, a tattoo of tears down his cheek. As he put his hand out his lips began to quiver. He bit down on them. The pupils in his eyes enlarged, waiting.
WHACK!
Flannery fell to his knees in pain, biting down on his lips, trying to restrain the tears that seemed destined to burst out.
“Oh sir!” he whimpered, climbed back to his feet, rubbing his left hand on the leg of his trousers. Mr. Wickenhauser waited. Flannery put his right hand out. Except for Brady’s continual wheezing, the room was dead silent.
WHACK!
Flannery cried out, bending but not falling to his knees.
After the third round of swats, Flannery too began to howl.
“No more, sir!” Flannery pleaded, his face flush with tears.
David couldn’t look. Mr. Wickenhauser caught him. He glared down at the small red headed boy.
“You look away again son and you’ll be next.”
David forced himself to look. His mouth was dry, his throat aching. For a brief moment he thought he was going to vomit. He wished he was invisible so that no one could see the fear in his eyes.
Mr. Wickenhauser seemed to take an extra relish in presenting Cormier to the class. The good soldier, Mr. Wickenhauser described him. Cormier stood leaning to one side with a smirk on the opposite side of his face as if to balance himself.
“Mr. Cormier and I have had a lot of fun this morning, haven’t we sir? There has been a long history between the three of us, – Mr. Cormier, myself, and the strap. But this history is going to end today, isn’t it, Mr. Cormier?”
Cormier nodded still smirking.
Cormier hardly flinched during the first two rounds. Apparently five straps on each hand were not enough for young Cormier. On the third strap of round two, his left hand betrayed Cormier. He cried out. By the fifth strap, Cormier too was on his knees, biting back tears. Mr. Wickenhauser called for another round.
“Sir!” Cormier said pleadingly. It was the only word he would utter.

The Moron

The Moron. A free book which would be a bargain at half the price. Download it now.