Part Thirteen: Kids these Days

Then, one frozen midwinter morning, the aftermath finally made itself known. As the headmaster made his customary early-morning walk amongst the river of boys struggling down the corridors, he heard a small voice from the vague direction of his knees. “Who are you?” said a small, puzzled-looking boy who was staring up at him. “The most important man in this school,” said the head, rather amused by this interjection. The boy definitely wasn’t new, but he was probably a skiver who never went to lessons long enough to know any teachers. “Why do you ask?” “You don’t look very important!” said the boy, obviously unimpressed. “You’re far too old!” The head was in a jovial mood, so he gamely ignored this comment. “Are you deaf as well?” asked the boy impatiently. Again, the head pretended not to hear. “I hope they’re not all as deaf and boring as you,” said the boy. “I don’t like you.” The head was not a patient man at the best of times, but now he was more than a little furious. In one enormous sweep, he brought his hand down to the side of the boy’s head with the trademark sound that accompanied it... ...crash! That didn’t sound good. The head reeled around to find that it wasn’t good at all. There was a rather large hole in the wall where there quite blatantly hadn’t been before, with a rather confused boy on the other side of it who had quite blatantly not expected to be there. Still, the head thought, at least he was alive... He was alive? That was impossible! No-one could survive a blow that powerful. He looked at his own hand. No-one could deliver a blow that powerful. Something wasn’t right. Leaving the bemused boy to clean himself up and try to explain what had happened to the other teachers; he set off towards the car park.