The Library - Fourth Story

“Ok, class, remember what we talked about, everybody must stay together now, we’re going to visit the archeological dig, you can take pictures for your scrapbook but always stay on the path,” Mr. Deerfield raised his voice above the unruly group who moved around him, agitated, like a tiny Lilliputian army.

‘Breathe, man,’ he told himself, already baking in the unforgiving desert sun. ‘Just breathe. We’re all going to be fine. All you need to do today is bring all the kiddos back home in one piece. She’s crazy, and she’s going to end us all one day,’ he directed a sharp arrow of bitterness in the school principal’s direction, the daring spirit who saw fit, in her infinite wisdom, to send him to this devil’s armpit with eighteen nine-year-olds in tow to gawk at rocks.

“Jack, are you listening?” he raised his voice a bit more to impress on the habitually hyperactive youngster the importance of paying attention to his words. 

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