The 8th

“I said shut up!” I hissed. I pointed the gun at Mrs Price first. She fell backwards onto the floor. I couldn’t help but smile a little. All those years of her shouting the odds at us. All those years of her believing she was untouchable. It was nice to see her fall. I span the gun around to point at my classmates. Some of whom were cowering behind their hands, as though they had the power to stop a bullet should I choose to fire, whilst others were trying to get under their desks. The sadistic part of me was surprised no one tried to make a dash for me. No one tried to wrestle the gun away from me. No one tried to control the situation. I’m glad. I don’t want the sound of gunfire. Not yet. That would have ruined everything I have planned. The fact they’re all petrified. It should make controlling them that much easier…

1

It was weird seeing Mrs Price sitting in the front row, amongst the pupils who despised her so much. Not just because I was used to seeing her at the front of the class berating someone but…Her expression…Tears in her eyes, a pale complexion…Shaking…She’s shaking. I’ve never seen that before. Not from a woman who presents herself as being so domineering. Speaking of ‘domineering’ I had often heard Piers talking to his little gang, discussing whether Mrs Price would look good in skin-tight latex with a whip in her hand. The majority of the group said she would. Some of them even admitted to masturbating to the thought of her like that…One of the group said the bulge of her penis would ruin the overall look. Seeing her, sat here now…There’s nothing manly about her. There’s nothing domineering. She’s a nothing. Maybe I should get her to stand up and prove to Piers and his gang that she doesn’t have a cock hidden under her black pencil skirt. No. That’s not fair. This isn’t about belittling her despite what she puts us through on a day to day basis. At the end of the day she is just being strict to keep us in control. Outside of the school she’s probably a human. Deep down. Somewhere.

“What are you doing?” she asked in a meek voice. I have to confess, she surprised me. Most of the time there was a little masculinity in her voice but not now. Now she sounded like a scared little girl. Had you not seen who it was speaking you could have been forgiven for thinking it was one of the school’s many female pupils talking.

I didn’t answer her. Instead I reached across to her pile of folders, which she had placed on the desk when she first came into the room, and picked up the one labelled as ‘registration’. I flicked it open to the first page; a list of names of the boys and girls who should be sat in front of me for this lesson.

“When I call out your name,” I said, “please say here.” One by one I called out the various names from the list in front of me, not that I needed a list. I knew their names; my classmates. The people who had tormented me day in and day out for the past two years whether it was by name-calling or physical abuse. I won’t ever forget their names. And after today, people won’t forget my name either. Minutes later and the roll-call was done. No-one was absent for a change. Good. I’d have hated for them to miss this.

I put the folder down and cast my eyes around the class. It’s unfortunate some of them are here and have to witness this. In a class of twenty-five there are some who are like me. They don’t deserve to be here. They don’t deserve what’s coming. I don’t have a choice but to include them, though. If I let them go, they’ll no doubt inform someone what is happening in here. If I were in their shoes I know I’d go and get help if I was let out. My gaze fixed upon Rebecca Clarke who was sitting in the middle of the classroom, towards one of the walls. Rebecca was one of the louder girls in the class. She was more centered upon sleeping with as many of the boys as she could as opposed to soaking useful information. If the rumors are to be believed, and I have no reason to doubt them, she’s swallowed more cum than I’ve had hot meals. Of course she doesn’t struggle to attract the boy’s attention looking the way she does; long dark hair down to her petite waist and large breasts enhanced further by a tight-fitting school shirt. Unlike a lot of the other girls who chose to wear trousers, she always opted for the skirt. She even took the time, in lunch-breaks, to roll it up a little to show off more leg. Sometimes she rolls it up so much you can’t help but think of it as nothing more than a belt. Pregnant by eighteen, I reckon.