Unhinged

"When it starts," Phil said (thick, freckled fists clenched) "You join in. Got it?"

Riley, a scrap of a boy next to his mountainous classmate, gulped and nodded. It was hard to believe they were both fifteen. Phil sloped to the back of the line.

Whispers had been circulating that something was going to happen in Ms. Garnett's woodworking class. Exactly what was unclear.

She appeared in the doorway in her leather apron, hands on hips, a determined set to her face. She was a tiny woman, but tough. Many of her classes were all boys, and oversubscribed. She ruled them with an iron fist. Her flashing green eyes tolerated no nonsense. Her red hair had been escaping from her bun all day as if it were a live thing, Medusa's snakes uncoiling in a ginger halo of stress.

Ms. Garnett let them pass into the room singly, or in pairs, only when they were neat and orderly. Several gave an appreciative sniff. It smelled the way all woodworking classes do: mostly of woodshavings, a hint of oil and glue and hot metal.

"This is practical time you're wasting," she said when the noise level rose. "I don't want to see a lot of wandering about and chatting. Stay at your workstations!"

Near the end of the lesson, Phil nudged his bench partner, Jay, who nodded at Ruben and winked at Ollie.

Jay asked Ms. Garnett for help. Handsome and charming, teachers rarely refused him.

Ruben yelped and clutched his hand to his chest. The teaching assistant went pale. A hapless, accident-prone boy, she was ready to believe he had a real injury. She escorted him to Medical.

Ollie scrambled up the shelving at the back of the room and knocked the camera askew. Ms. Garnett turned to shout at Ollie, and Phil gave her an almighty shove. Every adolescent hand dipped into the box of wicked looking metal files.

It went on along time. Human bodies are pulpy and squashy, but also resilient.

The handmade wooden sign above her desk that said WELCOME TO MS. GARNETT'S CLASS was spattered with red.

The boys didn't wait for the bell. Riley let the stained and slippery file clatter to the floor, then he ran, too.

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Word count: 366

(NB. This excludes the title, subtitle, and author's note.)

Submitted on Thursday 3rd October at 23:05

A Year of Stories: I'm writing (and submitting, here) a story every day this year. This continues my 277 daily microfiction story streak since 1st January.

ONLY EIGHTY-NINE DAYS TO GO!

Please consider lending your support to the other creators on this madcap "a story every day" adventure. They're putting out excellent content every day!

Rachel Deeming

Gerard DiLeo

Thank you

Especially if you are one of the wonderful people who has been staunchly reading these daily scribbles since the start of the year. I see you, and appreciate you very much indeed!

Thank you to those who leave feedback/comments. I'm going to be slower to respond to each one and reciprocate the reads, as life gets in the way... but I'll catch up in a week or two.

If you enjoyed this one, the very best compliment you can give me is to share it, or read another!

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Thank you again!