Friday, May 30, 2014

Zero-Tolerance Dark Thirty

Mrs. Higgens, Ms. Tremblay, and Mr. Polksy tried to suppress their heavy breathing. Their bowels moved with the furiously of a tsunami. How could they gain control over the situation, if they couldn’t even control their own bodily functions?
Principal Hutchens arrived at the scene. He quickly took up position beside the entrance to the cafeteria, alongside Mrs. Higgens, Ms. Tremblay, and Mr. Polksy. “What’s the situation?” he gravely inquired.
“One perpetrator. Armed. Several hostages,” huffed Mr. Polksy.
“Be precise, damn it!” demanded the principal, “How many hostages are we talkin’?”
“The entire third and fourth-grade class,” Ms. Tremblay said while fighting back a sob.
“What’s he armed with?” the principal became irritated over the swift, unproductive responses.
“A… A handgun,” Mrs. Higgens managed to stutter. He body lurched forward as she let out a sob.
“But what kind, Mrs. Higgens!”
“I don’t know,” she cried.
The principal smacked her across the face. It looked like she’d been painted red as she reeled back in disbelief.
“Have all our drills been for naught? Can any one of you imbeciles at least tell me what he’s packing in the magazine?” The principal’s face was nearly purple, like a pink Easter egg that got a little purple on it by accident because someone wasn’t paying attention! Now we have to paint the eggs all over again, thanks to that someone! Anyway…
Mr. Polksy nervously leaned toward Principal Hutchens. “He’s packing major heat, sir. You might not want to hear this, but it’s… peanut butter and jelly.”
“Oh, Lord. This makes the Pop Tart handgun incident look like a pastrywalk.” The principal wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. All of a sudden, an idea hit him like a ton of shrimp. He quickly devised a plan. Gathering everyone close, he carefully went over the strategy that’d take this mad kid down.

“Now!” shouted the principal.
The squadron of teachers burst through the cafeteria entrance like rhinoceroses through a cafeteria entrance. Mr. Polksy took lead and grabbed a nearby chair. Little Susie fell to the ground—having so recently been thrown off a chair—and let out a painful cry. Mr. Polksy paid no mind, knowing that if this plan was successfully executed, she’d be thanking him for saving her and her classmates. When he got close enough to the perpetrator, a young Billy Preston, he launched the chair at his head as if he were an Olympic shot-putter. The back leg of the chair tore through Billy’s temple as he came crashing to the ground in a flurry of tears and child blood.
The cafeteria fell still. Mrs. Higgens, Ms. Tremblay, and Principal Hutchens threw up their hands in disbelief. They cheered, knowing well that it was no longer necessary for them to follow through with their part of the plan
Mr. Polksy dove on the peanut-butter-and-jelly-shaped handgun and bit off a bit of the barrel. He hell what remained above his head in triumph. "Look kids! It's no longer a handgun! It's kind of like a boomerang or the corner of a square! Nothing to fear!"
In the end, young Billy Preston was sentence to a 2-days suspension, and Mr. Polksy was fired for having interacted with a kid in an nonacademic way.
If you're confused, I based this little tidbit off of this news story: 

P.S. I apologize for my absencea nd this half-assed post. Aside from staying late and attempting to cover ground after a system failure at work, I've been putting more time into my WIP. I will continue to read your blogs, though, and I apologize again if I haven't had a chance to read any of your posts recently. I'll get on that once a free-up on time.