The sun bore down
with all its might, burning the nape of his neck. It was sticky with sweat - too bad, he thought, ruefully. He had
scrubbed it clean in the wee hours of the morning, and now, the collar of his
shirt was plastered against it. The rest of his body was doing the same, the
object clinging to its covering rather than the other way around.
The sheep scrambled
placidly behind him, following the crook of his staff willingly enough, but
with a certain amount of excited recklessness. He gazed at them fondly, bumping
them along their path. Sometimes, they were rewarded with a pat on the head, or
a kind word. He loved them all so much; they were silly creatures indeed, but
they were innocent, and open to learning, and he adored them for that. Blessed,
impressionable creatures! He could never surrender them to the butcher's knife!
For he now knew what
that was like. The butcher's knife hung above his head, quivering in mid-air,
with the menacing ability to guillotine him whenever he least expected. He
imagined himself crying out, giving a final, weak bleat of fright, before the
sharp silver sliced through his neck, and it was all over. But that was the
worst part : imagining, never knowing.
'Take a step at a
time. You've been very, very brave.' The words floated in red capital letters
in his head, and he wanted to savagely rip them off. Goddamnit, was there no
end to this pretentiousness, this farce?
He knew the truth - it would eat him out from the inside. Like mould inside a
warm loaf of bread. Rotting, disintegrating, clawing its way out...
The thought made him
suddenly, absurdly hungry. He stopped, and opened his lunch satchel. As there
was no greenery around, he broke his cheese sandwiches into bits, passing them
around his flock. They stood around, munching peacefully, occasionally turning
large, dewy eyes up to plead for another bite. He relented, of course, he could
never find it in his hear to refuse them. They
belong with me, he thought desperately, watching as a large ram frolicked
behind a coy ewe, bounding eagerly after her. They are mine, and I am theirs, and they cannot leave me. They must
learn, partake in my freedom!
Meal finished, he
led the way, for there were but a few miles remaining of their journey. He let
himself be preoccupied with his flock - giggling, playing absurd games with
them, and singing to them when they were fatigued. His voice rose, a sweet,
clear echo amidst the hills. They curled up against him when he did this,
butting his side gently, loving him unconditionally, like children will love
their parents.
He was chatting
mindlessly to them, when his head rose, and he suddenly realized that they'd
arrived. Finally. His tongue slipped out of his mouth, and he licked his
cracked lips relentlessly, pondering over his decision. Should he? Should he
not? It was, after all, something to be considered over and over and over...A
movement caught his eye, and he turned to see a rather disgruntled old man,
growling. 'Move on, will ya?!'
He beamed. His
decision was made. 'Yes, sir, I most definitely will!' With that, he jumped
into the pit, calling out to his flock. They followed him readily, and he flung
his arms around them, never letting go when they began struggling, when the old
man's roars echoed in his ears, not even as he felt the ground tremble beneath
him.
A rush of wind,
sonic screams, a brief moment of searing pain, and then he was laughing, he was
gone, gone, gone...
*
The train screeched,
and shuddered to a halt. The man opposite the woman barely noticed, concentrating
on making sure that his runny sunny-side up breakfast did not run off his plate. His effort, however, was for naught, as the
woman put her newspaper copy down with a sigh huge enough to startle him. The
plate dropped to the ground.
'Oh, sorry,' she
said distractedly. The man glared at her and bent to clear the mess. She sighed
again. 'Did you hear about the accident?' The man glanced at the paper, and
nodded. 'Yeah, I read about that. They say that he was diagnosed with leukaemia
- it was the triggering factor.' 'Horrible,' the woman whispered, shivering
delicately.
The train began to sway
slowly again. On the floor, a page turned. The headline read bold, loud and
true. ''MENTAL MENTOR: TEACHER KILLS CHILDREN AND HIMSELF, JUMPS IN FRONT OF
ONCOMING TRAIN.''
