Inertia

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.''