Inside, within the empty glare of her class room, her private domain, her pudgy digits weighed the elegance of the polished pointer. It was a balanced weapon, about two and a half feet long, slender, smooth, like a long straight slimmed-down pool cue with a yellow plastic bullet screwed into the tip.
Her preference though, was for the long thick yardstick, it's 'whoosh' cut through the chalk dust air landing a wonderful slam, as it's flat side smacked down onto the hollow of a desk. The effect was exquisite, highlighting the glint of her eye. It almost took her own breath away.
She had a small lumpy compact physique, even in her pumps and curly short permed hair, tinted to match her gold rimmed glasses; face, puffed with swollen cheeks, rouged with veins beneath the powder, which caused her eyes to be squeezed behind the glass held in place within the frames. Her strut, deliberate, tight and restricted was kept in tidy check, her tweed skirt matching the restricting top jacket. Her attire chosen by design to keep her awake and upright through her long and dreary day.
Time was so slow. It seemed her life and girlish hey-day had long since passed her by. "It just was not fair!"
There was only one thing that kept things interesting, -the realm of her power amongst the heathen, these little brats sent to be kept in line by parents who chose not to do it themselves.
Outside, the bell sounded in the grey school yard of slush, in February dawn. The minions of little ski jacketed monsters with their overstuffed bags of baloney or egg sandwiches all formed into their lines in front of the flag pole and the furrowed brow of Mr.-, his wisps of remaining hair on the sides of his shiny top catching the breeze, his adams apple squeezed above the tartan tie of his clan, his lips in perma-pout accentuated by his morning five o'clock shadow, his bulging eagle eye zeroed in on his arch nemesis, at the end of line 3, sporting the black biker boots with taps, shiny leather jacket with studs, and slick greased back hair.
Broiling rage welled within Mr.-, as his neck angled outward over his collar, his polished shoes splashed their way down one line and up that of the other almost daring a giggle to affront his authority -anything would do, he was ready.
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