By Bethan
“I can’t stay after class. I didn’t do anything, Mr. Becker.”
True, but he wanted to punish Tom. For his dim, expressionless eyes. His ugly clothes. The way he smelled like cold dirt.
His strangeness.
“Sit, Tom.”
The boy sat, watching the school day disappear.
At three forty-five, the power went out.
At four, there was groaning and the stink of turned earth in the hall.
At four ten, there were dirty fingers clawing the door and two ravaged faces at the window with dim, expressionless eyes. Tom turned to Mr. Becker apologetically.
“I didn’t tell my parents I’d be late.”
Clever! And witty.
There seems to be many layers to this story regarding Tom and his family: were they zombies, dirt farmers, or just poor, homeless people. Interesting concept.
Good one. Reminds me of 2nd grade, eons ago, when the teacher kept me after school and accused me of lying when I had not. I knew my mother would be worried.
Serves mean Mr Becker right! Nice imagery in your story.