Varying Perspectives
My brother and I wrote flash fiction with the same prompt, the results are kind of depressing...
I’m not the author of this first story. My eleven-year-old brother is, but I helped him. There was a short-story writing competition with the prompt Start your story with the sentence The bell rang, but no one left the classroom, make it around 200 words, and this was his entry. I think he shows promise… (my version comes later)
Class Not Dismissed
The bell rang, but no one left the classroom. The students all stood up to go, but their teacher quickly moved to block the door.
“It’s time for recess!” “Class is over!” they protested.
“The bell doesn’t dismiss you, I do,” Said Ms. Clark. Her savage grin stretched from ear to ear, her teeth gleaming in the fluorescent lighting.
As she taught quadratics, writing obscure problems in dripping black ink, Jimmy could’ve sworn he saw a fang poking out of her mouth. As she divided exponents, horns began to sprout from her graying hair. Her hands started to shrivel, fingers stretching into long, clawed monstrosities.
“This is a fifth grade math class. We haven’t learned this yet,” said Jimmy, his voice shaking.
“I’m the teacher! I decide what you learn,” she hissed, her forked tongue flickering in and out of her mouth. With that, she chucked the pencil sharpener, which narrowly missed him, leaving a dent in the wall. She lunged forward and made a wild grab at his throat. He fell back, fearing that the end was near. As his chair hit the ground, everything went black.
Jimmy woke up to the ring of the bell, breathing a sigh of relief. It was only a nightmare. Everyone stood up to leave.
“Wait!” called their teacher, an unsettling smile parting her lips. “The bell doesn’t dismiss you, I do.”
THE END
Here’s my personal version…
The Bell
The bell rang, but no one left the classroom. They weren’t inside the classroom—they had graduated ten years ago.
Amy wasn’t tapping her pen impatiently on her desk, she was brewing her third coffee in the break room of her corporate job. John wasn’t throwing erasers at his friends, he was working the day shift at McDonald’s. Emily wasn’t daydreaming by the window, she was changing a diaper with a screaming toddler clutching her skirt.
The classroom was empty. Class pictures were plastered over the walls, student achievements and favorite teachers posters joining the mess of modge-podged memories. Other classrooms were in use, but this one had been abandoned for over ten years now.
The ring of the bell used to send a stampede of eager children rushing toward the door. Today nothing moved but the dust floating in the sunlight that leaked through the cracks of the boarded-up window.
The bell used to signify freedom. It used to make students smile. Now the bell rang as loud as ever, but no one left the classroom.
THE END
In conclusion…
I used to write more like my brother. Helping him with this youthful not utterly depressing piece was quite fun. My version took a very different path as we are in very different stages of life.
It paints sort of an interesting picture of what happens to colorful creative minds once they age a little bit. Loud (slightly violent) pieces shift into quiet ones that leave you feeling sad inside. Both are special in their own respect.