Teachers nail screech an erie warning as they slowly rake across the worn chalk board, a gravelly nicotine voice croaks out, “Is that your answer?”
While blurry eyes of innocence stare at the white squiggly lines, quickly calculating the odds of correctness.
An apathetic hair twisting grip to the occipital, warns of imminent cranial contact against an immovable object.
Soon salty tears of despair pour and trickle past quivering lips.
A chalky dust rises, smothering nostrils with the choking scent of failure, informing the student ... eight plus seven is not fourteen.
This is how I and my grade one classmates learned how to do math. Lined up in front of the chalkboard with mathematical equations placed in front of you. The teacher would slowly walk behind us. If you suddenly found your forehead smashing into the board, your answer was incorrect. I still shiver when I smell the scent of chalk.
About the Creator
JBaz
I have enjoyed writing for most of my life, never professionally.
I wish to now share my stories with others, lets see where it goes.
Born and raised on the Canadian Prairies, I currently reside on the West Coast. I call both places home.
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