Weekly Challenge #980 – Teach

• Lisa
• Tom
• Richard
• Lizzie
• Serendipidy
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

The next topic is COMMENT

NORVAL JOE

Billbert wandered toward his English class wondering who the red-haired girl might be, and why she would be spying on him. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her before, but she was clearly a student at the school.

Behind him, someone said, “I should teach you a lesson.”

Billbert wondered who they might be talking to when another someone grabbed him by the shoulder, spun him around, and snarled, “Are you ignoring me?”

The bully who had harassed him before was flanked by his two goons.

Not far behind them, a girl with red hair and freckles watched, obviously interested.

RICHARD

— Hooked! —
Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day.
Teach a man to fish, and he’ll disappear every weekend, come rain or shine, to sit on river banks and neglect his family and responsibilities.
When he’s not actually fishing, he’ll be spending his time in bars and pubs, bragging about the size of his catches, and boring anyone who cares to listen about ‘the one that got away’.
Tasks at home will be left incomplete, the wife and kids left to fend for themselves, he’s never there when he’s needed.
Please, never teach a man to fish.

SERENDIPIDY

I always wanted to teach.
Whilst my contemporaries wanted to be nurses and vets, I’d already set my sights on becoming a teacher, and so, that’s what I became.
Kids are great. Those young minds: so malleable and enquiring. Like sponges ready to soak up knowledge and concepts.
Perfect receptacles for receiving my special indoctrination.
Thousands of them passed through my hands, my mini-acolytes and disciples, all of them being primed and made ready for the Day of Reckoning.
And it’s coming soon.
So, you’d better watch your children, because, come the hour…
They’ll be coming to get you!

LIZZIE

She would always hold a book and ask the kids to “read” from it. On each page, nothing but a few smudges and a handful of lost letters. The kids would then come up with a story. She would write it down on the blackboard, making everyone cringe and giggle when the chalk squeaked. The story would be copied to a notebook which would find its way onto a bookshelf. The next day, the same old smudges, the same old lost letters would inspire a new story. She hoped the kids would remember this for the rest of their lives.

LISA

Working Late
Ambulance Staff, Nurses and Doctors bustled around the bed. The surgeon was on call. Her Husband, whilst working late, had somehow had a car accident. She watched the monitors, the staff fuss around him, someone was saying they couldn’t save his leg
And then another victim of the RTA arrived on a trolley: his passenger.
Unrecognisable beneath the blood. But blonde.
Blonde, like the hair she’d found in their bed; she’d wanted to teach him a lesson he’d never forget but thought maybe he’d already learnt something tonight and left him and his mistresses to sort things out for themselves.

TOM

Luck of the Irish

My great grandfather came from Cork. He was from a long line of doctors stretching back into vailed time. He was not interested in the healing ways; he was into making money. No better place to make your way in the world was Chicago in the 1800s. Did very well for himself. That’s until he and a bunch of his fellow traders on the mercantile exchange tried to corner the wheat market. They came damn close, but no banana. Which try I’m not famously rich and do not prowl the hall of the powerful and connected. Better off for it.

A Calling.

I thought I had a calling in my youth. The choice in my faith was Dominicans, Franciscans, Jesuits, Benedictines, Carmelites, Salesians, Cistercians, Trappists. In the 70s all the orders were happily open to bring you into their flock. I chose the Augustinians because I thought my calling was to teach. The Tolentine Seminary was two miles from my home. Augustinian’s priests said mass at my local church. I took the application tests down the street at St. Rita’s. In a tiny clerical error, I ended up not attending minor seminary. I never became a priest, but did become a teacher.

PLANET Z

Those who can’t do teach, and you would think Mr. Johnson the shop teacher’s missing fingers and eyepatch would prove it.
But the guy used to be a zookeeper, and he had a nasty habit of doing things with the animals that you’ll never find in the brochures, and a rather feisty and proud wolverine let the guy know that no means no.
Some say that he’s also got a bad habit with the cheerleaders, and one bit off his fingers and poked out his eye, but as long as he keeps his hands on the bandsaw, I’m okay, really.