P for Principal, V for Vengeance

         By: Samwell Rockhouse  


          The tyranny and the bullshit all have to stop. I wrote this in my first grade class on a piece of paper with lines and half written statements wanting to know who I was and my age, that’s not all but those seem to be the most important. I placed that statement where it weakly implied, “I am” followed by three powerful periods. I didn’t really know what the teacher wanted from me. I just told her what I heard from a passerby and hoped she would smile at what I wrote. She looked at me in haste and wondered where I saw it. I told her a man in a jacket with holes and splashed with spaghetti sauce (blood) said it in a funny voice when he passed me on the street. My father was walking me to school when I encountered the man. He looked at the man and then made a half-built smile which made me think I should be quiet. But as soon as I was dropped off at school with all the other kids, I sat in my seat, in between two kids named Billy and James. They were loud and I as well. I found comfort in their loud voices, somehow dropping several vocal ranges like a well worn rollercoaster, all the same octave respectively. I was kept in Kindergarten twice because I didn’t put fingers on the people I drew. I hoped this year would be different. It was already starting to look like it wouldn’t go too well. The teacher took me to the principal after the incident. Her steps indicated that she was angry. I knew this despite being able to see her face. This is the way mom walked when dad did something she didn’t like. I started to get scared. I didn’t know where I was going. I walked past the different classrooms, the library, the gym, which housed so much of the things I hated and finally in front of a wooden door that peeled the souls of kids into splinters and caused exorable beginnings in what would become the rest of my life.  The teacher stood like a pillar, a pillar with, let’s say, bumps that happen to cartoons when they are hit in the head, in the place of her chest. I stood there and I thought the table would transform into a magnificent beast, taller than I was, that didn’t happen though—the principal was in clear sight and gritted his teeth as a special speech for his black and bitter coffee.


“And who do we have here?” The principal asked while looking at the teacher up and down, half serious, half amused.


“Ronald Jenkins.” I said.


“Why are you here Mr. Jenkins?”


“I don’t know.”


“You don’t know? Well, Ms. Clarion, what is this boy doing in here?” The principal asked with a heightened level of superiority.


 The only superiority that he could find was in Piccadilly circus. My teacher looked down on me; I could now sense she felt bad for me. She probably knew he was a jerk off before I did and she had to work with him.


“Well, Mr. Chase, he wrote a bad word on his About me” paper. I won’t be able to hang his work up on the wall” She sheepishly said looking down on me with a sincere smile.


“Well, Mr. Jenkins, it looks like you’ll have to spend the first day of school without a recess.” He said, smiling through his teeth that could have pawn shop treasure.  


                I spent that first day standing against a wall watching the other kids play. Billy and James came up to me breathing heavily, laughing at my punishment. I felt like an idiot. First day of school and I’m intangibly glued to a brick wall all from quoting a man on the street. I was happy when I left elementary school and went to college. I quoted nearly anything that walked without a look that resembled the mug of a centurion.

I, to this day, think of my principal as a faithless bastard pig with a bedspread patterned with Nazi insignia. Randomly, when I was older, leaner and more accepting of calling someone out, I found my former principle sitting in his car outside the school. The school still looked the same as I walked by it. I was home from college and taking a walk through my hometown. I heard a weird noise coming from somewhere near my path. It sounded like a fox had gotten into the pantry. I stopped for a moment and listened intensively. After a few seconds, I found myself creeping near a blue Le Baron and inside I found the same cock sucker who made my elementary experience a miserable Disney World with all the good guys on vacation. He was moving his hand up and down really fast, I by this time was very well knowledgeable on the different motions that human beings do. I wasn’t so knowledgeable on the previously stated motion involving a magazine with boy scouts on the cover. I luckily had a camera that day. I caught the fucker red-handed. He caught himself blue-balled. Image


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