Sadly he didn't Explode

By Sophie Reed

This is ok to publish

Harriet was stuck in school it was the middle of summer so naturally they had the heating turned right up and everyone was boiling. Why do they only turn the heating on in summer and the air conditioning in the winter? Is it just to make the torture worse?

She was staring wistfully out the window and wondering why her teacher, Mr. Sinclair, insisted droning on and on in a continuous monotone when she knew no one was listening, was anyone listening?

Strangely enough, no one was listening the voice had sent one half of the class to sleep and Stuart was snoring; loudly. The other half of the class had all moved their chairs so they were sat in the in back corner where they were sitting talking; discussing everything from boys to boys but occasionally diverging as far as make up.

The remaining two people (the fact that after two halves there are still two people left over is a common phenomenon that regularly occurs in maths when no matter how many times you try the sum you still get the wrong answer) were debating if the teacher was going to explode soon, as he was going an interesting shade of boiled lobster red and hadn’t taken a breath for 10 minutes.

In a few more seconds the teacher had darken to an interesting shade of purple but was still keeping up his murderously monotone monologue without pause or fail. They were sure that in just a minute he was going to blow. The purple was darkening; the eyes were bulging.

Three, two, one….

The bell went waking up the startled teacher and forcing him in his shock to breathe.

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