The Chamber of Teachers

“The Chamber of Teachers” — Ali Makki

 His student was his torturer.  He taught him respect, love, and how to share a loaf of bread with others. He still remembers his remarkable intelligence. If he asked a question, he would raise his right hand and answered quickly. Teaching can be a wonderful experience when you feel you belong to it. He felt he belonged there, but not when he realized that his student was his torturer.  He’s been teaching a monster the whole time, shaping it.

Imagine you’re in a pitch-dark room, where you don’t see a speck of this wretched world for 10 consecutive days. You want to count the days of what left of you. You have no pens or tools to write down your thoughts. Total darkness. You’re just on your own surrounded by silence and void. You don’t even know where you are, why you’re there. What would happen to you if you knew it was one of your students who brought you there?

In a dark room, devoid of light, the teacher heard footsteps getting closer and closer.  A door opened, and light blinded his eyes, and couldn’t see who it was.

“Who are you? What are you going to do to me? Why am I even tied up to this chair?”  He screamed his lungs out.  Still shocked.

Shut the fuck up,” the voice screamed at him. “Or I am going to kill you.”

When he heard the word kill he freaked out.  He wondered how to respond.  I might be killed so I will shut up, he thought.

“When I first laid my eyes on you, I hated you. I hated the way you talked down to us, treated us like worms, unworthy of your attention,” the voice in the void said.

“But who might you be?” the teacher said, biting his teeth. “I don’t know who you are.”

“Of course, you don’t remember. How many have you mocked during your lifetime experience? You don’t remember,” the words were immense. It almost cut down the teacher in half.

“Me, I never mocked anyone,” the teacher answered.  “I’m just a small potato in a wretched school.”

“I will tell you who I am. I’m one of the students you used to mock. You never taught me English well, and always ignored me as I was some kind of shit.”

“Who are you?”

“The one who used to wear glasses, sitting far in the upper right corner of the class, fat and clumsy.”

“Wait, don’t tell me you’re….”

“Yes, it’s me. I hate to say it, but I will just say it,” the sound a sharp knife echoed, waiting to cut down some flesh. A flesh of a teacher.

“What?” the teacher’s heart was about to explode.

I observed you for 10 days now while you ate earth worms that I’ve been giving to you. You loved them. Don’t think I am evil. I am just…curious.  I want to drive a teacher mad! I want to witness how you will approach death, or for that matter, death would approach you  just like you approached us in class with all your mighty presence.  Your annoying screams, your lost laughter recedes away in the corridors of my empty house. what images are formed in your mind? What words can you utter? I’d like to know, but how?”

“10 days,” the teacher couldn’t believe it, ” and earth worms?” He tried to free himself, but received a hard slap on the face.

“I will tell you how: this knife will slither down your chest,” and so the knife did slither down his chest and the scream of the teacher shook the ground beneath him. “Tell me how?”

After 10 minutes, the student forced some drugs into the consciousness of the teacher.  Tell me how, he insisted. The teacher pooped and vomited.

“I hated you,” the teacher said. “You reminded me of my youth. You stole it. Now I’m just a big lump of turd.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, I have dreams, but you all came in the way, so I had to put a stop to it.”

“By looking down on us?”


“Go on…”

“That’s all I have to say you piece of shit.”

So no one knew what happened to the teacher. Some say he’s still being tortured in that chamber.  Some say he’s found a way out and escaped. As for the student. They say he’s duplicated each and every year, a presence, a thorn in teachers’ throats.

The End


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