The Darkness

A teacher tries to help a reclusive child while fighting her fear of loneliness.

There once was a little Child who was thought of as a day-dreamer by his teacher who saw him every day.  Quiet and withdrawn, social interaction was non-existent for the dark-haired Child, and no matter how hard she would try, the Teacher could not get him to speak except for some random words.

 

“Not now”, was the mumbled response to a question she asked.

“Soon”, was the monosyllabic reply to her query.

 

The Teacher found him exhausting but persevered with infinite patience.   At the end of each day she watched him go, wondering where it was, he went.

 

On this particular day, the Teacher finished her day early.  Glancing at the ashen-faced youngster as she walked passed the classroom, she couldn’t help but note how invisible he seemed to the others.  Even the substitute teacher was giving him little or no time.  Her heart ached for the youngster, and this made her even more determined to help in for the remainder of the school year.

 

The Teacher drove from school to a session she always went to on a Friday with her therapist.  With the stress of teaching, the responsibilities and 60 hour weeks were taking its toll, and she found this a great way of keeping anxiety levels down.

 

As she lay on the couch, the Therapist’s soothing voice massaged her tense mind and relaxed her muscles.

 

“How are you coping living alone these days?”, said the Therapist.

“I’m..I’m doing well, I think.  Well, maybe.  You know, some days are easier than others”, said the Teacher, hesitantly.

“The loneliness?”

“Yes.  I can keep it at bay, you know.  The fear.  Of being alone, forever.  It’s just crushing.  But I have my work, and that means the world to me”.

 

The Therapist nodded and continued to write down notes here and there as the Teacher continued to talk about her week, twisting her long red hair between her fingers nervously.

 

With a click of her pen, the Therapist put down her notes and looked on as the Teacher wiped away some tears and started putting on her coat.

 

“I’m going to give you the same advice I always give you “don’t get lost in your work.  Yes, it keeps your mind busy, but no, it won’t save you in the long run.  You can only conquer this loneliness fear by meeting it head-on.  Take baby steps at first, but getting out there and socialising - that’s the solution”.

 

The Teacher had those words circling her mind as she approached class on Monday morning.  Maybe she would give it a go, she thought. There are some art classes she could attend and perhaps go to the monthly staff night out for the first time.  Perhaps.

 

Entering the class early, she started her prep as per usual.  Jotters out, pencils sharpened, chalkboard cleaned, books tidied.  Popping in her earphones, she went about her routine to the soothing sounds of Forest Days, her latest discovery.

 

Therefore she did not hear the loud snap in the ceiling tiles. 

She did not hear the scrape of cement and brick as they tumbled down upon her.

 

All she saw was darkness.

 

She blinked a few times, then a few times more.  Adjusting her vision, she realised she wasn’t alone amidst the blackness and rubble.  Beside her was the young Child.

 

She couldn’t move, partly through fear, partly through agony.

 

“What are you doing here? Are you ok?”, she asked weakly, dust making her voice hoarse.

“It is now”, said the boy, his pale, dark eyes somehow shining in the dark.

 

The Child took her hand gently and squeezed it reassuringly.  Her life was fading, the Teacher could barely muster any words.

 

“I don’t understand”, she said faintly.

“I’m here because you’re scared of being alone, and I don’t want you to be alone at this moment”, he said, his hand clasping around hers fondly.

 

The lengthy reply made the Teacher force her eyes open in surprise.

 

“But...who are you?”, she asked.

The Child stared at her for a few moments, then bent forward and whispered into her ear.

 

“I’m the Grim Reaper”.

 

The Teacher closed her eyes tight, and as the Child held her hand tenderly, the unrelenting darkness swallowed them both.

Author's Note

Part of first sentence Friday, where a story is created by a sentence given by an instagrammer.