Chief Piece - Math Classroom

Equations fill the air, choking everyone in the room. They slowly move in the breath of the wind from the open windows, until they fully surround their target, forcing themselves through their ears and deep into their minds. I can see them writhing in pain. Their eyes twist and turn, hypnotizing themselves to believe the right answer. There is only one right answer. Everyone knows that every problem has one set solution. Life has one set solution. One.

There is no room for creativity. The formulas are “body” guards that stand right inside the door, hiding until a spark appears in a small eye. Just a fleeting moment. Then, they open their mouths and suck all the light away. Their job is to make sure each child follows a formula. Words are burned into their chests with a pencil made of hot steel.

1. Always follow the teacher. They are the ultimate leader.
2. Do not show frustration or weakness. That is an automatic failure.
3. Everyone has a specific role. Do not break it.
4. Small mistakes can tear everything apart, so don’t mess up.
5. Stay in the box.

I want to hide in the closet and become invisible long enough to disappear completely. All of a sudden, a negative sign is misplaced, and the teacher sprouts fangs and roars; the sound rips through the air and stabs the little girl, creating another scar. The guards quickly take her away, as she has not followed the fourth burned rule. The vacant look in her eyes afterwards confirms that another one is lost.

I watch as each child is taken away into the abyss of society. I try to hold onto them. I try to not let them fall. They will never stop falling. The black hands that grip their minds are much stronger than my grip. I know that they are not completely broken, stolen, numb. (4) There is still time left, but with each fleeting moment, another screw that holds the creativity in their minds is painfully twisted undone.

All of a sudden, I hear a sound push its way through the walls. A laugh. It pierces my ears with sadness, but underneath the cracks I can see floating bubbles forcing their way steadily through. They are dancing and singing and softly bouncing through the air. (4A) The bubbles give me hope. I cannot see the owner of the joyous sound, but I can picture the screws tightening with each bubble that escapes their mouth. It’s a small break in the system. The guards jolt me out of my vision, as I can hear screaming and discipline that stifles the laughter under a bed of needles. The bubbles are all popped. Each and every single one is gone so fast, it seems as if they never existed. This place is no different than the ward. Happiness is gone so quickly that no one is sure if it even exists, and if it is just something we imagine. A scream erupts out my mouth, and the guards charge at me with ferocity, their needles piercing everything in my body until my mind becomes completely undone.