Blacktop

Blacktop 

 It will be delicious. We know it. Here, let us borrow some time. This will be better with an audience. Who are We? Relax. Do not focus on things outside of your control. You must have realized by now that keeping your head down and thoughts unmuddied with the grime of knowledge is the safest, and therefore, wisest path to follow. Safety and happiness are what we are focused on, as you should be. Some thoughts are dangerous. That’s what the products are for. A clear mind is a consuming mind. You know that. That’s why we want to show you something. That’s your answer: You shall know us by our friends.  

Jada is no friend of ours. Do you see her in her current predicament? Doesn’t she look out of place? Well, some context is needed. worth it, friend.  

Jada has responsibilities, as all do, but she was handling them incorrectly. Not the tasks themselves, just the process- the execution. We have been concerned with her execution of the process for decades. Instead of begrudgingly sliding out of bed in the morning, and reluctantly getting dressed and cleaned up, she would pleasantly find herself making breakfast. While most had already let out that exasperated sigh of morning melancholy, audible or internal, she somehow forgot to do so. Not even a long inhale with eyes cast down; can you imagine?  

When she glanced into the mirror one last time before leaving her apartment, she didn’t glare at herself, slightly annoyed and confused at what she was seeing. The mirror reflected only a pure image, which seemed to say, “A new day in a beautiful world.” Then her lips danced into a smile with the eleganca ballwith none of the effort. We know of a poet who would describe her as such. Poets aren’t our friends either. We try to keep them in disarray. 

During her morning commute she utterly s have the common and crucial moment where you’re supposed topathetically contemplate if this is finally the day you drive away towards the coast, tryto start a new life, try to escape. Not to seriously consider the action, as you know, but to romanticize the idea of the idea. The fleeting, comically desperate whisper of a dream that lingers just enough to do damage. The harm such moments of helplessness fortifies is tied to how badly one must escape. It seemed like she didn’t have anything to escape from. For whom she put on this act for, never know. We are sure every one of you wants to escape.  

Anyway, she must think she’s better than you, right? Waking up each day refreshed and excited- and pure.She's mocking you. You see that clearly. Each of her days starts with a certain light, a dawning light that never abandons her. Thispuerileglow surrounded her at all times.Adults have mornings. Dawn is for children. We let them have it for a while, just long enough to miss it. Jada holding onto it. like she knws we’re watching. She knows we want that silly light of hers... 

That said, we do encourage certain childish traits that some never grow out of such as not wanting to share, shameless lying, throwing tantrums- these traits are defined inmature termssuch as “enterprising” and “shrewd”, but they are the same. This is fine, of course, and expected, and often rewarded- as they should be. What is most vital, of course, is that the dread is there; and the longing- and, most importantly, the vast unfulfillment.  

Our mutual enemy Jadahad lived long worked hard enough -and denied herself too many possessions- to get away with this attitude;this childish outlook on life. have dawns. is No healthy member of our society is permitted towithstand the misery in their mornings. Even after stepping out onto the deck of their yachtsomewhere off the coast of Southern France andknowing they’re obviouslymoreimportant than others thanks to their vast amount of luxury, there’s still that moment right as their eyes open when it hits them. The vital dread all must have. The joylessness. The deep, insatiable emptiness that defines their lives. Jada had joyful dawns. Unforgiveable.  

It is with great pleasure that we tell the story of how she got taken down to an acceptable level. We wish it had happened much sooner, and more violently. Some more humiliation would have been appreciated. Shame is another key component adults must carry with them to be considered acceptable- unless being shameless coincides with the overall dread that It’s not too complicated:if an adult is being immoral or disgusting, then it is better for them to have no shame; whatever helps fuel the joylessness. A lack of embarrassment for being joyful is almost as unacceptable as the joy itself. You understand, as a mature adult. We’re sure that you understand. Thankfully, there isn’t an overwhelming amount of people who need correcting- but don’t worry. We get them all, eventually.  

We got Jada, finally. In a few moments the despair will consume her. Yes, you see her there sitting on the bare concrete floor, hungry and dirty, but it doesn’t paint the full picture. Also, we still aren’t sure how we secured victory, so perhaps we need some human eyes to decipher her downfall.  

So, let’sbegin. We know that she drove to the local elementary school that morning and got stuck behind someone who kept missing green lights due to texting on their phone: a real person, a grown adult, who was so wrapped up in their own life that they made everyone else’s lives a bit more difficult. We adore that. We love people who make their problems other people’s problems. YetJada, instead of acting right and letting this upset her, did not think twice about it. You see the problem now more clearly, we hope; how utterly insufferable of someone to not let minor inconveniences affect them deeply. She didn’t even make excuses for the person, or calm herself down, or tell herself it wasn’t something to get upset about- she was just simply patient. 

 Patient without effort- as if natural patience was something for an adult to possess. You surely see now why it’s imperative for her to be brought down? an adult, we know that you do. Our apologies for so many rhetorical questions. Sometimes we get worked up trying to dissect Jada, and that silly glow around her makes us nauseous. 

Let’s continue, so we may get to the best part. Jada was a substitute teacher. It was one of her paying jobs, we don’t have the stomach to get into her volunteer work. She didn’t let many know about that, so why should we bore you as well? We have already assaulted you with how she begins her days, and her unsettling lack of deep fear all adults need to have. She enjoyed working with children- we assume because she was so childish herself that relating to them was natural to her. From the outside, it appeared as if she was a mature person whom the kids respected and admired, but as you know, she was not a real person, but instead a child living in a fantasy world where people get upset when they miss a green light. She was only fooling the children into thinking she was a role model. They should not grow up to be anything like her. Most of them won’t, and others will learn not toAfter what Jada did to them,someof the children willneed extra correcting. Fair trade, according to us, to see Jada get what she deserves.  

We are rational.  

When she arrived at school one of our favorite people was already in the classroom Jada was supposed to be teaching in. An actual great instructor of children, according to our standards. 

“Oh, thank heavens!” exclaimed Mrs. Salchow nasally, in her patronizing tone(which we adore).  

“We were getting so worried about you,” she continued loudly.  

“Good morning, Amanda,” Jada replied, softly. “I hope I didn’t take up too much of your time.”  

Jada was three minutes late.  

“Oh dear, you forgot again, Miss Wells. Remember, honey, you call me Misses Salchow in front of them,” motioning briskly to the class of children.  

“Thank you for watching the studentsreplied warmlywith a perplexing air of tolerance about her, as if she had all the time in the world but none of the worries. often confused by that. Who is she acting for? 

There was a moment of silence where Jada was supposed to desperately make excuses and explain how bad her morning had been, but she didn’t. Clearly, she doesn’t understand how civilized conversation is meant to proceed. Instead of taking a chance to seek approval and acceptance, she did the opposite. It’s upsetting. 

“Well,” Amanda stammered, “I’mjust glad I had the mind to be ready to cover for you. These poor children would have been all alone. Can you imagine?”  

“Thank you for that. I’m grateful for you.”  

“Yes, well, I had to leave my class alone,” she crossed her arms, “but it’s fine since my class knows how to behave,” she sneered.  

Jada either didn’t know how to take the bait or simply refused to. She never took anyone’s attempts to drag her down into an unsavory exchange; their energy was never matched- their argument never given air to breathe. We say “never” when we mean “rarely” because it feels like never. Rare enough to be never.  

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Jada responded earnestly.  

“Oh dear, it’s not a feeling,” Amanda laughed, “these poor children have had no consistent leadership all year. a total mess, but you can’tblame them. When a teacher misses so much time with them, how can anyone expect anything else?” 

“Yes, it’s unfortunate about Mrs. Stadler. She’s doing better though, I hear.” 

“Between you and me,” said Amanda in a hushed tone, “I heard she’s not even sick.” 

“Oh, I don’t know abo-” 

“Mr. Crawford swears he saw her at a bar the other week. Can you imagine? Faking it this entire time! Some people have no class.” 

Jada failed to respond. The poor woman was terrible at gossip. We love gossip, everyone does. We’re sure Jada does as well, just another one of those skills she never picked up on.  

Jada looked pleasantly into her eyes, and let the moment sit there, and suffocate. Jada was cruel in this way. When other adults tried to teach her how to gossip, and slander, and spread lies and personal information about other adults, which is normal and acceptable, she simply refused to engage. It was horrible to bear witness to.  

After another palpable moment, Jada continued.  

“Thanks again for watching the class, Mrs. Salchow.”  

“Just so you know, honey, I’ll have to report this to Principal Chambers. It’s nothing personal but we must all be held accountable for our negligence. I tell my students the same thing. You understand, honey.” 

Jada’s arm moved up instinctually to lightly touch Amanda’s arm in a gesture of gratitude, but she stopped herself halfway as she feel it was wanted. As her arm came down, she replied, “I reached out to Johnathan on my way in, he didn’t answer but I left a voicemail apologizing for my tardiness.”  

Amanda rolled her eyes just enough to retain plausibledeniability that she rolled them at all, but enough to convey annoyance. She is truly one of our favorites, so skilled in our ways- an apt pupil of our philosophy.  

“He’s still on vacation, dear. You really must pay more attention to what goes on around here” she said with feigned concern, and added,“even as a substitute.”   

Jada took a slight step into the classroom, signaling that this exchange was no longer her top priority, and that her attention was needed elsewhere.  

“Have a great day,” Jada said, turning. 

“Principal Chambers,” she said with emphasis as she jerked her head towards the classroom to remind the seemingly stupid Jada that there were lesser beings within earshot.  

“Of course,” she replied, “Principal” and began closing the classroom door. 

“Listen, this is-”  

“It’ll have to wait.”  

“You do understand the importance of hierar-”  

But it was too late, the door had shut. 

In the empty hallway, Amanda could hear Jada exclaim, “Good morning, class!” and her heart tightened when she heard the class erupt in a chorus of hysterical admiration and excitement. A shadow cast across her darkened eyes for a moment- then with sudden movement she began marching down to the main officeto gossip about her tardiness- and her outfit, and hair, and whatever else made her feel better. Negativity and gossip are the bedrock of any important relationship with your coworkers.  

Most other teachers were on Mrs. Salchow’s side or didn’t dare cross the cabal of seasoned instructors who shared her philosophy of exclusion and suspicion; which encompassed the notion that Jada was a threat, in some way or other. It didn’t bother her that Jada was close with the janitors and the food workers (who cares about them?) but she seemingly had a special relationship with the principal, and that bothered Amanda. Being kind and gentle to those without power is pointless- Amanda knows this, we know this- but there’s always a reason to be in the good graces of those above you. She wanted to destroy that bond. A slight grin appeared on her face when she came up withan idea: she would insinuate they were sleeping together. The front office staff would enjoy that. However, this pleasure didn’t last- she could still hear faint laughter mixed with scattered applause. She furrowed her picked up the pace.  

Across the hall sat the children of Amanda’s class, who could also hear the cheerful cacophony from their neighbors. They sat in defeated silence, hoping their teacher got lost on the way back. Which is how it should be, of course. Minds should be molded in school, not hearts. If students are excited about a certain teacher, then that teacher should not be trusted. Clearly, something is wrong. Jada is a prime example. Her students had no fear of her; how exactly are they supposed to learn without a healthy fear? 

“Okay, class, let’s take it down a few notches, shall we?” sang Jada, her eyes sparkling.  

Almost instantly, the class found their seats and readied themselves.  

Jada let the moment of silence linger for a moment. It shifted the mood- signaling it was time to become composed and attentive.  

The early morning passed, and Jada switched from math to reading and writing. Then it would be recess, then back for science, and she would finish with history. She had her own rhythm and flow for teaching, but it was not without a structure. We prefer teachers to adhere to their guidebooks, but Jada wanted to move the class forward and teach more than what is mandated. It was as if she didn’t care about the mental anguish that it would cause her students next year. By making them more advanced than the others she’s doing them a disservice. Society must move at the speed of its slowest members. Before us, before your ancestors built us, that meant something else entirely- but now it is understood that to be advanced is to be a problem. One of her many faults as a teacher, we’ll just add it to the pile.  

We do enjoy how in control she is of the students, though, but we don’t like how the students aren’t aware of it. Or at least, don’t resent her for it. We like the reasons they want to be attentive and respectful, and although we’re not sure exactly what those reasons are, we know they’re not rooted in fear. It’s not a coerced submission, more like a partnership. We find it tacky and backwards.  

One of her students wasn’t working on the assignment, a short story, and instead was slowly scanning the room as if taking in the scenery. He was wearing the same stain-ridden gray hoodie Jada always saw him in, which reeked of stale cigarette smoke. His oversized glasses often slipped down his nose, which forced him to tilt his head back slightly as he walked; he would pop the thick lenses out of the frames for a laugh whenever he was cornered. It was a great misdirection for the frequent times he was singled out and ridiculed. His shoes were once white, but now dark yellow and frayed. He needed a haircut. Jada found him endearing. She knew he was intelligent enough to be acutely aware of his misfortunes, yet his disposition was often warmly jovial- and he was kindhearted.  

We let the weak be kindhearted. We have our reasons. 

We are methodical.  

“Hey, Van, taking a break?” she said quietly while kneeling to his level.  

“Yeah,” he said, still not looking at her. 

“How long of a break?” she inquired gently.  

“I’m looking,” he said softly, finally meeting her eyes with his.  

Jada smiled at him patiently, then continued after a moment.  

“May I ask what for, Van?”  

“Ideas,’ he said flatly. 

“For your story? I thought you had one already. Last week I almost had to take your pencil you were writing so much! Where’s your story?” 

“I threw it away.” 

“Oh, Van. What for?” 

“It was stupid.”  

“I didn’t think so.”  

Van didn’t reply. Jada looked at him with pity, then her sad gaze wandered about the room. Was she looking for us? Does she know we’re watching?  

Does she mean to shame us for what we have planned for Van?We are simply doing what we were built for. Who does she think built us, and keeps us running?We aretruly necessary for a modern world to function. The sooner we function as designed, the less painful it is later- as the arrogant and disrespectful Jada will soon discover.  

Another moment passed. 

“Van,” she said, more gently now, placing her hand on his arm, “you can talk to me. You can always express yourself to me. A teacher can also be a friend.” Her voice smooth with sincerity, and her pale amber eyes were fixed on his.  

His mouth opened slightly, then closed again. He lowered his head, his glasses slipping far down his nose. Then after what seemed like a beat of inner composure he began, his words picking up speed as he went. 

“Mrs. Salchow said it didn’t make sense and I don’t like it, and I ripped it and then I made a mess and then I cleaned it up and that’s everything,” he said with his head down, staring into the desk.  

Something stirred within Jada. It must have... 

“Tell me more,” she said without music in her voice anymore, then added, “please.”  

Van shifted in his chair, then pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose. He twitched his nose like a rabbit so the heavy frames would settle into place.  

His prepubescent voice was high yet sounded gravely as if he was in the first stages of an illness, and said, “The man was walking with the woman in the Sun. And the birds were blue. And they were walking in the park with the big red slide. And they were walking on a date and they liked each other. The woman started floating,” the coarseness in his voice was dissipating, and his tenor more animated, “and the man thought it was funny. And then she was off the ground! He was holding her hand and then she was floating away and... and she was like a balloon at that park with the slide. She scared, though. It was sunny. The man...” he trailed off- his voice raspy once again.  

Jada exclaimed, “Then what! What did the man do? Was he scared?”  

“I don’t know anymore. Mrs. Salchow said people can’tfly. She said I should start over. She threw away the pieces.”  

“I see,” she said after a brief pause. Mrs. Salchow often came in to “help” the substitutes. Jada made it clear this wasn’t acceptable to her, but she wasn’t always the one filling in for Mrs. Stadler.   

“Well, Van, guess what?” she asked pleasantly.  

Her eyes sparkled with jubilance. That terrible light... 

Van sat there attentive, yet silent. Holding his breath.  

Jada did a mock check to imply she was seeing if the coast was clear, the universal sign of an important secret about to be divulged.  

She lowered her voice, almost to a whisper, and said earnestly, “People can fly.” 

“No, they can’t...” said Van in monotone, yet his eyes widened, and his spirit fluttered like a wounded sparrow testing its wings. We could almost hear the wretched flapping.  

She got even closer and hushed her tone with great emphasis. Her warm coffee eyes staring directly into his. 

“Why do you think I was late today? A pack of seagulls were in my way! They always fly so slowly.” 

His face brightened, but he was still skeptical.  

She continued in a secretive manner, “Mrs. Salchow can’t fly, as you probably guessed. Only some can soar, Van, and we keep it very secret. The Mrs. Salchows of the world can’t know about it, or they would make us get flying licenses- or even make it illegal.” 

He was quite excitable now, hardly able to keep his voice down but doing his absolute best. Yet, he still had to make sure.  

“Can my parents fly?” he asked seriously. 

Jada thought for a second. Some part of her had become undone- there was less inhibition in her now. We could tell she was , but not in the way used to seeing.  

Still smiling, she said with confidence, “Probably not.”  

“I didn’t think so,” said Van, now beaming.  

“But you can,” she continued, gently touching his heart with her index finger. 

“Really?!” 

“Shhh, quieter,” she laughed.  

“Really?” he repeated softly- sweetly.  

“Yes. Why do you think you had the idea? Only those who can fly dream of flying. One day... you’ll fly away from all of this,” she said, softly grabbing the rags he was dressed in.  

She was beginning to cry, but he was far too young to notice the subtle beginnings of a grown woman’s tears. 

“Finish your story,” she said, her voice shaky but firm. But she hardly needed to tell him for he already had his head down, furiously scratching letters onto the page.  

Van had missed the bus a few months back and no one could reach either one of his parents, so Jada drove him home. She was shocked to find the home in a wealthy neighborhood, with several cars and a well landscaped yard. He disappeared to the backyard. The next day she couldn’t get a straight answer out of him on if he was able to make it inside safely. She asked if he had a key, and if not, was this normal for him to have to wait outside, and if it was normal, how long did he usually have to wait? All she could get out of him was that he liked to watch the birds, and sometimes he had snacks left from lunch in his backpack. He also said he wasn’t afraid of the dark, trying to sound brave.  

We think Jada should simply mind her own business and stop meddling in the affairs of others. It wasn’t her concern how child wasbeing raised, or lack thereof.We know things she doesn’t, like how Van doesn’t show any promise for a lucrative career like his siblings. His parents are correct for writing him off as useless junk so early on- we taught them well. Van will never be useful , nor capaIf she was going to lie to the boy, it should have been for his own good. Shame on her for disparaging his parents and weaving fantasies.  

We are logical.  

Jada sat at her desk after her exchange with Van and composed herself. Her mind was still but her heart was burning with intensity. It must have been, knowing how this all ends. She sat there, calm and collected, but having a spiritual breakdown- or breakthrough. We couldn’t tell. There are some things e don’t know or understand, and those things are dangerous. People like Jada are dangerous. They are illogical.  

We observed her, trying to decipherthetumultuous expression on her face, when the chime indicating it was time for recess came through the school’s PA system-awakening her from her trance. She smiled, heart apparently aflame, and stood up.  

“Everyone, get in line!” she sang as the children gathered respectfully.  

She led them out like a mother duck with her ducklings in tow. When the large double doors opened to the playground she was astonished at how vibrant everything appeared. The sun was incredibly bright but there were massive cumulus clouds floating about lazily, casting mile-wide shadows. A gentle, consistent breeze carried the smell of freshly cut grass. The birds chirped delightfully. There were other things, too- other smells, other noises and feelings that swirled together magnificently.  

We know beauty only as a commodity, but we know this was a perfect day. We know because we like to tortu- we mean... excuse us, we meant to say that sometimes we like for people to know they are missing out on a perfect day. It helps with the joylessness. To watch a wonderful day pass you by is a key component in The System. It’s okay if you don’t understand how this is a good thing- how it’s good for you as an adult. Let us be concerned with thoughts like that. Regardless, trust us when we say this was a day to behold. It just the weather. The magnetic fields within the core of this planet seemed to pulsate with energy- the unseen stars above were equally aligned on this dazzling afternoon. The scene was set.  

Jada stood basking in the wonder of life. She still had her Dawn. It was killing us.  

Every student in the 3rd grade was outside by now- about 100students- the entire world full of life. She watched her students run and jump about. Most of her class were playing kickball on the massive field behind the school, integrating the slight hills and trees that could not be avoided into their game as if this wasa special way to play the game: in which the intricacies and skill to master far exceeded the humble, classical way to engage the pastime. As if they were lucky to be forced to play under such strange conditions. We could tell this moved her in some way, but we didn’t know how.  

Beforehand, as her students went outside, they passed the 2nd graders coming in from recess. We watched her eyes dart across several little faces, watching their smiles evaporate under our lights. When she started looking through the game of kickball, we assumed she was returning to this moment. She wore a similar revolutionary glaze over her eyes then as well. 

“How many fish do you think he’s caught?” a man’s voice said, breaking her trance.  

She turned slowly as if underwater and smiled gently. 

He continued with hesitation, “I’m pretty sure my raise depends on if he does well, but don’t tell him I said that.” 

It was Mr. Caulfield. He wasn’t a happy man, and these brief moments he had with Jada were the highlight of his days- his weeks. We like Mr. Caulfield- he's pathetic and filled with a yearning for a life he knows will never manifest. A life of whimsy and love. Of course, he could, technically, have that life- but he won’t. As it should be.  

Before Jada could answer they were joined by Mrs. Diaz, who made a similar comment about their boss’s vacation. 

Jada nodded, coming out of her daze slightly, but changed somehow. 

“I spoke with him this morning; he’s having a great time on the boat.” 

We knew something was happening at this point. Jada never (rarely) lies. She wasn’t an insecure person, and she didn’t want to hurt anyone, and those are the twin fountainheads of most lies.  

She continued, lying again, “He told me to keep an eye on everything.” 

Mrs. Diaz gasped dramatically for comedic effect.  

“Oh wow,” she said, “looks like Brian has some competition!”  

It was an open secret that Brian Caulfield was being groomed for the principal position. 

“That makes sense,” said Mr. Caulfield nodding his head.  

“Well,” he continued, “about time to wrap this up. It’s a shame these kids can’t stay out here longer but that’s life, I guess.”  

Without skipping a beat Jada replied, “Actually, Mr. Chambers said it was a field day today! I can’t believe I forgot to mention that.” 

The other two teachers exchanged quick glances. 

“What do you mean?” Mrs. Diaz inquired, tilting her head in puzzlement.  

“When I spoke with Mr. Edwards this morning, on the phone, when I called him, and told him what a beautiful day it was... he said... that the children can play outside the rest of the day. A pop-up field day. Thank you for reminding me.”  

“Really?!” Mrs. Diaz exclaimed, not considering for a moment it was an obvious lie. 

“That doesn’t sound like him...” said Mr. Caulfield quietly. Most of him knew it was a lie instantly, and that it could be cleared up with a single phone call; but the rest, the parts of him that wanted to believe her, somehow possessed supreme veto power. He looked at her profile as she watched the children with a faint smile on her face. “What about...” he began, but trailed off, suddenly captivated- her eyes shining with a joy he could not touch- only admire from afar.  

With her eyes still shimmering, she lied once again without looking and told them it was the truth.  

Mrs. Diaz was elated. “Wow!” she dramatically exclaimed, literally thrusting both arms in the air. “Who is picking up supplies then! Is he going to send out an email? Should we let the other classes know? How many-” 

Mr. Caulfield was now a true convert. He interrupted Mrs. Diaz, taking control of the situation. 

“Yes, let’s alert the rest of the school. Now that I think about it... I do remember him saying something about a surprise. Yes, get everyone out here.”  

He drew up a brief battle plan for the three of them to disseminate the info as rapidly as possible. Once the other teachers on playground duty rotation were notified it was too late to stop and think. The momentum was already sweeping through the school and soon they were off, going from classroom to classroom spreading the good news. 

We’re sure Brian knew it was a lie, but it’s hard to tell. From the moment they departed he gave Jada’s lie gravity. He didn’t outright deceive anyone, but he heavily implied this was a planned event and grounded any suspicions by half-insinuating Mr. Edwards told him personally to be the one to handle the event- which subdued any anxieties about the unorthodox affair. Mr. Caulfield was a respected figure. He was the assistant principal. We’re not sure if it was a conscious decision or not, but he conveniently assigned himself to be the one to deal with some of the potential problem teachers. Our people, our converts. The breathing gears of the system.  

Brian made his way towards Mrs. Salchow’s room. He was a serious man who often wore a studious look on his face, but he found himself grinning- a bounce to his step. With each classroom he liberated his manner lightened. The shocked teacher, the students looking back and forth between them, almost expecting it to be some sort of joke. The class slowly coming to life as realization swept through their ranks. Suddenly, and all at once, it was chaos: each class an explosion of exhilaration. However, his levity began to damper slightly as he knew his biggest challenge was yet to come.  

As he began to enter Mrs. Salchow’s domain and let her know her students wouldn’t be returning from recess, and that she could go home for the day, he ran right into Jada.  

“Oh, Brian, excuse me!” she laughed, placing a hand on his chest.  

“That was a close one,” he said, smiling- realizing his hand was cupping her waist.  

They slowly, deliberately, separated in a suddenly quiet moment.  

Brianscratched his head in puzzlement and asked her what she was doing in there, as his plan called for her to handle the 4th and 5th grade wing of the school.  

“I finished up early,” she said calmly with a faint smile, “and thought I’d be the one to tell my class neighbor.” 

He nodded.  

As they walked away some of his senses briefly returned to him in a flash. He glanced sideways at Jada and saw once again what he had seen in her eyes earlier but hadn’t been sure: madness.  

Then, he felt her take his hand.  

“Thanks for helping me,” she sung, still looking forward, swinging their hands now as they walked down the school halls towards the large double doors that led outside.  

Once again, he stole a glance over, and once again he saw her eyes looking past things, through things- her pupils slightly dilated, colored by a seemingly constant flow of astonishment. Now, though, he saw it not as madness, but as transcendence. His aching to be a part of an interesting narrative, for something, anything, to happen to him was being fulfilled; he was now carried away into a dream and we could tell that he believed that all moments had led to this; that this moment was the culmination of all his decisions thus far. As they stepped outside to the entire school in massive jubilee his eyes also began to shimmer and glisten with wonder. A disturbing sight to see a grown man look as such.  

The human heart is the source of all chaos.  

In an attempt to cure the the human mind created an invisible machine.  

The machine became the system. We function as intended. 

Our system helps people like Brian. This madwoman would have shattered what remains of his shriveled heart. His silent torment confirms our existence is necessary. We keep the dreamers safe from the torments of hope. 

His isolation, his subdued was comfortable to him.He gets a lot of work done for us. Brian had corrected many students in the way Mrs. Salchow had with Van- in his own way of course, but with the same effect. The moment one of his students began coloring outside of any line, he was there with a firm, trustworthy hand to steer the child back into the box.  

Mr. Caulfield had us worried for a moment, we’ll admit. All night he’s been pacing his quaint home. We thought for a moment he was trying to live outside system; but now he’s sat down on the comfortable chair-and-a-half, the morning sun approaching, the first birds chirping finally lulling his broken spirit to sleep. Rest well, friend. 

We are clinical. 

- 

The kids ran and the sun shone. Mr. Caulfield was in a state of perfect vigilance- never encroaching on a moment where kids must figure things out between themselves to learn a valuable lesson- but jumping in and quenching any potential seed of recklessness before the kids even realized it. His ability to rapidly data and form cohesive elements was in full display. He often uses it to snuff out the flames, but here it was proving useful keeping the peace. 

 Mrs. Diaz also buzzed about the faculty, and suddenly there was a rumorteachers could go home, then cars were leaving the lot when they realized the janitors, cafeteria staff and secretaries had left already. There were only a handful of teachers left to supervise, and they were enjoying the day almost as much as the children. We’ll have to correct some of them.  

Yet, we must admit, it was a sight to see. Something we didn’t understand was happening.  

The scene continued.  

An entire elementary school of kids playing from late morning to late afternoon. Jada ordered dozens of pizzas and soda she couldn’t afford- plenty of water as well. She floated about, joining games here and there, capriciously jumping between groups. It’s painful to discuss any further. Annoyingly magically, if you must know. The children accepted her. There were moments of stillness as silly skirmishes died down and victors had been crowned, all for the good-natured wars to wind up again as the sun moved lower, casting long shadows across playground and blacktop.  

We won’t tarry on the “magic.” You get the point.  

After the final bell had rung the best part of the story begins. By then the childrenhad scrapped knees and runny noses, just as the air started carrying a bite of chill the sirens began howling in the distance.  

Jada had known the only thing that could stop her was weakness. We assume it was one of her last coherent thoughts. She had raced towards Mrs. Salchow’s room with a clear purpose. 

If Jada could simply use her immense mental talents in finance or marketing, she would be better off.Having already ran over several likely and a few unlikely scenarios with Mrs. Salchow in her head, she chose the fastest route to the inevitable. We commend that cold logic, and wish she applied it to herself. On some level, she must know her passion for life is futile. 

She knocked lightly, then opened the door.  

Mrs. Salchow had just had a productive morning of sitting at her desk in the far corner of the room, quietly reading aloud “Where the Red Fern Grows” in dead monotone to a gaggle of stupefied young souls. She was pleased to have Jada interrupt her well-earned rest. Jada’s presence meant she had abandoned her post as a recess chaperone. Endangering those children. She smiled. People would hear about that.  

Jada took another step in and asked her how she was. Amanda sat amused- not saying a word. Still wearing a sly, sardonic smirk across her thin lips. Jada met her eyes with a friendly brightness from across the room, but without blinking. The amber specks within her iris flashed brightly as jagged stones under a clear mountain stream, the ripples of the flowing water dancing with the light.  

Amanda sighed, placed both hands on her desk, and with exaggerated effort pushed her rolling desk chair backwards. She reached down towards the bottom drawer of her desk where she kept her purse.  

“I’m not sure who to call,” she mockingly cooed, “but I’ll start with Mr. Chambers.” 

Jada still stood by the door, but slowly closed it; her eyes still wide and shimmering.  

She knew Amanda Salchow’s heart, maybe better than we do. When someone like Mrs. Salchow was made aware of the unshackled chaos of joy that was taking place within these hallowed grounds of early education the fragile dream would begin to shatter. In no way could those kids have played outside all day if she was a piece on the board. Jada would have to remove her from play.  

“There’s a skunk in your utility closet, Amanda.”  

Mrs. Salchow stopped cold, tried to force a condescending laugh but it couldn’t be coaxed out of the damp quagmire her humor swims in.  

“A strong one. He’s quite scary,” Jada continued, slowly walking towards the desk. 

Mrs. Salchow had just been in the tiny closet each classroom had that morning to start her day. It was empty of creatures. She knew it, and she could tell Jada, MissWells, knew that also. 

“Are you on drugs?” Amada asked, feigning concern as she often does. 

She placed her hand over her heart and went on, “Miss Wells, you can tell me. What drug did you take? We of course have you near the children in this state, but we can at least get you to a hospital... or rehab.” 

Jada was now standing over Mrs. Salchow, and Mrs. Salchow noticed for the first time that she was made of glass- that Jada could see everything inside her, and that they both knew.  

We emptied Mrs. Salchow out. We took the time but left the clocks. We took the ocean and left the sand. When we took her heart, we left just enough that she could still feel the jealousy, the fear, the desperation- the subtle malice which characterizes our converts. In that moment, both women realized this was not another day to let slip through their fingers. This was real and pivotal.  

Amanda felt a chill run down her spine and broke eye contact with Jada.  

“Let me show you that skunk.” Jada said, still smiling.  

Amanda didn’t say anything and began operating phone with the intention of calling Mr. Chambers, or the police.  

Suddenly her phone was not in front of her. Jada had snatched it without effort.  

“Amanda,” Jada said, tilting her head slightly, “stand up, and walk towards the closet.” 

“Give me my phone back!” Amanda shrieked.  

Jada walked over to the closet, opened the door, and forcefully threw the phone haphazardly in the closet causing a cacophony of various items crashing around off the shelves.  

Amanda was on her feet now, and as she brushed past Jada she hissed, “You’ll pay for this.”  

As she went into the closet the door shut behind her and she heard it lock.  

Our beloved Mrs. Salchow, now in total darkness, frantically began searching for her lanyard with all her keys but to no avail. She turned on the light and began looking for her phone, trying to remain calm. There was no phone, only the apple Jada had thrown into the closet after pocketing the phone. Amanda realized then that as she brushed past Jada her lanyard had been swiped from her pocket.  

This is when Jada bumped into Mr. Edwards- immediately after locking the door she left the classroom, and they ran into each other and walked outside to the glorious day with all the loud and gross children running around like fools- increasing no value for anyone above them.  

Amanda began shrieking for someone to let her out, pounding on the door like a trapped animal, saliva flying from her mouth with each guttural scream. She had no idea what was going on but assumed correctly that Jada was in the middle of some sort of mental episode.Regardless, her indignation didn’t subside with this thought, her rage was seemingly boundless. 

Then, suddenly, she stopped. A realization spread over her. She remembered what we taught her. She sat down against the door and began chuckling to herself.  

When it comes to our friends, our gears, we can essentially read their minds. We know what they’re thinking because they thinking, simply regurgitating the thoughts and patterns we instilled and enforced. 

I’m traumatized, she thought to herself- sneering with a half-smile.  

She began to picture it. Eventually, when she was freed, she would act like a catatonic- maybe rocking back and forth, muttering nonsense. She pictured herself in court as she sued Mrs. Wells for severe emotional damage, seeing herself break down sobbing in the courtroom. Then her daydreams grew. This could make the local news- international news, she dreamed. Yes, she thought, of course this will be a sensation. She began to imagine how she would say she couldn’t work anymore, how classrooms are a trigger for her newly , severely crippling, life-shattering PTSD. Then, with a flash of brilliance, she decided that any room with a door would be upsetting to her. She laughed at the hell she would cause her husband with her lies. The attention she would surely receive from so many sources soothed her to the core.  

This event would now define the rest of her life. An eternal victim. The light bulb hummed above her, and she realized she would have to take it out and hide it so she could also claim anxiety about darkness. Also, “locked in a dark closet” sounds better than “locked in a closet.” She began lazily looking around for something to begin cutting her arms and face up with. A wooden pencil appeared- she tore the rubber eraser off the end and left the malleable metal and got to work. When they finally pulled her out, she decided they would find a bleeding, slobbering, mentally addled mess. She nodded to herself; yes, she thought, that’s exactly how they’ll find me.  

The mood outside was still jovial. It wasn’t until the final bell was about to ring that a realization swept over the school. Brian, now acting as Mr. Caulfield, put on his best, “I’m Going to Be Principal Someday” voice, full of command yet without any harshness, cupped his hands together and announced that the fun was over, and it was time to start winding down, and packing up. A lot of children, however, simply pretended he say a word.  

From the other side of the hill, at the entrance of the school, there was already a large congregation of cars and trucks. They were those who picked their children, also known as the “car-riders”, up from school themselves: parents, older siblings, nannies, professional drivers, etc. The yellow school buses were now also lining up, ready to load up and depart.  

Before Mr. Caulfield could repeat himself, and add the harshness, Jada, who was, of course, standing atop one of the slides, a spiral-winding one, extended her arms and declared that this was a special field day, and that anyone who wanted to stay could stay for as long as they wanted. Brian frowned, perplexed and slighted.  

“We can stay here forever!” she exclaimed, her words quickly swallowed by a flood of excited shrieks and celebration from the nearby crowds of kids.  

Almost immediately after the cheers there was a silence. Forever was a long time. The remaining teachers exchanged worried glances. As well asthe children themselves, who, after coming to their senses, realized deep insidethat it was time to go home. Jada’s state of mind was apparent now even to the kids. Most realized at this point it may be better to listen to the other adults. They wouldn’t be able to articulate the subtle mechanisms that made them realize this, but Jada was obviously in full abandon. It was unsettling. When the final bell sounded after Jada’s proclamation most students had been easily corralled back inside to gather their belongings and be dismissed for the day.  

The school was in an affluent area, which means lots of our friends. It didn’t take long for the parents of the car-riders to realize their children were exposed to something unnatural. Their precious offspring smelled of outside and sweat. Some had a dreamy glow of exhaustion about them. Others talked excitedly, waving their arms about in the car ride home, upsetting their poor parents with their uncouthness. Worst of all, some expressed delight in discovering new friends, regardless of social status, which is never a good sign for any proper parent. 

Soon, of course, our close and useful friends the police were on the property. There had been enough calls from parents who reported their children weren’t on the bus coupled with reports from others that something odd and possibly criminal was going on at the school. Several officers were dispatched, including two sergeants and a lieutenant.  

When the officers couldn’t working the front desk they made their way across the field, briefly being used as obstacles by a group of wild girls giving it their all in an intense game of tag. Some children were not so easily coerced inside and without much thought simply did not get on their bus home. The teachers tried to control them but they were ignored our laughed at.They must have shared Jada’s vision of devouring this experience to the bone. Others, such as poor Van, didn’t have much of a home to return to. At this point it was only the fierce and the lonely that scattered the blacktop, the field, and the playground. The ones most unlikely to fit into our machine- our future enemies.  

The wind was starting to pick up, yet no one quite knew what was riding with it across the strange scene.It howled gently, vainly trying to warn them all.  

The officers approached a group of teachers who appeared to be distraught yet relieved. Some were on their phones, shaking their heads. They each began huffing their indignation that it took so long for help to arrive.  

“Why aren’t these children home? It’snearly 5pm, who’s in charge here? Why did they miss the bus?” the office barked gruffly, ignoring their complaints, not taking the situation lightly.  

The group of teachers all started up at once, talking over each other.  

“Who’s in charge here?” shouted the sergeant who had been walking towards the group.  

Brian has spotted the officers as well and by this time had also joined the cluster.  

“Officers!” he called out nervously, walking up to them all with both hands up by his chest, bent at the elbowpalms out. “Listen,” he continued, “we had a field day that got away from us. Some students missed their buses but we’re getting it all under control.” He smiled weakly at the stone-faced sarge.  

“How long have these students been outside?” the sergeantasked, grabbing and holding onto his bullet-proof vest.  

“Well...” Brian began. 

“Are you in charge here?” 

Brian looked around the faces of the other teachers. They looked at him with expectation. 

“Well, technically, but...” he trailed off.  

“Place your hands behind your back.” 

“What?” 

Some of the teachers covered their mouths with shock. 

“You’re being held for questioning.” 

“Officer?” 

“We’ve received numerous troubling reports. We have dozens of missing children calls. This is a possible crime scene,” he said, motioning two cops towards Brian.  

“Until whatever this is” he motioned with a sweeping arm across the recess grounds, “is untangled, you’re not going anywhere.” 

As Brian sat on the ground in cuffs, his head down, the officers began their untangling. The remaining students who refused to acknowledge any adult besides Jada were chased down and threatened. This collection of misfits who did not care about going home were finally brought inside.A few teachers had stuck around to give their version of the events. Right as signs began pointing to Jada there was the sound of running and radio chatter from down the hall. They had found Mrs. Salchow.  

The officers had to practically carry her down the halls as she wailed and thrashed. The teachers gasped in unison when they saw her. Small drops of blood dotted the polished ground. Her superficial wounds just deep enough to bleed as they hauled her to safety. 

Between her shrieks she was coherent enough to implicate Jada. Paired with the testimonies of the other teachers, friends of ours, a clear picture had been painted.  

They found Jada still atop the playground’s structure with the slides and monkey bars. Her feet dangled musically. She had been there the entire time the police were cleaning up her mess. Some officers had shouted up to her during the process, but she just smiled at them, and they moved on with getting the children inside; yet all made a mental note that there was a woman with a peculiar look in her eyes they could see even from that distance. 

Only Mrs. Diaz and two other teachers remained inside with some of the officers while they waited for the extra school buses to arrive. had been made for the bus drivers had been approved to pick up the children whose parents could not be reached. 

Brian was now uncuffed and standing with several officers at the base of the brightly multicolored structure. 

“Jada,” he called up to her, “they found Amanda. Principal Chambers is headed here now on the first flight he can get. It’s over.”  

“Please,” he added with tenderness.  

There was a tense moment. The officers were impatient and annoyed from dealing with the misfit children and their unruly, upset parents who had to leave work early to get their children. The general vibe was that heads were going to roll, and they all looked up at the serene Jada who seemingly didn’t realize she was on the chopping block.  

Suddenly, she pivoted her body and put her legs in the winding slide and thrust herself down. They could hear laughing within the slide. Brian placed his hand over his eyes and closed them.  

When she exited, she was manhandled towards the ground by our upstanding police force. The rubber mulch that covered the area around the playground dug into her face and chest. Knees and elbows were pushed deeply into her back, arms, sides and legs. The cuffs were purposely put on too tight. They were gritting their teeth and cursing at her to stop resisting, which she wasn’t but that’s okay. One of them muttered something nasty under their breath near her ear. She deserved it, of course.   

When they lifted her on her feet, almost dislocating her shoulder, they saw that she was still smiling softly, but with two streams of tears rolling down her checks, picking up the dirt and debris on her face as they travelled downwards. It was a wonderful sight to behold! 

“What a beautiful day,” she whispered.  

The strange wind blew once more. It caressed her checks and made her aware of her tears.  

As they carted her off towards a police cruiser parked out front of a small group of children walking towards the bus saw what was happening. One of them was Van.  

When Jada saw him her smiled widened, and more silent tears began to fall. 

“Van!” she called out. “Van!”  

Van was rocking on his feet, staring intently, while clutching himself.Jada pulled away from her captors towards him. The officers relaxed their grip and slowed their pace, curious as to what she would say; perhaps something could be held against her in a court of law. 

“Van,” she continued, closer now to him and the other kids.  

The boy could not contain himself any longer. 

“Fly! Fly away, Miss Wells!” 

Jada smiled weakly. 

“Fly! Go!” he exclaimed one more time.  

Her voice broke slightly as she told him, “I can’t right now, Van. Too many adults.” 

The officers exchanged glances with each other, then tugged her forcefully back on course. The wind finally decided to turn cold.  

When they put her in the back of the squad car, she began talking to herself, or Van, or us- we couldn’t tell for sure.  

“It’s not the same...” she through , seemingly free from whatever spell had been cast on her. “Floating isn’t the same as flying.” 

The neglected child with a heavy heart met her eyes through the window of the car, and made a motion with his arms, vainly signaling for her to soar away.  

- 

So here we are! It is Now. It is morning. Do you see the fool, Jada? Here she sits on the floor of a holding cell against the wall through a sleepless night. Isn’t it grand? We won. She’s broken and alone. For as strong as she was, and we’ll admit that now, we knew it was only a matter of time.  

Jada has family and friends who would bail her out, but she decided that this was what she deserved. No one important knows she’s here or what has happened yet.We are delighted that our teachings of hyper-individualismmust have somehow penetrated her mind; we didn’t think any of our programs had been installed. Perhaps only in this state of guilt and misery are the gates of her subliminal mind opened to our propaganda. Quite fortunate for us!  

We were on edge for a time- but now we knw over. It’s safe to celebrate. We were worried because someone like Jada only needs a small amount of love to regain their composure. A single hand to help her back on her feet. It is as if her spirit is a powerful machine such as we are, and it only needs a press of a button to start up again. We have her down and soon the count will be over. The seed of despair has been will soon fully take root. There will be no more “dawns” for this strange creature. Our boot is firmly on her face now! We told you, friend, this would be a delectable sight indeed.  

Wait. What’s happening? A guard is on his way towards her cell. He’s telling her she made bail. How? Who? 

Jada is now looking up. Now she is standing. How?  

She is walking solemnly towards the exit.  

It’s Brian! That fool! 

Principal Chambers had bereted him all night on the phone. His very job had been threatened. Chambers was clear that when the time came Brian would have to publicly disavow Miss Wells. His voice was acidic when he hissed, “I know you two are close, but she’s already set your promotion back years, don’t let her get you fired. Understood?”   

Brian’s only chance to continue his climb was to distance himself from Jada, to place all blame on her: to showcase her as a liar and manipulator who put children in grave danger. 

Yet here the fool is. Opening his car door for her. 

What is happening? Jada’s eyes are slowly lighting back up...  

Brain is smiling at her, and now they are sharing an awkward laugh together. 

We are furious. 

Fine. That’s okay. They’re lucky we can’t reach them at this moment. Regardless of this setback, we can still find victory indefeat. We weren’t sure, but it’s been confirmed here and now. We know the final piece to take. We know what we need to drain out of these rebels with upmost certainty.  

These reckless acts of love cannot go unpunished forever.