He loomed above me, a creature of math tests. His armor, made from rulers, glinted in the flickering lights of my classroom. He held a yardstick staff in one notebook paper fist, and the stench of his breath stank like old textbooks. It would of been funny if he were not glowering at me with apple-red eyes. I breathed hard and did not dare move. Suddenly, I had an idea. I lunged to the wall and clicked on the fans. Blades whirred to life, sweeping dust into the monster’s face. It was a feeble move, a desperate choice, but the only one I had. I dropped instantly behind a desk and covered my nose. It took a lot to hold a sneeze.
Silence.
Should I come out? I wondered. I peeked under the desk and saw his enormous, ugly feet and fading-green pencil bag toes still planted firmly on the floor. The only noise now was the crackle of working electricity. A miniature ball of soft, grey fluff danced in the air, darting at his face, which I could not see. Why was he standing so still? Why not attack? Terror threatened to lift me on my feet, raise my hands high in the air, and shriek of surrender, but I shoved it back down. Terror was what he wanted me to do. Stress and terror linked together; I was hiding from stress right now.
Just a peek, my aching feet begged, pressured on the cold tile floor. Release us, my cramping fingers urged from their perch on the edge of the desk. Take the courage to stand up, a dark side of my brain demanded, and beg for mercy now. No, I replied, go away. A small peek? my feet repeated and the rest of my body joined them. Only the tip of your head and your eyes, drawled my knees, have to be sacrificed.
Hey, my right eye called. We don’t want to be sacrificed!
We can function without you, sneered my lungs.
I decided that a quick look wouldn’t hurt. I carefully raised my head a few inches so that I could barely see the creature. A bad mistake.
ACHOOOOOOOOOOO!
Chalk dust burst all over me from his sneeze. It briefly occurred to me that the whole thing could of been a trap. He could have been struggling to keep his mouth shut and urging me, like my sore body, to take a peek above the desk so he could blind me with chalk dust and take me in as easy prey. Then my adrenaline kicked in and I dashed across the room, blinded. I could hear his feet, like the banging of large books, echo around the place. Surely the grey dust had dimmed his sight a little bit. I attempted to make my way across the room before he could reach me. I kept bumping into desks and random pieces of school supplies as I picked my way through.
Open your eyes, my brain told me sternly. I can sense the dust clearing. Alarm bells went off in another part of my mind, the part that always worried, but I did as told. I had found the teacher’s desk. Behind me was a fog of a mixture of chalk dust and grey dust. I could see a faint, shadowed outline of the monster trying to sniff me out. He kept waving his arms but, strong as he was, the thick cloudy substance would not go away. I turned back to the teacher’s desk. The grey and white dust rolled near the space but it was as if a piece of glass was there, keeping dust out and everything inside clean. I hesitantly waved a light grey arm around the desk but I could not feel the glass. The monster made a series of clicking sounds, like typing on the teacher’s keyboard, and I cursed myself for being so stupid.
Ducking behind the desk triggered a memory of Ms. Westmorland, an old elementary teacher of mine. She had told the class in a sweet-but-stern voice about her privacy on our first day. “Now children,” she had told us. “We need to make an agreement. I promise to never give homework on Fridays-”
The class had let out a collective gasp. All of us were now focused on her. The word “homework” and “no” together had brought our attention.
“-but you must promise me something in return. An exchange.”
Even though none of us said anything, she knew from our young, wide eyes that we would do just about anything.
“You must promise me never to cross the Office Border Line.”
It turned out that the OBL was a line in between Ms. Westmorland’s desk and the rest of the classroom. She had told us to imagine the classroom being a huge safe area except for her desk area which had been a pool of lava. Everything of hers floated and was filled with magic that allowed them to not get burned. “My shoes will also never get burned,” she explained, “but since yours do not have the magic on them, you can not cross. I don’t want you to get hurt!”
Crouching behind the desk, although I was way past first grade, I felt like I was trespassing into unknown and possibly hostile territory; like my feet were actually on lava.
The floor started to steam.
I have not felt pain like this ever before. Stings shivered up and down my legs. Blisters instantly formed on my feet, hot purple welts. It took a lot to calm down but I managed to clamber onto the teacher’s chair and stare in horror at the spot that was tile only seconds ago. Liquid fire oozed along whatever was left of the floor. The faded white tile that was once part of my teacher’s classroom now melted into blackish, grayish goo and was swallowed by rolling waves of lava. I trembled on Ms. Westmorland’s chair, a black rolling one with a comfortable felt seat and everything. Red liquids lapped at the wheels which were, amazingly, still functioning.
But since yours do not have the magic on them, you can not cross. I don’t want you to get hurt!
There was something about that memory, something that could help me escape…
In the distance, there was a small boom as a desk was thrown against the window.
The monster! He was only a few feet away and could probably smell me well enough to pinpoint my location. I panicked, placed my feet against the desk edge, and shoved myself back so I was against the wall. I breathed hard and stared into the grey swirling mass of dust. There was no escape. The homework monster had won. I was feeling terror right now.
There was a sound like the scratch of desks being pushed on tile floor and I could see the faint outline of a yardstick dragging across a desk.
Oh yeah. I was feeling a whole lot of terror right now.
I thought again about Ms. Westmorland; how she was so sweet, always reminding us of our safety if we wandered too close to the OBL. She always kept her word and us, being cute first graders, also kept our word, except for one boy, who tried to wear Ms. Westmorland’s shoes and walk into her office. I don’t want you to get hurt!
Suddenly, a path formed. It was as if two hands were scooting the liquid back. The flames hissed and licked the sides of my new invisible barrier but could not come through. I gaped at my new freedom.
Then he was there with his yardstick staff and ruler armor. He grinned at me and showed rows of black pencil-tip teeth. His eyes glittered coldly. Paper flapped all around him. One settled in my lap. The creature threw back his head and made a sound like kids banging on desks. I figured he must be laughing. Then he took a massive step towards me, eraser-made tongue licking his lips. All I could think of was how terrified I was. My mind was wiped blank. Tears streamed from my eyes. The giant lifted his staff, ready for the kill, and all I could think of was, why do I have to be killed by a stick?
I closed my eyes.
Then the creature made a squeak like the sound of rolling a whiteboard, and I blinked. waves of lava were surrounding him, turning his legs to ash and burning his whole staff. He staggered backward and glared. Then he reached behind him. Clutched in his fist was a huge textbook. He slammed it toward my face. I only managed to barely dodge it, and it slammed into the wall before sinking into he lava which eagerly lapped at it.
The flames on the lava started to dance toward me. Clearly, I was not allowed in this area. The flames touched the seat although the shimmering black fabric looked fine. I thought about what had happened within the last few minutes. I had thought about Ms. Westmorland’s words-the fact that she cared for our safety-and the lava had instantly cleared, leaving a smooth trail of tile. It was that thought that controlled the lava. With a jolt, I realized that Stress was not a living, breathing thing. It was just my tired mind complaining about the heap of homework I had to do everyday on top of extra-curricular things. The monster didn’t control itself-I controlled it.
He roared now, eyes gleaming, and charged. His yardstick staff looked like it had been sharpened by a huge yardstick-sharpener. It looked like some kind of tall,k skinny, 2-D yellow house.
Wow. If I controlled this thing, I must have quite an imagination.
Without hesitation, he charged. He had the expression of a teacher who’s student just lied with an expression of deep disappointment and quiet fury. I can’t be hurt, I thought to myself, my body wrapping itself into a tight ball. This question is for you, Ms. Westmorland, I thought, projecting all my words to the memory of my old teacher. Even if one of your students did cross the OBL, would you allow them to be burned as a caring person and responsible teacher? Please choose your answer quickly because my life depends on it. Also, please decide within the next two seconds because I am being charged by a bunch of homework paper which is technically my own brain holding one of your yardsticks which looks like it has been scratched on a desk and seriously needs repairing.
The beast’s gleeful shriek went higher in pitch until it sounded like the screech of chalk on a chalkboard. He staggered in circles in the flames. Then he was being engulfed by red and yellow light, his ruler armor melting to plastic goo and his papery flesh burning into black ash. For a moment, I felt like cheering. He was dying. My stress was finally going away.
Then everything went wrong.
I felt the flames first on my toes, turning my toenails bloody red. I shrieked as the jet-black felt of my cushioning seat was eaten up by flames. The right handle cracked and fell into lava. I hoped it would bob up and the lava would be as dangerous as calm water, but the piece of plastic was no more. The monster was burning slower than I thought he would. He smiled at me and pointed one trembling, math-test finger at the teacher’s desk, which looked as new as ever, radiating a faint blue glow like a shield. Like magic.
I saw what he meant.
It was a choice: I could either be consumed by lava and be god-knows-what. The monster would also be burned and even faster, too, as fast as I die. He was connected to me, a dark part of my brain on a leash. Or I could clamber onto the teacher’s desk. I could leap at the last moment onto the safe island that was veiled from the heat. I would be safe, but so would Stress. Then he could charge at me again and again until I surrender and and God-knows-what will happen then. No, I couldn’t let that happen. I had to be strong.
Either we both stayed alive or we both died.
So, before my fear could take over, I dived swimmer-style into the flames.
My throat felt like it was on fire and sharp stings of heat swarmed my body. My lungs felt like they were on fire. I could only see a brilliant white, which probably meant I was already blind. Of course I was. I was sinking in lava. Liquid flames were heating my flesh to pulp right now. I thought of how this was logically possible. Could one drown mentally in ones own thoughts? Could I really die of something that was only my imagination?
Only my imagination.
The white light flickered, and my pain subsided briefly. Yes! This was only my mind. I controlled it. If I chose to, I could be not in pain right now. My brain cleared and oxygen rushed into my lungs. It was delicious.
I swam to the top of the lava as if it were only water. Water. Yes, I was thirsty.
The liquid automatically cleared into water.
I heard an angry cough behind me, but this time, I merely smiled. I turned around and saw the beast. He was a mess. Black ink oozed from his wounds, turning the water a grayish hue. Water swirled around him, hissing like angry snakes. I felt like Percy Jackson as I controlled the water. I didn’t need to lift a finger. The wild waves rushed in, making the paper monster soggy and disgusting and heavy, drowning him once and for all. This time, he was going to die.
And this time, I wasn’t going to die with him.
