Squeaks at School

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The recess whistle signals the arrival of the tired children from their time outside on the soggy playground. Their shoes, covered in moisture, make small, quiet sounds as they walk to their classroom. Until one of them gets an idea, he twists his feet to produce the loudest, squeakiest sound I’ve ever heard. Soon more and more join him and the hall is filled with nonstop squeaks shrilling through the air. Their smiles seem to mock me as I struggle through their escapade with my hands clamped over my ears using every ounce of my will to stop from screaming at them.

“Stop squeaking your shoes!” their teacher yells. Immediately they stop as if their actions would be the death of them. Then one by one they solemnly enter the classroom door next to mine.

Before long the children next door were beginning to loudly converse as though they thought that they were at a party rather than at school. The teacher who had given up all hope of calming them down peacefully chose a different approach. She took her sharp talons, she called nails, and slowly pulled them across their class chalk board, creating a loud, painful shriek that echoed throughout the hall and into each and every room.





I slapped my hands over my ears once more, and finally can’t take it anymore. I rush out of the room, out of the building and into the fresh air. I scream at the agony, praying for the ringing in my ears to end.





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