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The children, she hates. She never liked them, not even before she started the job. Too noisy, too simple, too unknowing. She planned to change that, even if in a small way. She wanted to teach, to mould them into their greatest potential. She wanted to do that, for the good of the world. But she wanted to enjoy doing it.
She loved her subject; it was the reason for her being, why she got up on those cold mornings with nothing but silence to greet her. Always a part of it lay near her, to cure boredom or comfort her restless mind, in times of distress.
She had aspirations, hopes, dreams. Crushed by the foul hand of reality. A Thousand others had the same fantasy, a thousand others were better than her.
She had failed.
Despair tricked her to make such a decision, causing her confused mind to cling onto the one thing she loved.
And so she trained, gained false beliefs of the new life she was soon to have. They would love her subject, just like her.
They mocked her, shouted, abused. The children were not willing, hated her, and despised her subject. She did not understand what she’d done to deserve this. All she wanted was to teach how to love.
And yet they struck where her heart was weakest.



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