A young boy was sitting quietly in his small kindergarten class, which was really unusual considering that no one else in the whole room was. The teacher was struggling to get all of the young boys and girls to quiet down, but she wasn't very good at it. Everyone was screaming, except for the young boy. He had on a black shirt tucked in to his jeans, indicating that his mother didn't care enough to dress him fully, but just made sure that his shirt was properly tucked in. The boy was staring down at his name tag, which read “Kyle.” He stared at it with eyes of contempt, for he hated that name, hated it with all of his heart. He hated it because it was his, and more importantly, because it was his father's.
The teacher had finally gotten everyone to quiet down(except for Kyle of course, the teacher did nothing to quiet him down) and she was now pointing at a math problem on the board. In order to provoke student engagement, she called out, “Alright kids, snap if you know the answer.”
Crap. Kyle thought. Should I snap? I know the answer, but this is stupid. I really hate this teacher. Mrs. Stevens. Pfft. Who the heck would want to marry that lady? With all of that going through his mind, Kyle gave in to the stupidity and began to snap. The second Kyle snapped, however, something odd came over Mrs. Stevens. She fell to the ground, her fingers cold and dead. None of the kids had really noticed, except for the kids in the front row. And even then, only about half of those kids even cared. A little girl, obviously eager about school, called out: “Mrs. Stevens? Are you alright?”
“Shut up Lilly” said a voice from the back. It was a boy’s.
“Yeah” chimed in another. “She's probably just taking a nap.”
Assorted giggles could be heard from the back, while Kyle sat and stared at Mrs. Stevens’ body. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, a feeling of guilt, but he didn't know why. After all, she just fell asleep.
The little girl jumped up, and with a high pitched whiny tone, yelled “Well I'm gonna help her, I don't care what you idiots think!”
“Who are you calling idiots?” one of the boys responded.
“You of course, idiot!” The little girl yelled, even louder and more high pitched than before. The boy ran up to her, and the girl dodged him and squealed. The teacher from across the hallway heard the squeal, and ran over and slammed the door open.
“What is going on here?” She yelled. Kyle was still staring at his dead teacher, petrified to the core.
“Everyone, back in your seats!” In saying this, she inadvertently glanced down at the floor behind the front desk. Her eyes widened at the sight of her fellow teacher. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…” she muttered, her voice trailing off into nothingness.
Suddenly, she ran off, leaving the children alone again. Kyle was the first to get out of his desk, and he walked up to the body of Mrs. Stevens and felt her neck. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was dead. “Is she ok?” The little girl asked.
“She's dead.” Kyle responded. His fingers were shaking as he stared into his teachers cold, dead eyes.

***


The room was dark, cold, and claustrophobic. It contained only a bed, a chair, and a desk with a lamp. The walls were white, the floor white, and the ceiling white. The lamp made them appear a sickly shade of yellow, and everywhere else in the room was black. If one could see the entire room, they would see cobwebs and dust in every corner, discolored paint on the walls and mold growing on the floor. What they would also see, was a boy sleeping in the bed.

Kyle woke up in a cold sweat, his teacher the only thing on his mind. This wasn’t the first time he had woken up that night. It certainly wouldn’t be the last. He wiped some of the sweat from his brow, moving away some of his black hair in the process. He was haunted by his teacher’s eyes. They seemed to care more about him when they were dead than they did when they were alive. He felt guilty.

He felt guilty for saying that he hated her. He felt guilty for her death. Wait, no, that’s not right. He didn’t kill her, how could he have? But how did she die then?

Kyle began to play back what happened. He remembered hating her, saying her name in his head, and then snapping his fingers. Wait, maybe that’s what did it. The snapping. Kyle decided to try an experiment. He thought of someone he hated. He decided it would be his father. I hate you, Kyle Carter. He thought. Then he snapped his fingers.

***


Kyle woke up the next morning feeling extremely tired, the events of the day and night before weighing heavily on his mind. He walked into the living room to find his mother passed out on the couch, her arms and legs flailed around haphazardly. There was a bottle in her right hand. The news was playing in the background. Guess she left it on. Kyle thought, picking up the remote and aiming it at the TV. He was about to hit the power button on the remote when he saw the headline: “Breaking News: Middle-aged Kyle Carter found dead, no apparent cause of death.”

Kyle’s hand began to shake. He dropped the remote and it fell to the ground with a loud crack. His mother woke up, looked at the TV, and stared with Kyle. Kyle’s hands kept shaking as his eyes were drawn to his fingers. His eyes widened, and a small smile began to form on his lips.