Tales From The School 1

I was refilling my Parker fountain pen from an inkwell at the common table in the teachers' lounge this morning during a free period.


"That's a shiny pen. Must be expensive. How much you bought it?" a female teacher who was sitting nearby, watching me asked.


"Somewhere below RM 100." I answered curtly as I didn't like this particular older woman. She's a known backstabber. 


"It's a lot of fuss using fountain pens.Young people these days must go with the times. Even I've never seen teachers my age using fountain pens anymore." See? She's ancient, chatty and patronizing the wrong sort of person (i.e. me).


"I like it."


"Bah, I think you just love showing people your expensive stuff and all. You don't fool me."


I just hate this particular bi***. If we were living in darker times, I'd ask her outside for a duel to the death. She just wont let it rest.


"I like it because it reminds me of my DEAD father. He always used fountain pens. You do have a father, don't you?" I said this coldly while screwing the pen together. She did not deserve a glance from me.


That kept her quiet.


My late father was quite a legend in his own right. He was a great teacher in Economic and Literature, and phenomenal in sports. The principals who ever had him will never be willing to part from his service. He was the only male teacher who coached netball in the entire state. Most elderly teachers know him.
Sometimes it galls me because I am his exact opposite, like all his negative energy was channeled into me...
I teach Science.
I hate all kind of sports.
I am not easily friendly with people like him.
The list can go on.


That genetics for you. Sometimes monsters are born among good people.