Lesson Five - Part Two

Lesson Five – Part Two

Surviving Zombieland



         Mr. Henderson staggered into the classroom.  He flipped on the lights and looked around.  Of course, everything was exactly as he’d left it.  Nothing had changed—nothing ever changed.  With a heavy sigh, he dropped his briefcase on his desk, before sinking into his chair.  He was so very tired.  He had been having trouble falling asleep for months now—but the last week he had remained wide awake.

         Gradually, the trickle of students in the hallway outside grew to a steady flow—laughing, swearing and slamming lockers.  It was just another Monday.  He went to the cupboard and began moving stacks of books to the end desk in each row. 

When he’d ordered these books the previous August, he’d hoped that his students would find the idea funny—perhaps even whimsical. He no longer held out much hope.  This class had proved to be more vapid than any he’d seen before. 

A bell rang and the corridor became quiet.  A muffled voice droned on about the upcoming prom before silence reigned once more.  Then another bell shrilled and pandemonium pulsed through the arteries of the school.  One by one, students drifted in to the classroom, but few took their seats.

Instead, they stood around in clusters, rehashing their thrilling weekends of sleeping in, partying and smoking weed.  They seemed oblivious of where they were or why.  The bell rang once again. Mr. Henderson stepped out into the hallway to roundup the stragglers.  Then, with a loud bang, he slammed the door.  This was supposed to signify the beginning of class—or at least that was the theory.  The reality was that it did very little.

“Mr. McCormick,” the teacher said, “could you possibly tear yourself away, from what I’m sure is a riveting story of life and death, and take your seat?”

“Chill,” the young man answered.  He was tall, bone thin, with very pale skin, made even more cadaver like by his spectacular acne and shock of jet-black hair exhibiting that ‘dyed and lifeless’ look.  He swung back to his friend and finished his story in an inaudible voice before he moved on to his desk.

“Thank you,” Mr. Henderson sighed.  “Would the people at the head desks pass books out to their row.”  He might as well have been talking to the map.  “People, please.  Pass just out the books—in silence.”

“Dude?” said a rather stocky blond boy.  “Are you serious, ‘The Idiot’s Guide to Surviving Zombies’?  What is this?”

“Yes, thank you Mr. Bronson, I am, pardon the pun, ‘dead serious’.”  He perched on the edge of his desk and opened his own copy before he spoke again, “Now, for the next few weeks we will be reading and discussing this parody of an instruction manual.”  He scanned the classroom, searching for some spark of interest.  Instead, he observed a desert of blank faces.

He tried again.  “Can anyone think of why we are reading this?”  He looked towards his favorite student should be sitting, but found her desk empty.  A dying gasp escaped from him as he struggled for someone to call on.

“Ms. Benedict, are you chewing gum?”  It wasn’t a good call, but it was a momentary diversion. 

“Ahhh,” she answered after gulping, “certainly not.”  Although her face had taken on a rather unattractive blotchiness as she spoke, “You know I never chew gum.”

“Well, if you’re finished ‘not chewing—whatever’ do you think you might have some idea about why we’re reading this?”

“Well,” she said, “ahhh . . . not really, no.”  He was staring at her as she pulled a pack of gum from her pocket and stuffed two more pieces into her mouth, before she gave him a grimace.

“Well,” Mr. Henderson began, “We’ve been working on different kinds of writing.  And this semester we’re moving on from fiction and going to do some non-fiction writing.  As an introduction to more structured writings—like reports and instruction manuals—we’ll be examining how this kind of writing differs from, say, a Dicken’s novel.”

He looked for some kind of intelligent life in the faces of his students.  Hell, he’d settle for any sign of life. 

What he saw was a sea of expressionless faces of the living dead.