Mr. Leavis’ eyes turn to stone.
“Detention for you tonight, Morris!”
No respect, kids these days. Back in the day he’d have been caned for that.
Whatever. Only two years till retirement and escape from this rabble.
He hears a muted ‘fuck you.’
Apoplectic with rage, Mr. Leavis begins to shout.
Yet no words come, just a searing pain in his chest.
He finds himself supine, convulsing.
The last thing he ever sees are sets of adolescent eyes peering down with fascinated revulsion as if observing a speared fish floundering in its death throes.