A teacher died at school today. He had a heart attack and they couldn’t revive him. I can’t put a word down to describe the feeling. It’s like someone stamping mortality in block letters across your forehead. In english, when we knew something had happened but we didn’t know what, there was an eerie silence for a moment or two. Hollow, almost. Afterwards I told my mum on the phone on the train, it seemed so commonplace but the surroundings were all wrong. My dad rang shortly after and asked if I was okay, I remember my brow creasing slightly because I was wondering why that was his first question. All I can remember now is that starting silence at the beginning of class. No one really wanted to try and fit the feeling into words. Because how can you? So you rock back slightly in your chair, feeling your weight on the hard plastic and maybe crack a joke to the person next to you because it helps to cover the silence.
PRANGIN' OUT
ruby, 18, melbourne
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