By Barlow Crassmont
Their little ghoulish eyes are wide and curious, staring as if through me. The unabashed
attention emitted my way is making my knees shake, palms sweat, and my throat dry.
So I hide.
Momentarily.
It’s almost too much to bear. Although I’ve done this countless times, I can’t shake off
the nerves. What is it about judgment day that agitates me so?
I struggle to breathe. I can’t pass out, though. I’d never live it down. Good thing they
can’t see my anguish behind the magnetic white board in front of the teacher’s desk.
Deep breaths now, one after another.
Mrs. Elsher comes in, smiling. Clearly faking her happiness under a facade of
bureaucratic responsibility and the inevitability of today’s conclusion. Some of them cheer at her
sight, but most are unimpressed. She greets them with a Good Morning! They reciprocate loudly,
and a little too cheerfully.
How dull.
She asks them about the day and the date. Few of them raise their hands. Mrs. Elsher
rewards the clever student with a star sticker. Her blandness is starting to make me feel better.
My normal breathing returns, perspiration ceases, and my hands gradually cease trembling.
“Class, today we have a special guest!” She extends her hand in my direction, inviting me
to come from behind the board.
“This is Mr. Beam, all the way from Canis Major Dwarf. It’s very far away.”
I step in front of them, waving my hand to the tiny freaks. Their reaction is neither
positive nor negative, and yet, their eyes pierce me like twenty-two pointy darts. Why must they
stare so? Didn’t their parents tell them it’s rude? On Crassus 16, it’s a federal offense.
“Would anyone like to ask Mr. Beam a question?”
They are silent. Hesitant. Nervous. Perhaps afraid.
At length, a brown haired ghoul raises his filthy paw.
“How far is your home?” His is a high, inquisitive voice.
“Twenty five thousand.”
“Miles?”
“Light years.” The boy is left with a perplexed look on his face. A long haired demon of
the female gender raises her hand from the back row.
“Is that how long it took you to get here?”
“That’s right,” I say. “Light is the fastest thing there is, and I have all the time in the
world.”
Oohs and ahhs are murmured among the gargoyle pupils. A different orc lifts his
disgusting limb. I am growing tired of the mundane questions, but what the hell.
“How long will you stay on our planet?”
“Not long. You might say I’ll be gone… in a flash.”
A monstrosity of epic proportions, from the front center row, raises his appalling arm. I
nearly flinch backwards from the offense he unabashedly gives. He’s to be the last one, for this
farce has gone on too long.
“What are you?” he shouts at me. Mrs. Elsher is none too pleased.
“Brian, apologize to Mr. Beam at once!”
The miniature demon stares at me, suspicious, skeptical, contemptuous. I hold his gaze,
proud after he looks away first. I take no offense at his inquiry whatsoever.
“I’m the one who’s seen all there is. Several times. I know how it ends. And when.”
My expression is stern, but on the inside, my smile stretches from ear to ear.
“So why are you here?” the same angry devil asks, without permission. Mrs. Elsher
scolds him, but I wave her off. “My dad says you’ve no business among us. That you’re
dangerous. Is that true?”
Well.
I stare at him, unsure, perplexed, as if our roles are reversed. He folds his arms
victoriously, and I resent him all the more.
“I always come on the last day of school,” I say. That’ll show the little punk.
“It’s not the last day,” one of the gargoyles utters. The others look at each other in some
bewilderment.
Mrs. Elsher leans towards me, irritated. “Mr. Beam, we agreed we’d break it to them
easy!”
“That’s what I’m doing,” I tell her, before turning to the students for the last time.
“Remember: your real journey begins after school. What’s coming is imminent. No one
can stop it, not even I.” Their faces consist of bulging eyes, furrowed brows, and more than a few
frowns. “Don’t lose hope, no matter how dire it may appear. Who knows, we may see each other
again someday, and sooner than you think.”
Mrs. Elsher sighs, then says, “That’s it for today. Say Thank You to Mr. Beam, children.”
They do as instructed. The sight resembles a choir of gremlins howling in agony.
How cute.
I grab my hat, nod to the classroom, and with the abnormality in the front row eyeballing
me with a thousand scorns, I manage to avoid the disdain in his hateful countenance. As I close
the door behind me, the hellions’ shouting soon becomes muffled and distant.
When I reach the outdoors, the asteroid bombardment is already underway. Several
skyscrapers are partially damaged and on fire. The ground rumbles under my feet just before I
leap onto a fresh wave of cosmic radiation. I am already out of their solar system by the time
their planet is shattered.
Yet the end-of-day bell continues to ring endlessly between my eardrums, its clangor
haunting my every waking moment, regardless of the distance between us.
Armand Diab (pen name: Barlow Crassmont) has lived in the USA, Eastern Europe, Middle East and China. When not teaching or writing, he dabbles in juggling, solving the Rubik’s Cube, and learning other languages. He has been published by British Science Fiction Association, Wilderness House Literary Review, and in the upcoming 41st anthology of Writers of the Future.
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