Mr. Morris Dickly served in the military. He was good with pistols and rifles and assault weapons. He was also highly strung but he was able to do his job.
Now 12 years later he is a teacher in a wealthy suburban high school composed of snotty teenagers who have no respect for anything other than themselves. These students have seemingly mated with their phones.
The principal selected him as one of 10 teachers who would now be able to carry a concealed weapon in school to protect against possible school shooters. No students knew about this new but secret security measure. No non-weaponized teachers knew about it either.
Dickly taught history and government. Did the students like him? Not really. Most obeyed because they were too lazy to exert energy in discussion or homework and it was up to Dickly to get them through their exams so their pain-in-the-ass parents wouldn’t complain. You never want parents to complain.
Dickly had three students he hated, Charlie Crisp, Raymond Barlow and Jeremy Jones. They were insufferable and nasty.
You see Dickly had a rather large red nose with plenty of hair coming out of it. The redness wasn’t from drinking, although Dickly loved his beer and it showed in his expanding gut. Every day he would get home from school wound-up and wishing his students, especially those three, would just go away like his wife did two years ago with that guy who never served a day! A few beers soothed him. Why did he ever go into teaching? He couldn’t stand most teenagers.
Charlie Crisp enjoyed sticking pencils in his nose to imitate Mr. Dickless as the three called him. Actually most of the kids called Dickly Mr. Dickless but they did it so Dickly couldn’t hear them. Barlow went so far on occasion as to put some cotton in his nose to imitate Dickly’s nose hair. Jones for his part was the loud laugher “Yuk! Yuk! Yuk!” whenever his compatriots did their thing. Dickly figured that everyone in the school could hear Jones’ laughter coming from his room. I hate those three fucks!
Those three were responsible for writing on the chalk board “I am Mr. Dickless! I can’t stand up!” whenever they could. Dickly could occasionally hear them saying under their breath Dickless, Dickless, Dickless when he had his back turned to the class. But he couldn’t nail them doing it. None of the other jack-asses and jack-lassies would tell on their schoolmates. Fuck them too!
On the day it all happened Dickly was late for class. Charlie Crisp was dog style on Dickly’s desk with the pencils in his nose making pig noises while Barlow, cotton balls sticking out of his nose, was pretending to have anal intercourse with him. Jones was laughing his head off – “Yuk! Yuk! Yuk!” All the other kids were laughing too.
Since Dickly was late he did not get to his private locker to put his pistol away. When the class saw him, they quieted somewhat, but Jones kept “yuking” it up. “Yuk! Yuk! Yuk!”
“Yeoow!” screamed Crisp, not knowing Dickly was standing in the door. “I’m Dickless getting reamed, yeoow!” Jones roared, “Yuk! Yuk! Yuk!” Barlow bellowed, “I’m Dickless screwing myself up the…” “Yuk! Yuk! Yuk!” roared Jones.
Then the three of them knew something was different. They turned and saw a red-faced Dickly at the door – red faced with his nose even redder. They were about to make the wrong choice.
“Get off my desk Crisp,” said Dickly.
“You don’t scare me Dickless,” scoffed Charlie Crisp, suddenly feeling invulnerable as many teenagers will.
“Yuk! Yuk! Yuk!”
“Aren’t you enjoying what is happening, Dickless?” scorned Barlow.
“You like it this way!” shouted Crisp shaking his ass and at this and the whole class, even the usually quiet kids, went into paroxysms of laughter.
That man had stolen his wife. Now these three had stolen his dignity. They were sneering at him. The fucks!
The gun blasts were heard throughout the school. Teachers brought their kids into the closets and locked their doors. Students at gym hid under the bleachers.
“Bam! Bam! Bam!” One bullet caught Crisp in his ass; another tore part of Barlow’s face off, and Jones was killed right after a “yuk!” Three dead. Those fucks!
That night students talked to the television news crews who were swarming like locusts outside the school. The students, even the ones from Dickly’s class who laughed at Dickly, were all acting sorrowful,. “Mr. Dickly just snapped. No one did anything.”
Commentators on the networks talked about the need not to allow teachers to have guns. “Only administrators should have guns,” said one principal wearing the cowboy belt his wife had given him for his birthday.
Frank’s latest books are Confessions of a Wayward Catholic!; I Am a Dice Controller: Inside the World of Advantage-Play Craps, and I Am a Card Counter: Inside the World of Advantage-Play Blackjack. Available from Amazon.com, Kindle, e-books, Barnes and Noble, and at bookstores.