Fire Safety

Mr. Larson was utterly fed up with his 6th period high school class. None of the students listened to him; they made fun of him, tormented him, and could care less about education. When the 5th period bell rang, the middle-aged teacher grabbed his desk and squeezed it so hard his knuckles turned white. The bell that signified the start of 6th period rang, and not a single one of his students was in the classroom. “This must be another one of their lame pranks,” he thought to himself. “They all must have decided to come late to class.” Well, it turns out that none of his students showed up at all that day. Mr. Larson was angry, but he was also relieved at the same time. He hated every minute he had to spend with that class because he was terrified of them.

The next day, all of his students were back in class, every one of them on time. Mr. Larson had just opened his mouth to lecture the class about not showing up the other day when something wet, and slimy hit him on the forehead. He wiped off the strange substance with his hands, and promptly discovered it was rat droppings. He grew incredibly angry and was about to yell at the kids when the class erupted in laughter. This made him even angrier. When he tried to talk, the students laughed even louder, drowning out the sound of his voice. He was incredibly relieved when the 6th period bell finally rang.

The next day, Mr. Larson was just beginning his science lesson with the class when the captain of the football team strode up to him and punched him in the face. Mr. Larson was so shocked that he just stood there dumbly for a moment. Then someone in the class cried out, “Hit him again!” The jock hit him right in the solar plexus and the poor teacher was knocked flat on his back. The teacher lay there on the floor; everything was a blur in his mind. He couldn’t think because of the pain. He felt the boy hit him again, but he was too dazed to do anything. When the bell rang, Mr. Larson didn’t move. He heard the boy threatening him, telling him not to tell anyone else about this “or else” he would regret it later.

Several hours later, the educator left the campus. He had been thinking. At first, all his thoughts were afraid, scared, frightened. But then, his feelings turned into anger, hate, even madness. He had had enough.

The next morning, the class was shocked when they came into class and saw their sixth period teacher smiling at them.

“Good morning class!” He greeted them enthusiastically.

Their jaws all dropped open. Why was Mr. Larson so happy? Had their teacher ever smiled before?

There was a huge tank sitting on his desk. Mr. Larson unscrewed the cap and lifted the big, shinny tank into his arms. He dumped upside down and liquid began to pour out of the can onto the floor. Slowly walking around the classroom, he let the liquid flow out and cover all corners of the room.

“Mr. Larson, what are you doing?!” someone in the class asked quizzically.

With a little chuckle, Mr. Larson walked over to the student and stared her in the face.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked her. She shook her head.

“It’s kerosene. Highly flammable.” The class gasped. Had their teacher lost his mind?

He strode back up to the front of the room.

“And do you know what this is?” he asked the class, holding up a small shinny object.

“That’s a lighter!” a girl in the back screamed. Mr. Larson laughed again. He flicked up the top and watched the flame dance. He scanned his class and got a good look at the terror on every single face. Then, he grabbed the tank and dropped the flaming object into the container filled with kerosene. Immediately, a flame erupted from he top of the bottle, and Mr. Larson hurled the fiery jug at his class. The classroom burst into flames. Mr. Larson slipped out the door and set a match to it, blocking any students from exiting. He waited a good five minutes, listening to the shrieks of his former pupils, their cries of agony music to his ears. He knew that others must have smelled the smoke now. He began to run down the hall yelling, “Fire! There’s a fire in my class!” at the top of his lungs.

Soon teachers and students came streaming out of classes and the fire bell stared screaming. Soon the shrieking of sirens and the shouts of firemen added to the confusion.

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Two days after the fire, Mr. Larson sat calmly in the chief police inspector’s office.

“Now how exactly is it that you managed to escape out of that burning classroom and not a single one of your students got out alive?” the inspector questioned him.

“It brings me such sorrow to learn that all of my precious students are dead. If I hadn’t been so near to the door when the blaze broke out, I wouldn’t be the sole survivor of the fire, talking to you right now.”

“What exactly caused the fire, Mr. Larson?” the inspector questioned further, his mustache bristling.

“Well, as you know, Officer, I am a Science teacher. We were having a chemistry lesson that involved the use of kerosene and one of my particularly dense students, I believe he was captain of the football team, decided to light a cigarette right then and there. So, the next thing I know the class is on fire. I dashed for the door and fled for my life.”

“Ah, I understand,” the inspector mused. “It was a matter of a dangerous science experiment and a careless student.”

“Precisely,” Mr. Larson replied.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Larson. You are free to leave.”

“Good day sir.” The former teacher stood up and left.