The Flames Of Education

• Cassie Mutton, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2010

It’d finally come to the first day back at school since it had happened. Everyone had agreed, being at another school while they rebuilt the Science Block had been a relief. Now.. We’re back walking the very same corridors, talking to the very same witnesses yet – being back to the school is just a big excuse for experiencing an uncomfortable feeling.

The day it happened will always sit present and vivid in my mind. And the memories of how we were all laughing and making jokes only moments before. Mr. Jones smiled at me and handed me a worksheet titled Living Organisms.
‘Group A may work down on the oval today, and Group B will stay with me here.’ He called about the loud squabbling of the boys in our class. Mr. Jones was dearly respected for entitling his students to freedom during classes.

I picked up my pencil case and headed out towards the oval, along with a group half the size of our class (roughly 14 people). I was struggling on question five when we all were startled by the sudden crescendo of the slide whistle-sounding fire alarm that rung loudly throughout the school. It was a repetitive ring. I still remember how confused we all were until we smelt the familiar smell of thick smoke. A young female teacher was now in sight, galloping towards us in her high heels.
‘Get off the oval now! There’s a fire in the Science Block! Get off the oval NOW! Leave your pencil cases!’

Those words still ring in my head. Everything is still so clear. Inspecting the freshly painted rooms, we all swear we can still smell the fire so clearly, it’s as if it were happening. We no longer have to courage to laugh or make jokes, even talk half of the time. We cannot learn or pay attention, suffering with the fact half of our class… our TEACHER.. our FRIENDS were killed in a fire due to some selfish idiot who had left the classroom with THREE gas taps on.

Our class has now been divided upon the other year nine classes, but we will never feel the same. You cannot regain a dead friend. You cannot lose the bad memories. You cannot forget the doings of a wonderful, selfless person – who cares greatly of the student’s happiness. I cry with both anger and shock now, when I hear the malicious murmurs of the boys in my new class complain about how it’s good Mr. Jones is dead – only because he had punished them on a few occasions. But nobody should be remembered for the bad things.. I even feel that I need to OWE it to Mr. Jones for saving half of his class without knowing..

Yes, it will sting as long as we can remember it for – but we have the strength to carry on. We really do.