The Teacher stands at the top of the class. He resembles - slightly - a teacher I had in 2nd class ( the fourth grade ), but I can't seem to focus on his face too much. He speaks in an authoritative tone, not unlike most teachers, but the actual content of what he's saying is somewhat more disturbing.

He stands behind a girl, who is J_ from work. He is toying with her medium length red hair, which is tied back elaborately with a bright red silk scarf.

He is saying;

"You like to show off your hair, don't you. You like to put it all out. Like your tits, in front like that..."

... and on and on, getting steadily more offensive. The entire class is silent, and J_ is squirming, definitely not enjoying this treatment by The Teacher but apparently unable to protest.

I am incensed on J_'s behalf, and can't bear to see her tortured any longer. I stand up and say in a voice at once commanding but reasonable;

"I must protest at this sir, this is unreasonable behaviour on your part, and I must insist that you stop immediately."

The Teacher's head snaps up and for a moment I can see his entirely black eyes.

"Oh, they don't mind."

he says, in a deeper than deep voice, gesturing around him. A smile crawls across his face, like he's trying to be reassuring.

But I now know this is a dream, and he has no place being here.

I say to him, in the same even voice;

"Nobody here seems to be enjoying themselves particularly."

I nod in the direction of J_. A tear runs down the side of her face to the corner of her jaw.

"But we go way back." he insists, "We have history"

But I respond with the fact that the teacher he impersonates was only teaching this class for one year, and there is no real history, and he has no place being here.

He is getting uneasy now. I know that I must make the decisive move now, or aquiesce to him forever. He take two quick steps toward him, and with a more forceful voice than I have ever had in waking, I shout in his face.

"Take yourself out of here and never, never darken our lives with your evil form again, or so help me I will make you suffer!

The force of my order causes The Teacher to diminish somehow, and he is forced down the steps outside the door of the classroom. Outside the rain looms darkly, running down the aged stonework in fat rivulets. He is illuminated inadequately by the single unshaded sodium lamp swinging from the ceiling of the doorway arch.

Philip Seymore Hoffman, standing by the side of the door cheers me on. The Teacher takes this moment of distraction to dart into a side door. I know I must not let him escape so I pursue him as quickly as I can.

Bursting through the heavy wooden door, I see him, slightly crouched, standing by the end of the old stone stairs. From the center of his chest comes a Bright Blue light which hurts me to see. I seem to know that what is coming is bad, and in response, I let a bellow up from the very depths of me, I am enveloped in yellow, and everything around me dissolves.

I wake with the certainty that The Teacher and I will meet in my dreams again.

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