My older son was excited to finish his English essay.  What?!?  Usually he complains but not this day.  His class read “Frankenstein” written by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley in 1818, in the spirit of Halloween. The assignment:  Write a story written in spooky Gothic style prose about some place on the high school campus.   I know I’d be scared to death of the football locker room but to my son, the stench is normal.  He is my first guest blogger.  See what creepy place he finds himself.

Mwahahaha!

It seems as if the sun has set, as the door slams shut, crushing any last bit of hope or cheerfulness that remained. A squeak of a chair, ominous footsteps, growing louder with each step, and alas, a tall skeletal figure stood over us with a wicked, cackling grin. We were trapped. As the projector suddenly sparked to life, it made an eerie blue square on the screen. Seconds seem like hours as the Hitachi logo lingers, our heart rates booming with every beat. The tall, gloomy figure continues to watch us with clear intent, sucking our very souls from our bodies. The screen turn white with text written on it. Our lives flash before us as we read the assignment: Limits, derivatives, definite integrals! The mysterious figure laughs maniacally as we struggle to find the limit or Sin(X)/X as X approaches zero. I reach into my backpack only to find a blank nothingness, as my TI-nspire CX CAS calculator is nowhere to be found. My only hope is lost. I am alone at sea in an ocean of calculus.

The wind howls outside this clouded day. Whilst indoors we still struggle to find the derivatives. It slowly begins to drizzle rain, then a gentle pour as time seemed to slow. The weather outside is frightful but there is nothing delightful inside. The man slowly waltzed up and down the aisles of seats, checking our past night’s homework. He scans every problem, ensuring we suffer through maximum pain both inside and outside the classroom. Constantly checking the clock, we’re scolded and slammed with more solving. Damn you, chain rule! Figuratively wrapping itself around our necks and tensing up suddenly, confusion soon set in as what any life we had, is squeezed out of us.

Another lecture lingers on, at this point many of us wishing we were dead. We stand strong, waiting patiently in hopes we are not called upon to answer a dreadful “Q” question. Tension in the class rises, while sound is distorted, leaving everyone wondering what will happen next. Everything is still. Too still. The rain seems to be falling slower as sweat breaks out across the students’ foreheads.

“Answer to Q1,” bellows the tall mysterious man who prides himself on our eternal suffering. Eyes dart around the room as if to guess who will be called before everyone. Alas, the bell rings! Freedom strikes with impeccable timing as the chains of calculus are released. The entire class tries casually to pack up and leave, but all the pupils hint at their clear intent to run as far from Room 17 as possible.

Curses, exclamations and murmurs flow from people’s mouths in relief as they stride away from the horrid dungeon that legally qualifies as a classroom. The pain and tension that built up over the last fifty minutes washes away in mere moments as the students vent about the mental and physical pain endured. While it may be just once a day for one school-year, the deep burns of calculus chains will never be forgotten.