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The Mathematics Teacher.

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The Mathematics Teacher It was cold, bitterly cold. My scarf was not succeeding in fulfilling its job of keeping me warm, just collecting my condensed breath in its woven sections. It was about to rain, that was for sure. The clouds had covered the sun and the trees were delicately silhouetted against the moody sky. The weather, itself, was sinister. I was making each step last longer and longer, until I was almost tripping over myself. With each step I was getting closer to what I hated most of all in the whole world, maths. With each step there was no going back. It was my second lesson of private maths tuition with Mr Smith, my second hour of my brain dancing in my head, my second hour of my whole mind being in absolute oblivion, an hour which seemed to want to last forever. I became increasingly more nervous as I neared his house. Mum was walking in a morose manner; she didn't want to be there as much as I didn't. School had made me attend the classes as punishment for my dire behaviour. I was there, I knocked at the door. ...read more.


The next time I went to see him I walked there alone. The same feelings of nervousness were there as they were before. I was sat in the seat at the desk in the room. This time he sat beside me rather than standing behind me. I could smell his old breath stained with coffee. I felt it getting closer to me but could not bring myself to have eye contact with him. I continued to stare at the sheet which lay before me, covered with numbers which had no importance to me whatsoever. Why was I so scared of someone so weak and frail? He had a strange presence about him, he seemed as on edge as I was. It was cold and bleak outside and every so often the curtains would ripple from the wind outside. BANG. The door of the room slammed shut. Mr Smith and I had eye contact for the first time. He looked at me as if to look straight through me, yet I could feel his glare pump through my body. He looked away before I did, and concentrated on the sheet. "It's an old house." ...read more.


How was I telling myself something? Who was I? I walked up to the house and entered it, not knocking on the door, as I would normally do. I led myself up the winding staircase, the fog had followed me from outside and I was travelling through a thick mist, it was biting my face but I couldn't feel the pain, only the tedious pain inside my head. When the stairs had ended I came to a door, it opened without me even touching it, as if it had read my mind. I stood in the doorway in utter shock and confusion. I was looking at myself in the room; there was a clone of me standing at the window. My head was spinning with ambiguity, what was happening? "So, you came." My clone spoke. It wasn't my voice though. It was Mr Smith's. "What are you doing? Why? How..." it took me a couple of seconds to realise. I was speaking in Mr Smith's voice too. I looked around the room, a mirror hung on the wall near my clone. I walked over to it with anxiety and anticipation. A regular feeling was coming back to me; my stomach, yet again, was in my throat. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and looked in the mirror. Simone Reilly U1 ...read more.

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