One morning, when Mr. K woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his classroom into a horrible insect.
He lay on his segmented brown belly propped against his teachers desk. He had fallen asleep trying to grade English papers again.
His armor-like back ached and wiry thin antennae kept bobbing into view like stray hairs. If he lifted his head a little, he could see his many tiny legs waving about helplessly each holding a pen or pencil.
“What’s happened to me?” he thought.
It wasn’t a dream.
“Oh well.” he shrugged, “I have papers to grade,” and he began to attack the pile of high school essays on literary surrealism.
But before he could even finish the first one, the Commandant sauntered in. At least she liked to call herself that. She was really just a first year principal. Last…
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