jaylar
Connie watched the old woman smoking a cigarette. She tried to think of something clever to say, finally; “When you said my vibe… was it like a colour or…”
“No. It’s the environment around you. Like a flower and the leaves are brown.”
“I am depressed.” Connie said, searching for how to work her situation.
How to find the words to say she didn’t hate her teaching job or even the pupils, but their behaviour. She hated how they acted and her inability to control them.
It was their smarmy knowledge of the pupils that she couldn’t even shout at them and not suffer punishment.
She felt like a slave.
