Loss of Appetite

A Loss of Appetite

DING-DING-DING... a cheap whisk strikes the lip of a metal bowl. A recently transferred professor stands at the front of a community college class. She waits to begin a series of tedious preparatory modules. Her name is Kylie Fenton, a forty some-odd brunette, and she's growing impatient. Her towering stature is overwhelming, complimented by her taste in fashion - or lack thereof. Her hair is a mess of matted curls partially tied up into the half-ass attempt of a pony tail.
Most of the scantily crafted desks were vacant, but within the occupied seats rest several aspiring culinary artists.  The bright fluorescent lighting scorches an unforgiving blaze. Its loud BUZZ supplements the dull rustling of social gossip. Beads of sweat accumulate above Kylie's eyebrows, fogging the interior of her 90's style eyeglass frame. The students continue to chat amongst one other, oblivious to her subtle request for attention. Most of the group regretted taking a Friday night course, but meeting once a week trumped having to rush through daily metropolitan traffic. Once again, she made herself known.
         "Good evening... I'm Professor Fenton. We'll begin tonights introductory -" She's too quiet. They ignore her. She'd have to do better.
         "AHEM!" Her throat echoes off the pasty white drywall, much louder than she'd hoped... it worked. The class ceases their obnoxious murmur and turns their attention to the strange woman.
         "I'm very excited to be here with you. Our world is bursting with culinary magic. You may recognize the smells and tastes of the most classically renowned dish selections, but once we're done here, you'll have zero trouble fashioning up a foreign delicacy with no help from those expensive restaurants downtown." She seemed thrilled to share her craft. Unfortunately, the others didn't possess her enthusiasm. A student in the far back interrupts her. His name is George.
         "Can you hurry up and cook somethin'? I haven't eaten since breakfast!" He was the first to provide the evening's comic relief. A twenty-two year old with jet black hair and tribal tattoos running up his pale arms.  A few of the others chuckle in response to his outlandish request.
         "Well... first we must cover the basics," she chokes. He interrupts her a second time. 
         "So what's the purpose of that, there?" He smirks, pointing to the silver bowl atop the table. This time, all of the students snicker along with him.
         "Where I come from, we don't interrupt someone while they're speaking." Kylie blurts out, annoyed.
         "Oh, yea? Well where I come from, the women cook the food. They don't talk about it." George sits back, waiting for applause. The class is stunned. Nevertheless, they laugh. Kylie's blood pressure rises drastically. She's never been subject to such ignorance. 
         "I, I..." Kylie's tongue twists into a knot. Under duress, she continues an uncomfortable stutter. George butts in.
         "You, you what? Are worthless? Is that what you're trying to tell us?" He had taken it too far, but this wasn't uncommon. He had a knack for pissing off authority figures. The class grows quiet... so quiet, the hum of the overhead light bellows down like an angry wasp's nest. Kylie leers at George. Prior to this instance, she never allowed anyone under her skin. George, however, was a different strain. With no reserve, she lets the anger consume her. 
"DETENTION!"  Kylie shouts.  She breathes in and out heavily as the crimson in her face begins to dissipate. Her outburst was much needed. George's confusion springs as the crowd erupts into laughter. He looks around at his peers, attempting to silence them with a menacing glare.
         "Detention? HAH! That's hilarious! I'm not staying here!" George defends himself.
         "You're staying. If not, I'll flunk you out. Try explaining that to your parents. I know they paid a great deal for your education. Not sure why.... I don't see any potential." She's smitten by her quick wit. The class sings its orchestra of OOOOOOOO'S as the professor folds her arms in confidence.
"Whatever." George mutters silently. He sinks down in his seat, defeated. The smoke quickly clears and Kylie continues with her lesson. George sits unspoken through the remainder of the class. He catches her eye every so often, but quickly looks away. The minute hand snails its away around the clock, until...
"Alright class, we've reached the end. Enjoy your Friday night, and stay safe! I'll see you next week." Kylie was in a much better mood.
"No homework?" A chubby blonde inquires. Her pig tails drape down, brushing against the number two pencil in her hand. She sits at the very front of the class, a sponge. The other students HUSH her.
"Relax! Relax. No homework. Go! Before I change my mind!" Kylie shoos her pupils out. The Chubby blonde is last to leave. She mopes out of the room, sad that it's over. George stands, attempting to slip by unnoticed.
"Where do you think you're headed? She asks him.
"You weren't serious, right? This is college." He had hoped the threat was barren.
"It may be, but I am serious.  As serious as the failing grade you'll receive if you don't comply." She gestures him to the closest desk. He scrunches his face, collapsing into the plastic seat.
"No talking. No cell phone. No sleeping." She barks, and then spins around. She marches over to her desk with a masculine stride.
"Ugh!" He grunts. He's disgusted by the unfair punishment. Kylie sits, folding one leg gracefully over the other. She removes a book from the drawer and buries her face inside. George looks back at the clock. It appears frozen.
"What time do I..." Before he can finish, he's silenced by her finger.
"Shhhhhh." She reminds him. His eyelids become heavy, twitching... Fighting to stay awake, he scans the room looking for anything to occupy his limited attention span. A familiar poster catches his eye; the food pyramid. It's tacked to a large bulletin board above the professor. George studies the nutritional data until the heavy fatigue overtakes him. A weight pushes his head forward and he dozes off.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT! The sound is deafening. George blinks his eyes, awakening from the accidental nap. RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT! For a moment, he forgets where he is...
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT! Third time's a charm. Fresh from his slumber, he snaps his head upright. Professor Matthews sits at the adjacent desk, hastily tapping her fingers against the vandalized wood - RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
"Professor?" He questions. She stares at him with empty eyes, failing to provide an audible response. A painful tension clouds the room. "Hello? Can I leave now?" He inquires yet again. She starts to frighten him. "I'm outta here!" George yells. He stands, hovering above her. She looks up, tilting her head. Her neck angles sideways until it rests ninety degrees on her shoulder. 
"What the hell is going on? Professor!?" His voice cracks. He backpedals away from her, frozen in terror. BANG! He crashes into her rigid desk, unable to escape. She slowly rises from the seat, her cheek firmly contorted against her protrusive shoulder blade. George notices a meat cleaver in her hand, and panics.
"P-P-PLEASE! DON'T HURT ME!" He cries. Her knuckles glow white as she digs her fingers into the coarse handle.  She cocks her arm up, and... BANG!
BANG! George jolts up from his seat. The metal whisk sits flush against his desk. He looks up to find Professor Fenton, who clutches the cooking utensil. She appears drained; weary from some sort of physical activity.
"I thought I told you... no sleeping." She barks sternly. She's not happy.
"I-I'm sorry. It won't happen again, Professor. I promise" The vivid nightmare has left him shaken. She analyzes him closely, sensing his remorse.
"I suppose I can let you go. It won't happen again, right?" Kylie asks, beckoning to the door. 
"Right." George promises, trembling in his seat. She backs away, restoring his personal aura. After a moment, he stands up, unsure whether his nightmare was authentic. With no cleaver in sight, he rushes out of the room. Professor Fenton watches as George fades down the hallway and around the corner, out of sight. She smiles and approaches her desk, retrieving her purse and jacket. RINGGGG! Her phone blares through her pocket.
"Damn! I could've sworn it was on vibrate." She complains, fumbling around for the device. She looks around cautiously, and then answers. Her voice sounds much deeper.
"Go for Mr. Ace." She concentrates deeply. The caller's raspy voice is difficult to make out due to the poor reception.
"A small hiccup. Some shit head disrupted the class... almost lost the mark. I had to bring her back in. Too risky leaving her in the car - campus guards roam about in packs this late." Kylie silenced by the voice on the other end. The caller speaks a bit longer, and then allows her to continue.
"I can assure you, her father will regret his decision. You can't outrun a debt forever, especially if you've got kids." The professor listens a moment longer, then hangs up. She breaks her phone in half, letting out a deep sigh of relief.
The hair on her head appears off kilter. She adjusts it, but it's pointless. The professor removes the wig from her head, revealing her true identity - Mr. Ace, an assassin for hire under the command of the city's most influential loan shark. Three triangles are tattooed on the back of his now visible neck. They meet at the corners, forming some sort of insignia.  The desk drawer is cracked. He pulls it open and removes a bloody cleaver. Thick droplets of blood glisten under the harsh lighting. He pulls a disinfectant wipe from a nearby sink and wipes it clean, then carefully places it inside his purse. The assassin prepares himself for the journey ahead.
"Keep it together. The end always justifies the means." He comforts himself and crouches below the desk. The pudgy blonde from class lies crumpled in half, stuffed inside the tiny nook. A large slit, the size of a cleaver, runs through the center of the innocent casualty's forehead. Dry blood has begun to cake around her face. Mr. Ace removes a duffel bag from his purse and unfolds it. He rolls the girl over, stuffing her body into the dark interior. After a quick zip, he heaves the black strap over his shoulder and heads to the door.  He shoves the switch down, and the room goes black. The distinctive buzzing comes to a halt and the desks sit peacefully... witnesses to the strange occurrences that have come and gone.