A Good Deed for the Decade: Detention

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Aajmal Henry

Detention

It was a lovely, sunny Saturday morning perfect for picnics, fishing, and frivolous frollicking.  Nonetheless, per Principal Grey’s request, Mr. Emory was holding detention.  As the clock ticked to eight, the vast majority of students assigned to be present were sat in desks.  Mr. Emory looked up from his stone tablet to take stock of attendance.  He was short one person. “Mateo, why is Lance not here,” he asked.  

“He said he’s not coming,” Mateo replied.  

“Curious,” Mr. Emory responded.  He looked over to Lance’s desk, where he sat in history, and Lance was there, still in his Pajamas.  “Good morning Lance,” Mr. Emory said blankly.  Lance was startled by the sudden change of place and still positioned for holding a controller.  

“How am I even here? Did you kidnap me Mateo!?” he yelled.  Mateo chuckled. 

 “Nah, but I might try it if it gets you to come to a football game.  You should come! they're fun!” he replied.  Lance sighed and rolled his eyes, slumping into his chair.  Mr. Emory finished inscribing the attendance and became in front of the class. 

 “Good morning class.  You are all here for one reason or another.  The point is, you were caught doing something questionable.  I dearly hope this punishment: the wasting of your valuable time, is a sufficient lesson, and that next time you take better care to not get caught,” he said, and then he was back in his seat.  Mateo raised his hand.  

“Do you need anything done around the room?” he asked.  Mr. Emory took a glance around.  Everything was spotless.  

“No.  My room is always perfect,” he replied.  

“Do you have any papers that need to be checked off?” Mateo continued.  

“No.  I know what my students are going to get on their assignments before they turn them in.  There is no effort in taking record of it,” Mr. Emory replied. 

 “Hey! You just give us grades without even looking!? That's not fair!” Audry called from the back.  She was in Mr. Emory’s Biology and pixie magic classes.  Mr. Emory shook his head.  

“I do look at them for exactly long enough to say that I did, and then I record the number I knew you were going to get anyway.  If you want to review in detail why I have failed your every assignment, then I have all the time in the world,” Mr. Emory retorted.  Audry crumpled in her seat.  

Mr Emory stared emptily at his blank monitor.  He still hadn’t figured out what it was or what it was for… or what it was monitoring.  He however noticed that it was similar in material to the glowing tablets his students were so enraptured in.  He was not surprised that children still played with rocks.  Indeed, rocks were his dearest, and only friends throughout his youth and most of his life.  Still, he found the vampiric thrall these tablets seemed to exude to be intriguing.  “Christopher, what is that you are holding?” Mr. Emory asked.  Chris was limply drawn across the room towards the front desk.  His arm jutted out to offer up his phone, and Mr. Emory hovered over his desk to pluck the little black box from Chris’ hand.  He inspected it closely.  His true vision saw everything about it, down to the little indentations that electrons danced across.  Still, he did not understand.  He sensed no magic about the device, no reason for its enthralling presence.  Christopher dropped to his feet, out of breath.  Mr. Emory smelled the device, then tasted it, licking it over, then whacked against his desk.  Even through these empirical and long standard means, he could not discern the box’s purpose.  

“You know, if you wanted to see my phone I’d have just given it to you,” Chris said.  Mr. Emory’s gaze fixed in Chris’ direction and the phone was back in his hands.  It was slimy and wet.  Chris gave this little regard.  “See, professor.  The ‘on’ button is here,” he explained.  The phone lit up, much to Mr. Emory’s amazement.  

“So this is some sort of magical lamp,” Mr. Emory asked.  Chris shook his head.  

“No, it does way more than that.  Also, it's not magic, it's electricity,”   Mr. Emory raised an eyebrow.  

“What else does this lightning box do?” he asked.  Chris smiled.  

“Well… a lot of things.  You can talk to people who are far away; you can look up stuff you don't know, play games…”  Mr. Emory had drowned Chris out.  He was amused by these devices, mortal implements of amusement and communication. 

“You took that well,” Lance grumbled.  Chris chuckled.  

“Old people do weird stuff sometimes.  I can't count how many times my grandma has confused all sorts of things for her dentures,” he replied. “Professor Emory! Do you want to see a game?” he asked.  Mr. Emory snapped back to the present and smiled garishly.  

“I am triumphant in all challenges!” he exclaimed.  His proclamation caused the ground to quake.  The class was immensely disturbed by this.  

“Why are there earthquakes here!?” Quinn asked.  Mr. Emory shrugged.  

“Chalk it up to climate change.  Does all sorts of strange things as I hear it,” Mr. Emory replied.  

“My parents told me climate change isn't real,” Audry said.

“That tracks,” Mr. Emory replied.  He then turned back to Cris.  “What is the nature of this game?” he asked.  Chris scrolled through the long, long, long list of games on his phone.  Mr. Emory drifted partially back into the shadow realm whilst waiting.

“You have a lot of games Chris,” Jordan said.

“Why do you think I’m here?” Chris replied, at long last reaching the right page.  “Here look Professor Emory! This game is called ‘Two Weeks’,” he said.  

“You’re not going to show him tetris or something?” Jordan asked.  

“Dude, get off me.  Two Weeks is where it's at!” Chris replied.  Jordan shrugged.  “This is what's called a ‘Battle Royale’.  You get matched up with a bunch of people to fight and whoever is the last one standing wins the game,” Chris explained.  Mr. Emory was drawn back to the world. 

“Is this to the death?” he asked.  Chris cocked his head.  

“I guess.  If you die then you get eliminated,” he replied.

“I’m afraid I am not allowed to allow you to be murdered.,” Mr. Emory responded.  Chris chuckled.  

“No, you’re just eliminated in the game.  You can play again and you’re fine in real life,” he explained. 

“Professor Emory!  You’re giving the impression that it's okay if he kills people as he doesn't get hurt,” Nelson called from the back of the room.  Mr. Emory shrugged.

“It is part of my job description to make sure none of you come to any harm.  What you do outside of school, with or to others, be it for good or ill, is entirely outside of my jurisdiction,”