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“Silent Rebellion”

A door clicks.

Floorboards creak.

Footsteps accompany cracked, rasping breaths.

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Rebel Schooldays

I was always at least half in love with my English teachers. Except one. I'll call him Mr. Mann. I think it was the hirsute-ness that intimidated us girls. The boys had nary a whisker between them, but Mr. Mann had hair escaping all over the place. Did I mention? It was the year An American Werewolf in London came out.

Try as I might I couldn't stop staring at his nostril jungle that first day. I was new to the phenomenon of a moustache that started somewhere up in the sinuses.

"Do I know you? I don't remember you from last year." He demanded.

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