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MrTickle
November 11th, 2016, 11:20 AM
Hello :-)

As with all my work. This story is open to interpretation.

He wouldn’t take any other students on his swimming class. He would only teach his class of five. His class of five were all from the same mother and father, all aged six and all dressed in the same black swimsuits that covered their arms and legs. Each girl and boy in that class had either fingers or toes missing. Most had just one missing digit, a small stub of skin left. Unfortunately one boy named Kel had three of his fingers missing apart from his pinkie and thumb. It always looked as though he was trying to call someone.

The students were led by a teacher whose chalk coloured skin, and sunken pot belly overlapped his trunks. He had blood shot eyes and patchy grey hair that was combed over like one of those old timers who still reckoned his hair was game. Except the teacher was 32. It led many swimmers to spend their time at the opposite end of the pool.

The teacher used to lift each child in by their armpits. Each child’s lips quivering, each shivering and never giving the teacher eye contact. He smiled and winked at all of them as they got into the pool and gestured to them to head straight under the water.

Many people had heard stories about this teacher. One story claimed he lurked around the swimming pool at night drinking cups of water from the pool, sticking his penis in the pools grills, and taking strange boxes he struggled to carry and shoving them in his locker.

Most swimmers just used to watch his lessons unfold instead of swimming. One thing they noticed was that his lessons never seemed like actual lessons. The teacher used to make the kids stay under water in a circle with knees up to their chests like babies in a womb. Each kid separated at even distance.
The two parents of these five children would always turn up with half an hour to go. They would sit in the gallery - the father in his designer suit and mother in her red dress. They would always fan their pampered faces with real paper fans and straight postures. And when time was up, they’d come down to the pools exit and smile, putting an arm around their child and saying, “Come along honeys, we have a surprise for you when you get home.”

“They are so oblivious to what is happening to their children,” said one of the fat women who watched the lesson unfold from the corner of the pool. She turned to the other chunky women and said, “Shouldn’t we tell them, or at least the police?” They all nodded, and then began to cry, then they did the doggy paddle, and then they went home. They said the same thing the next week, all until one week when the children didn’t turn up at all.

That week, the teacher was sitting on the edge of the pool, sweating, red in the face, puce. He was straining himself. Veins bulging in his stomach and legs. And after half an hour he went back into the changing rooms.

About a month later, in the rusting blue seats in the gallery above, Kathy, the swimming pools manager was howling and screeching like a mother in a melodrama. Her sobs echoed through the baths. Her screech suddenly cut out into silence and four pages of paper floated over the edge of the galleries balcony like flattened doves. A lifeguard dived into the water and picked one of the papers out of the water. He read it in the middle of the pool. Kathy held onto the railings above with mascara streaking her cheeks and said, “It was always going to end this way.”

The next night a house about two roads up from the swimming pool in Matson Lane had its windows smashed by bricks. Flashlights shone through the cracked parts of glass like a demented puppet show.

The swimming pool eventually closed down 3 months later due to the council wanting to build a morgue on the land.

In the final day of the swimming pools existence, green fish were suddenly painted onto the ceiling by unseen visitors, and the swimming pool was emptied of its water. But no one turned up to the swimming pools final day, only Kathy to close up. But as she passed the swimming pool one final time, she saw at the bottom of the pool a small rusted door. She frowned, but walked away anyway. She locked the door and headed to a café with friends.

In the middle of that same night footsteps echoed through the hallways. They grew quicker and louder and until the noise halted at the entrance to the pool. There was a teen boy stood looking into the swimming pool. His three middle fingers missing and now his little finger too. He rushed over to the pool and kicked the air where water used to be with anger.

Two figures from behind appeared. A man and a woman in their late fifties stood at the pools exit. They both said, “we were calling you honey.”

He ignored them and looked to the bottom of the swimming pool and saw four fish flapping. They were in a circle and looked content despite having no water to breath. He knew there should be a fifth fish down there. However, the one person who knew how to help him had been driven out of this town. Jake felt two hands squeeze down on either shoulder and he heard his mother say, “Come along honey, we have a surprise for you when you get home.”

Bard_Daniel
November 12th, 2016, 09:55 AM
Not quite sure how to interpret this story. It was not a bad read but I felt that it didn't have the sinker that, for me, makes for a really engaging and effective short story. Maybe it's just me though.

Thanks for sharing.

MrTickle
November 12th, 2016, 11:37 AM
Ok thank you danielstj, I appreciate the feedback :-)

Firemajic
November 12th, 2016, 06:15 PM
Hello :-)

As with all my work. This story is open to interpretation.

He wouldn’t take any other students on his swimming class. He would only teach his class of five. His class of five were all from the same mother and father, all aged six and all dressed in the same black swimsuits that covered their arms and legs. Each girl and boy in that class had either fingers or toes missing. Most had just one missing digit, a small stub of skin left. Unfortunately one boy named Kel had three of his fingers missing apart from his pinkie and thumb. It always looked as though he was trying to call someone.

The students were led by a teacher whose chalk coloured skin, and****sunken pot belly overlapped his trunks.***
Well, a sunken Pot belly can't overlap his trunks... not if it is sunken...
He had blood shot eyes and patchy grey hair that was combed over like one of those old timers who still reckoned his hair was game. Except the teacher was 32. It led many swimmers to spend their time at the opposite end of the pool.

The teacher used to lift each child in by their armpits. Each child’s lips quivering, each shivering and never giving the teacher eye contact. He smiled and winked at all of them as they got into the pool and gestured to them to head straight under the water.

Many people had heard stories about this teacher. One story claimed he lurked around the swimming pool at night drinking cups of water from the pool, sticking his penis in the pools grills, and taking strange boxes he struggled to carry and shoving them in his locker.

**Most swimmers just used to watch his lessons unfold instead of swimming.*** [ ** this sentence could be reworked, yes? ]One thing they noticed was that his lessons never seemed like actual lessons. The teacher used to make the kids stay under water in a circle with knees up to their chests like babies in a womb. Each kid separated at even distance.
The two parents of these five children would always turn up with half an hour to go. They would sit in the gallery - the father in his designer suit and mother in her red dress. They would always fan their pampered faces with real paper fans and straight postures. And when time was up, they’d come down to the pools exit and smile, putting an arm around their child and saying, “Come along honeys, we have a surprise for you when you get home.”

“They are so oblivious to what is happening to their children,” said one of the fat women who watched the lesson unfold from the corner of the pool. She turned to the other chunky women and said, **“Shouldn’t we tell them, or at least the police?”** [ Shouldn't we tell them, or report him to the police... something like that ? maybe... ;) They all nodded, and then began to cry, **then they** did the doggy paddle, and **then they ** [ reword, so that you don't have sooo many " then they".. just went home. They said the same thing the next week, all until one week when the children didn’t turn up at all.

That week, the teacher was sitting on the edge of the pool, sweating, red in the face, puce. He was straining himself. Veins bulging in his stomach and legs. And after half an hour he went back into the changing rooms.

About a month later, in the rusting blue seats in the gallery above, Kathy, the swimming pools manager was howling and screeching like a mother in a melodrama. Her sobs echoed through the baths. Her screech suddenly cut out into silence and four pages of paper floated over the edge of the galleries balcony like flattened doves. A lifeguard dived into the water and picked one of the papers out of the water. He read it in the middle of the pool. Kathy held onto the railings above with mascara streaking her cheeks and said, “It was always going to end this way.”

The next night a house about two roads up from the swimming pool in Matson Lane had its windows smashed by bricks. Flashlights shone through the cracked parts of glass like a demented puppet show.

The swimming pool eventually closed down 3 months later due to the council wanting to build a morgue on the land.

In the final day of the swimming pools existence, green fish were suddenly painted onto the ceiling by unseen visitors, and the swimming pool was emptied of its water. But no one turned up to the swimming pools final day, only Kathy to close up. But as she passed the swimming pool one final time, she saw at the bottom of the pool a small rusted door. She frowned, but walked away anyway. She locked the door and headed to a café with friends.

In the middle of that same night footsteps echoed through the hallways. They grew quicker and louder and until the noise halted at the entrance to the pool. There was a teen boy stood looking into the swimming pool. His three middle fingers missing and now his little finger too. He rushed over to the pool and kicked the air where water used to be with anger.

Two figures from behind appeared. A man and a woman in their late fifties stood at the pools exit. They both said, “we were calling you honey.”

He ignored them and looked to the bottom of the swimming pool and saw four fish flapping. They were in a circle and looked content despite having no water to breath. He knew there should be a fifth fish down there. However, the one person who knew how to help him had been driven out of this town. Jake felt two hands squeeze down on either shoulder and he heard his mother say, “Come along honey, we have a surprise for you when you get home.”


Just a few tiny nits in a very intriguing read... I actually love this...

Olly Buckle
November 12th, 2016, 06:47 PM
nits
" But no one turned up to the swimming pools final day,"
Possesive apostrophe, "pool's", not a plural.

"He rushed over to the pool and kicked the air, where water used to be, with anger."
Commas for subordinate clause, or it is the water with anger issues. Might be easier/clearer to rephrase ' He rushed over to the pool and kicked angrily at the air where water used to be.'

A nice little idea.

MrTickle
November 12th, 2016, 09:39 PM
Thank you for the feedback firemajic and olly buckle

senecaone
November 14th, 2016, 07:57 AM
Your imagery is good.
Sentence structure is ok, mostly.
A bit too repetitive by starting too many sentences in a row with "his" and "he".

An idea: go through the piece and remove every word/modifier possible, without making the sentences intelligible; then look at it again. Just an idea...