"MRS. PEACHTREE" by [SA]Atomo

I'll never forget the first time I walked into Mrs. Peachtree's classroom.
I was new in school, having moved from the city into this tiny rural town
where my dad had taken up a new job as assistant janitor at Arby's. He worked
hard to provide a good life for us, since my mom died when I was little. My
school was a small one, but had come highly recommended to us by friends. I
wouldn't know why until much later.

The first thing I saw walking into class was a tiny old woman, sitting at a
desk much too big for her size and wearing a giant floppy hat, the kind you'd
see women wearing at Sunday church. Grey hair contrasted against the bright
reds and pinks of the flowers on her hat. Her dress was just as lively, blossom
patterns weaved into the fabric. The old lady was dressed in her Sunday's best!
Great, a boring old granny. Little did I know at the time. Little did I know.

"Ok class," she announced once we were all in our seats, "today we have a new
student! Let's all welcome Timmy to Mrs. Peachtree's 6th grade homeroom!" The
students clapped and cheered, and it wasn't until Mrs. Peachtree stood up to
clap that I noticed she had no right hand. Instead, she had a prosthetic forearm
that ended in a pair of hooks. Not noticing my horror, Mrs. Peachtree signaled to
the chalkboard. "Timmy? Would you like to help us solve this math problem?"

I told her I couldn't do it. "Why not?" she said.

I paused, somewhat embarassed. "Because I'm Educable Mentally Retarded." 

She came up from her desk and looked at me, saying, "Don’t ever say that again.
Someone’s opinion of you does not have to become your reality. You can be whoever
and whatever you want to be." She shook her hook in the air. "See? I can be a
pirate! Yaarr! Do you like pirates, Timmy?"

"My mom drowned on the Pirates of the Carribean ride," I told her. The images of a
man in a Mickey Mouse suit removing his head to vomit as they pulled out the body
came flooding back, and tears began to well up in my eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry dear, I had no idea. Well how about we try that math problem out?"
She smiled, brilliantly white teeth and blue eyes sparkling together in that
elderly face. I sighed and gave it a try. 2X divided by four would equal....4? No,
that didn't sound right. I worked my brain for the answer.

"Anything, if you just believe!" cried out Eddie Hulton from the back of the room.
The class giggled. Eddie was the smallest student in the entire grade, but could
beat anyone in a footrace.

Suddenly it came to me! I wrote my answer on the board. "One half X! Very good,
Timmy," proclaimed Mrs. Peachtree, "it goes to show you, once you believe in yourself,
the possibilities are endless!" I felt happier than I ever had before, nearly
bursting with pride. I was so overcome with joy that I forgot to put back the piece of
chalk when I went to my desk; Mrs. Peachetree reminded me with a sweet laugh.

In the weeks to come, Mrs. Peachtree would teach me about not only math equations
and world history, but also about living life to the fullest and choosing your own
destiny. She told me how once, in the dead cold of winter as a young woman in Europe,
she had been captured by cruel Nazi soldiers and left chained to a tree as wolf food.
Instead of giving up however, she had gnawed off her own arm and fended off wolves with
her frozen limb-cudgel. It was after that incident that she made a resolve to never
give up on herself. In time, she taught me to value myself as someone truely special.
My grades rose up to the highest they had ever been, and I made the honor roll for the
first time in my life.

One day, while Mrs. Peachtree was out of the room to go gather construction paper for our
Christmas Day collages, I decided it was time to pay back our teacher for all the great
things she had done. I told the students in a whispered hush that we could pool our
allowances together to buy Mrs. Peachtree a new hat. Her old one had started to wear,
but she couldn't afford a new one. The students agreed wholeheartedly and by the next
day, we had almost thirty dollars saved up.

Unfortunately, tragedy stuck the next day. While walking on the way to work, Mrs.
Peachtree was sidewiped by an out-of-control Greyhound bus and sent careening through the
plate glass window of Mr. Bixby's barbershop. She was taken to the nearby hospital, but
things looked grim. School was canceled for the day, and the whole class went to visit
her. On the way to her room however, we were stopped by a doctor.

"I'm sorry, kids," he told us, "We can't let you see her right now, it's not too pretty.
There's nothing more we can do. Mrs. Peachtree suffered severe trauma in the accident,
and what's left of her probably won't last more than a couple of weeks. She can't afford
to pay the complicated surgery required to make her better."

We were hearing none of it. "Mrs. Peachtree would never give up on us if we were in the
same position and we're not going to give up on her now!" I told the doctor angrily.
The other kids nodded their heads in agreement. We walked out of the hospital intent on
saving our teacher's life. I phoned the local television station and told them of our
plight. I told them of how Mrs. Peachtree had all touched our lives in a magical way,
and how we had wanted to repay her kindness before the accident, but that now she needed
help from everyone to get the surgery she needed. They happily agreed to air our story.

The report was a nationwide success. Millions of people donated to Mrs. Peachtree's cause,
and soon enough the good news came in the form of a phone call one snowy evening after
New Year's Day. It was the hospital doctor.

"Good news, Timmy!" said a cheerful voice. "Mrs. Peachtree underwent surgery earlier this
morning and is gonna be ok! In fact, she'll be better than ok, she'll be stronger and
quicker than bef-" The line suddenly went dead. I didn't care. I was too overjoyed at the
news. Mrs. Peachtree was going to live!

The next day, the entire classroom sat in total silence, anticipation building to a breaking
point. Would she be on crutches? How was her arm? Would she still be the same old teacher we
had grown to love?

The first sounds outside of the room were of heavy footsteps coming down the hall, followed
by the voice of Mr. Moeller, the 7th grade science teacher. "Mrs. Peach--oh God. OH GOD, Y-"
His words were cut off suddenly. They were probably hugging, they had been good friends long
before I had ever arrived here.

"DEUS EX MACHINA," spoke a familiar voice. Mrs. Peachtree! Her sweet and soothing voice
sounded different this time, as if there were several voices instead of one, speaking in
high and low pitches. 

The classroom broke into excited whispers as a large shadow came into view. A massive figure
emerged through the doorway. The blossom dress was as bright as ever; the new flower hat
radiated elegance. A blue eye winked with wily mischief; a red one lit one side of her face
in a crimson glow. Metal tubing ran intertwining throughout a left arm, the right one ended
in a massive grappling hook. There was a reddish gleam on the end of the claws. The room was
all grins.

Mrs. Peachtree said nothing as she turned to her desk, pistons pumping as her legs folded
into tank treads, rolling towards the apples piled on top of her teaching book. Finally, her
torso swiveled towards the class. She scanned the room, her lipless mouth frozen in a metallic
grin. "GREETINGS, CHILDREN," she thundered, "TODAY IN CLASS WE WILL BE SKIPPING THE SECTION ON
THE U.S. CONSTITUTION AND BEGIN A NEW CHAPTER, ON THE UPCOMING AGE OF METAL DOMIN-."

She was cut off by little Eddie Hulton as he ran up towards the front of the room, arms extended
and ready to hug. "Mrs. Peachtree! You're back! You're OK! You're-"

"THE FLESH IS WEAK, EDWARD," bellowed Mrs. Peachtree, and her grappling hook lashed out from her
arm, catching Eddie by the throat and sending him through the classroom window. He landed on the
icy playground gravel outside, neck bent at an odd angle. "EMOTIONS. A HUMAN FLAW, BUT A DEFECT
NOW ELIMINATED FROM MY BEING." Her head rotated back towards the students. "LET THIS BE A LESSON.
JOSEPH, YOU WILL RETRIEVE THE REMAINS, THEY ARE TO BE MOUNTED ON THE WALL AS A REMINDER TO THOSE
WHO WOULD DARE OPPOSE MY IRON EMPIRE."

Joseph was the class clown, many jokes had passed between him and Mrs. Peachtree in the previous
months. "Aw shucks, Mrs. Peachtree, we thought you'd be a near-cripple when you came back, what
with the doctor saying how you were all sick and what not, but it turns out you haven't changed a
bit! You're still as feisty as alwa-" A flash of red from Mrs. Peachtree's eye and Joseph crumbled
to ash. Mrs. Peachtree actually seemed angry for the first time I could remember.

She saw the concern on my face. "THE CHOSEN DWINDLE, TIMOTHY. THE WEAK FALL AWAY. WHO BETRAYS ME
SHALL DIE THE FINAL DEATH. EDWARD, TWISTED BY HIS WEAKNESS. JOSEPH, DEAD IN HIS PRIDE." An explosion
blew down the classroom door as soon as her words ended, and armed soldiers stormed the entrance,
firing away at Mrs. Peachtree.

"Jesus Christ, Sarge, she's not flinching!" yelled out one of the men. He was right. I sighed in
relief as the bullets bounced off her titanium shelling. The attackers screamed as fiery blue spheres
from her mouth engulfed them in flames; Mrs. Peachtree paid no notice to them as she rolled out into
the hallway to pursue her retreating attackers. 

"NOW BEGINS THE WINTER OF YOUR DISCONTENT," echoed Mrs. Peachtree's laughter from the hall. It was the
first time I'd heard her laugh since her accident. That was our teacher, the old woman who loved
blossoms and roses, and most importantly, her students above all else. Despite all that had happened in
her life, she had refused to quit, and persevered where most others had given up. It was a lesson I'd
remember for the rest of my life, all 32 minutes of it.