A lone figure stumbles through the school's hallways, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. Brave New World took shorter than he had imagined: his only intellectual life-raft had slipped away. He wasn't going to last much longer.
He clutches his head, collapses and starts hallucinating.
One day, long long ago, into the mists of time, a meeting was held. It was, theoretically, a very important meeting.
The participants were shadowy, mysterious, of a race long receded into legend. These creatures, in a process eerily similar to that found in Brave New World, are the ones that create teachers. Yes, that's right. They are bred.
"We are not to allow the students to fail", said the first member.
"Yes", said the next, "make the teachers' wills weak. Make them comply to the students' demands for mediocrity. Make the students happy. We must not hurt their self-esteem."
"We must not hurt their self-esteem." the rest repeated, making the sacred sign of the checkmark on their chest. After being shifted along the assembly line, after being vaccinated against the flu and the cold, after decanting, and after being conditioned to like the coffee, this would become a hypnopaedic lesson in the teachers' cage-like nurseries.
"What if a student doesn't want mediocrity?" said one, foolish member.
"Meh, we'll leave the freak alone. His mind will numb eventually."
"But what if it doesn't?"
"He'll write a novel, or teach himself French, or something. He'll get good grades. And if he does, the school will take credit. The methods will be commended by onlookers. The school's esteem will be helped. And we must not hurt their self-esteem"
"We must not hurt their self-esteem."
Someone in the distance says a word with more than two syllables. It's enough to sustain him. He wakes
It's cruel, I know. A tad confusing. More than a bit dubious. But I can't help myself, you know? I need to vent; I need to write, I need to teach myself French. I'll go crazy if I don't. So humor me, alright?