The Deep South of the Pacific Northwest - by Some Guy
When I was in the fourth grade, my teacher died in the middle of class. It was some sort of congenital heart defect and his aorta gave out that day for no particular reason other than bad luck. At the end of silent reading time, he simply told everyone to “Line up for gy—” and fell facedown into the carpet. Dead right there. I did not notice this for several minutes. I was reading. His death murmurs brought me to awareness of the situation something like fifteen minutes later as best I can recall. Air escapes your lungs when you die and you’re all bent up. Now that I’m older, my memory is that it sounded sort of like a moose. “Muhhhooohhhh…” In the interests of brevity and good taste, I’ll skip over several levels of detail. A kid close to the door ran out and grabbed the neighboring teacher. Our teacher was a notorious prankster so in a stuttering voice, the other teacher told him to stop pretending because it was “scaring the children!” When our teacher gave no response except anothe
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