It was three years ago when I became the Messenger of Fear.
Before I became one of them, I had been drifting through electives, searching
for one that seemed right. Alas, nothing appealed to me so I settled for the
“Wheel” option for another year. What a waste it would have been. I’m glad that I raised my
hand that day, that one day in Metal Shop.
It was near the beginning of the year when we were still on
our first projects that M.C. Glathery diverged from our normal procedure and
made an announcement. An elective for this period had been empty for the last
few weeks and needed filling, would anyone like to volunteer?
I am the Messenger of Fear. When it is time for my duty, I
bring the target to either their doom or their prosperity. In the name of justice, I bring in every
target I am asked. For their actions, they must receive punishment or
prosperity. It is only right.
Behind my desk, I can already see the targets’ fates from my
employer’s face. If she is smiling, they prosper. If she frowns, they are
punished. Mostly she frowns. The doomed must repent, I remind myself, and the
blessed must continue their duty.
When I step through the
threshold, I receive only stares and the downcast look from those who know they
are doomed. I instill fear among the innocent and the one target. The steps
from threshold to teacher are some of the longest I've walked. Even a Messenger
wonders who the target is, whether they are blessed or doomed and if they
deserve it.
When I pass through the
threshold again, I am leaving with a target behind me. Sometimes they ask
questions I cannot answer. Trouble? I don’t know. I am but a Messenger. Most of
the time, they trail behind me because they have realized their deed. They
await justice and I bring it to them. Or rather, I bring the doomed to justice.
This has been an autobiographical parody of the book of the
same name by Michael Grant (shameless promotion, go read the book). In reality, I was an Office Monitor that delivered
passes from a counselor to a student, whether it was for something good or bad
they had done. It was my elective in seventh and eighth grade and I really
enjoyed it. When I looked back on it after reading Messenger of Fear, I found that a greatly exaggerated Office
Monitor and a Messenger of Fear really aren't that different.
Seeing things differently lends a new perspective of things,
a different perception of what is being observed. I could call Batman a
Messenger of Fear based on the fear he instills in his enemies and the justice
he brings to them. Therefore, I can call myself Batman.
Now if you excuse me, Alfred, my humble butler, has duties
to attend to and can no longer type my blog post. Signing out, Bruce Wa
Batman
