When the teacher came up to me I tried to put the horse's intestines behind my back, but he had already seen them. There were just too many of them. They flowed about in a coil and were too slippery to stack. “What the fuck?” He said. I laughed at his awkwardness. He grabbed me by the ear and dragged me forward into the cave. The walls closed in on me like they always did. Damn it if I didn’t hate it in there. “What have you got to say for yourself?” The massive human approximation deemed to ask me from its vaunted perch. “Diphthong periwig fervent alpha pisco meter mon freire.” Was my mentally prerecorded reply. The anger that this statement provoked struck me as entirely unjustified. Had I not answered their question? They had not specified that I explain myself after all. You would think that lawyers would understand the value of appropriate wording. If they had merely asked the correct question, I would have given them the answer they wanted. But they did not deign to rephrase and play the game along the rules set out in the bones of the Earth by the hands of God. No, they were all too drunk on power for that. And so I was subjected to torture. I cannot describe the horrific abuses that I suffered both in mind and in spirit, but suffice it to say that when all was said and done I was no longer in a position of physical capacity to return the horse’s intestines to the horse from whence they had come. I have heard of a horse living several weeks without its intestines, but never longer than that. As I was indisposed to find out what happened to the poor beast directly, I can only assume that it must have expired. Quite a horrific ending to this little tale. But frankly I think the blood is on the hands of my persecutors. They think they know everything, and never hesitate in their folly.
The End