Ms. Frizzle is such an eccentric teacher, the kind that one would not easily forget. If her personality alone were not enough to leave a lasting impression, her wild field trips would certainly seal the deal. It is therefore not surprising that, on a weekend when Ms. Frizzle had things to plan for, she walked into a classroom full of her former students who had prepared a small get-together. A former female student immediately approached her and embraced her. Everyone else moved closer, smiling but with a touch of melancholy on some of their faces.
Ms. Frizzle was no stranger to reunions, especially surprise ones. And she knew very well what those looks entailed. Even the atmosphere itself gave off the feeling of woe. Still she might as well hold out some hope that this one would not end the same as other occasions. “Wow, you haven’t changed a bit, huh Ms. Frizzle? Y-you look good,” chuckled a former male student of hers, as he stretched his neck. He was clearly flirting, but he attempted to pass it off as a jovial comment for the benefit of everyone around.
He was correct though; Ms. Frizzle had not changed at all. Some of her former students noticed this, and it gave them an anxious feeling that was evident in the way they carried themselves. At that point, one of the former students decided to take the initiative and speak on behalf of the rest. "Ms. Frizzle," they said, pausing to gather composure. "We would like to go on another field trip."
It was uttered so quickly, but as soon as Ms. Frizzle heard the word "field trip," her hopes were dashed. “I can't, I'm afraid. Field trips take school resources and a lot of planning ahead of time. Besides, the closest museum is under some reconstruction," Ms. Frizzle said, playing the fool.
"Ms. Frizzle, please, just one more field trip!" one of her former students abruptly pleaded. This one young adult inspired the others to join in. The pleas for more field trips rang out, one after the other. They didn't want just one field trip; they wanted as many as they could think of.
A woman resorted to guilt-tripping, talking about how mundane and boring her life was. A man even asked for the keys to the bus, reassuring her that he would be safe. The situation was too loud and frantic, and it would have overwhelmed anyone—anyone except Ms. Frizzle. "All right, one more field trip, class," Ms. Frizzle huffed. The simple act of referring to them as "class" filled their hearts with entitled joy.
Ms. Frizzle walked behind her desk, her class watching her with anxious anticipation. Their eyes glistened as she dug out her handy-dandy Porta-Shrinker, a purple device that could shrink anything it was aiming at. Like a pack of festering strays, they clustered around Ms. Frizzle, bumping and pushing into each other, their eyes locked onto the device as if it were a piece of meat.
Ms. Frizzle aimed at her first target and emitted a red beam of light that enveloped one of her former students, reducing them to the size of a paperclip. Ms. Frizzle repeated the process for each former student, and one by one the class became less crowded but no less lively.Ms. Frizzle placed her hand on the floor, palm facing the sky and back against the ground. With some enthusiasm in her voice, she invitedly said, "Come on, take a ride with me, class." Her former students, now in their newfound size, scurried toward Ms. Frizzle's hand like eager insects.
Once her class was securely perched on her palm, she raised it with great velocity. It was impossible for anyone to prepare for the sinking feeling in their stomachs caused by the sudden lift-off. Ms. Frizzle came to an abrupt stop, just as quickly as she had started. If anyone had been standing during the lift, they were no longer.
"It appears that we have reached our first fork in the road, class. There are two paths: remain on my hand and venture through my digestive system, or take a leap and visit the chamber of decay below. I would advise plugging your nose before doing so." With swiftness Ms. Frizzle slipped one of her flats off and held it about two feet under her crowded hand. It was evident that Ms. Frizzle's claims about planning field trips were false. She was always quick on her feet and thrived on improvisation. Her motto, "Take chances, make mistakes, and get messy," further proved the notion.
Her class was now forced to take their chances. Those who were not frozen in place peered over the edge with caution. From their perspective, the inside of the flat looked like quite a fall. Vertigo surely kicked in as the thought of jumping rushed through their little minds. "Tick-tock, the clock is ticking," Ms. Frizzle said encouragingly. The first ones to jump were the ones who remembered that the smaller an object is, the less gravity affects it. However, this was about the one and only factor that motivated them to jump, and survival was not guaranteed. Natural tendencies took over and a few others followed suit with fear in their hearts.
Weightlessness enveloped them all. Some panicked and flailed, giving in to the fall, while others maintained their composure to gain a sense of control during the descent. Ultimately, fate determined who would land on the cushioned insole and who would miss. Those who missed the by mere inches may have bumped against the flat and had their descent slowed down, but the fall was still much further, and the classroom’s floor was nowhere near as absorbent as the insole. The few unfortunate souls who continued the fall would live, though they would wish they had not. They were left with broken bones and twisted limbs, crying out for salvation. To Ms. Frizzle, she could only hear the hissing of insects that seemed to be begging for a good stomping.
They would have to wait, however, as she had other pressing matters at hand. Those who stayed in her hand watched in terror as Ms. Frizzle exposed her maw. They pleaded for her to stop, but she would not listen to their squeaks. They wanted an adventure and she was going to give them one for the ages. Cries burst out as the silky platform that was her palm shifted at an angle, causing people to slide towards Ms. Frizzle’s mouth. They were quite a mouthful, but Ms. Frizzle didn't fret about slowly swallowing the morsels. There wasn’t much they could do to fight it as they were individually pushed down the ol’ shute, her throat muscles squeezing and tightening, working overtime for each of her former students.
Ms. Frizzle could vividly imagine the screams that erupted within her stomach as gastric juices dissolved the agonized writhing contents within. She had witnessed the process with her own eyes before, and it was certainly not a pretty sight. All of these insects will meet different ends, but they are all seekers of knowledge whose greed can never be quelled. They are unable to move on, act like adults, and let the magic fade. Ms. Frizzle had no qualms about disposing of them in such a cruel way because, ultimately, entitled curiosity was their downfall. Besides, as the people who made it within her flat will soon find out, some things in this world are better left unknown.
The insole's shock-absorbing properties mitigated the impact of the fall very well, allowing people to quickly rise to their feet and off the moist surface. However, sweat was the least of their problems; the foul odor that rapidly filled their lungs was like tear gas. They wept excessively, tears streaming down the backs of their hands as they covered their mouths and noses, trying desperately to stifle a coughing fit. In the midst of the chaos, a woman stepped on something that emitted a loud crunch. She looked down, her eyes widening in horror. It was the fragments of a once intact skull, so weakened by time that it practically collapsed under her light weight. She let out a primal shriek, alerting everyone to her discovery. It was also then that they began to find dried blood amongst the dark grime.
That explained the horrid smell. Even for the current location, the odor was unnatural. But this was not only a home for her feet, but for death as well. The realization that others had met their ends here shattered whatever hope remained but that wasn’t the end of it. A soft yet haunting wheeze emanated from the dark cavern that was the toe box. What followed next was a harsh, grating sound, similar to that of a heavy burlap sack being dragged along the floor with great force.
With their hearts pounding and their breath held, the former students watched as a pair of bony hands emerged from the darkness, clawing at the floor, pulling forward a body that was still hidden from view. Shortly thereafter, the face of this person or entity was revealed, along with the rest of its body. It was a man who appeared almost alien, but he was nonetheless human. His sunken eyes were full of pain and sorrow, whatever hair he had left on his scalp was matted over, and his pale skin, covered in bruises, touched his bones. Malnutrition had undoubtedly ravaged the man beyond recognition, but for how long? That was the selfish yet important question that the newcomers worriedly pondered.
"Help me," he wheezed, his lungs whistling as he did so. Unfortunately, there was not enough time for anyone to offer assistance, as Ms. Frizzle was already prepared to put her flat back on, and with that came a chain of motions. Simple for her, but disastrous for her former students. Firstly, she of course had to slip her toes in, but with that she must angle her flat forward, causing those within to tumble into the cavernous toe box.
A man landed on his back, but instead of the leathery wall he expected, he felt something mushy and smelled something rotting behind him. Pushing himself away from whatever it was resulted in him getting some disgusting substance stuck to his fingers. He could not see what it was for his immediate vicinity was shrouded in darkness, which may have been for the best. Despite his urge to shudder, bigger problems loomed above where light still shined. Ms. Frizzle’s toes slithered in, and after gaining some distance the rest of her foot blocked any remaining source of light that made them visible. The darkness was impenetrable. There was no opening to be seen, no way out.
Secondly, Ms. Frizzle angled her foot upwards and hooked the back of her flat, slipping it on completely. Her movements weren’t just to put footwear on, it was more meticulous than that. She wanted some of her former students to quit clinging at the very end of the flat and instead gain a spot underneath the balls of her feet. It worked too, as most found themselves under an egregious amount of pressure, and she hasn’t even touched the ground yet. Those who remained at the end were greeted with a face full of meaty toes. A tight squeeze but not as bad as what it could have been. What they did have to endure, however, was being able to fully comprehend the horrific torrent of muffled screams, moans, and cries, as Ms. Frizzle slammed her foot to the ground. A nightmarish cacophony of pain and anguish.
Ms. Frizzle felt satisfied with the field trip, and now it was time to attend to paperwork, print out assignments, and grade tests. It is to be noted that she did not forget about the mangled insects still writhing on the floor. She was going to give them what they deserved, lest they remain to be discovered by a janitor. With ease she flattened them, as there was no absorbent material to protect them. She even pivoted when taking a step, making sure that her grounded foot twisted and turned to grind out any trace of humanity, except for a crimson stain that had their DNA. However, it was likely just a student's nosebleed, which could be easily resolved with a quick cleaning.