Returning to No Applause, Only More of the Same

“Any prior experience working within the field?” a man Kreig had come to know as “Mr Oakley” asked mildly, removing his eyes from the little CV he pinched in both hands. Although the man was clearly well-dressed, what with the heavy-set glasses and half-buttoned checkered suit, his general demeanour suggested an ill-hidden electricity to him. This was most noticeable in his unruly, zappy hair that never failed to catch Kreig’s attention.

“Many strong soldiers have been trained by my hand,” Kreig replied. A wave of Mr Oakley’s hand persuaded Kreig to continue.

It was really a bastardized version of what really happened, but by the way Kreig had explained it, one might reasonably think he’d been training youths for the better part of his life. Maybe as a camp counsellor or as a teacher of some sort. In reality, it was more so that he’d trained young recruits into soldiers, led them into war atop horseback and sent them to their deaths. A bit more gruesome, but Mr Oakley didn’t have to know about that.

“And the ages of these… recruits?” Mr Oakley asked, peering at Kreig from the gap between his glasses and brows.

A shudder passed unnoticed through Kreig. “From eight years to nineteen and above.”

Mr Oakley whistled. “Impressive range. Should you join us here at Painstone International High School, the age ranges you’ll be working with would be from fourteen-year-olds to eighteen-year-olds. This will be no issue for you?”

“Not in the least,” Kreig answered honestly. To him, the age of a person really didn’t matter all that much. 30 or 20 or 15, their mental processes were about the same. All equally useful in a war.

“Is that so?” Mr Oakley smiled thinly. “Well, by all means, you seem very suitable for a position here as P.E teacher. Is there any specific reason you have for applying? Other than the need for money, that is. Heh.” From behind his thick spectacles, Mr Oakley’s deep brown eyes seemed to sharpen.

For a moment or two, Kreig sat in silence. Carefully collecting his thoughts. Inside, he could feel his heart beat like a jackhammer. “It has been ten years since I was last part of society.”

“I am… aware,” Mr Oakley said, eyes darting to glance at one of the many stock photos on the wall instead of Kreig.

“I wish to rejoin. Call it a tragic irony, if you will, but I would like to join the world the same way I left it.” Now, Kreig too turned away from his interviewer. The room was mostly brown, stationed on the third floor of the semi-old building. Filled with various items of differing value, it had clearly been in use for several decades by various principals, the most recent of which he was now seated parallel to.

On the other side of the hefty, wooden desk, Mr Oakley shifted. “An admirable reason, by all means. The gap was of course of great weight, but knowing that you spent it productively alleviates my worries.” A smile that might almost seem playful spread across his lips. “Can you start working on Monday, or is it too early?”

“Huh?”

A hand reached across the desk towards him. “Afternoons, from 13:00 to 16:20.” He wiggled his hand a few times. “Just take my hand, Mr Wiedemann.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, of course,” Kreig mumbled, hesitantly shaking the hand offered to him. The hand was small and dry and thin.

Then, Kreig stood up, thanked Mr Oakley, and left the same way he had entered.

Painstone International High School was not a name he could recognize, nor was it any school he had ever attended. This one was more on the outskirts of town and although it had old buildings and was relatively well-staffed, somehow, it had still gained a reputation of being low-class, most likely since it was so far from the city centre. Kreig didn’t mind.

He was still in shock even when he came home.

During the one hour it took for Sam to get home, he just sat on the couch thinking. It was like he couldn’t accept that it had gone so well, that he’d actually succeeded in getting a job. Next Monday. That was in three days. From 13:00 to 16:20. According to Mr Oakley, he’d need to be there an hour or so early to get his schedule. And then - then…

The door opened. Sam stepped inside, carrying two bags of groceries, one in each hand. “Hey, how’d the interview go?” Kreig turned to her. “Oh, that doesn’t look good. Uh, just so you know, there’s always more openings, okay? If you can’t find anything, I’m sure you could become, like, a matador or something! Maybe a cowboy? The world is full of possibilities! Just ‘cuz you didn’t get this one doesn’t mean-,”

Kreig hushed her with a wave of his hand. “No, I got the job.”

“You-, you did?! Whoa! That’s great, Kreig! I’m-, would it sound weird if I said I’m proud of you? Cuz I am. I really am.” Dumping the groceries on the kitchen table, she moved over to stand in front of him. His facial expression was that of desolation. “Okay. Uh. What’s up with that, dude? Did he make you a janitor or something? Damn that Oakley...! I could totally get him arrested for money laundering and tax fraud, yanno?”

“There’s no need for that,” Kreig said. “I’m merely… No, it’ll be over soon. I need some rest.”

Sam frowned. “You want me to make dinner tonight? Sure, I’m not as good as George, but-,”

A shiver gripped Kreig and he forced down his nausea. “No, no. Not at all. I’ll fix up something easy.”

A hand fell on his shoulder and he looked up, eyes meeting his sister. She smiled sadly. “Take all the time you need, but… If you want to talk about it, I’m here, okay? I might not have fought any dragons or anything, but I know what life’s like here on Earth.”

“Sure,” Kreig said without conviction. What he felt right now wasn’t something he imagined someone as young as Sam could understand.

The sad look she gave him almost made him think she might prove him wrong.

George came home an hour or so later. At dinner, Kreig recounted how the interview had gone, getting congratulations and pats on the back. If only to avoid making George worry as well, Kreig forced himself to muster a smile of some sort.

Surprisingly, just as they finished eating, Sam presented a batch of ice cream. Apparently, she figured that whether he got the job or not he could use some sort of celebration or whatnot, so she’d gotten one with strawberry, pear and vanilla in it. Kreig avoided telling her that the sweetness was numbing his tongue.

Evening turned to night. George went to bed early, leaving Sam and Kreig to their own devices.

Kreig was trying to paint what the principal looked like, but every time he thought he might get a part right, he remembered another detail. It never felt quite right. The next time he saw the man, he’d need to pay more attention to the way he looked instead of trying to still his own heart.

Lost in his work, he didn’t notice how Sam paused her game and turned to look at him. She seemed thoughtful, arms slung over the couch.

“It’s not how you’d think it’d be, is it?” she said. Kreig turned to look at her. “When I finally realized I was sober, it didn’t feel like anything at all. Not when I got into the academy either, or when I got my job. Or anything like that. Even when you kill a big monster and save lots of lives, it doesn’t feel any special. You just go on living afterwards.”

Kreig didn’t say anything.

“Hey, it’s okay! That doesn’t mean what you did doesn’t matter, or that it isn’t impressive or anything. You’ll keep going, you know? At first, you’ll be super nervous, and you’ll make a bunch of stupid mistakes, and I’m sure those kids are going to laugh at you, but that’s just how it is.” She grinned slyly. “If anybody does anything weird, you know you can always ask me to come get ‘em, right?”

“That shouldn’t be necessary,” Kreig said.

She smiled. “Alright. Just call me if you need it.”

Kreig wouldn’t know it until much later, but the next Monday, his future would be irrevocably changed.

Whether for the better or worse would depend on many factors, none of which he held any sway over.