THE ANSWER NOBODY WANTED

The fat one wasn't breathing, she was sure of it.  No, the fat one definitely wasn't breathing.  She'd been limping back along the path of mayhem for twenty minutes, and this was the first one that seemed to be actually, well, dead.  It was simply the icing on the cake, the cherry on top of the multiple felonies that she would undoubtedly be charged with if she didn't get out of this school and get out of town quick.  Hell, get out of the country.  She dragged herself down the hallway, still strewn with broken glass and injured children.  Clutching her broken arm to her bloodied side, her horrified eyes scanned the carnage.  Everywhere she turned, a sixth grader lay sprawled, beaten insensible.  Crying, whining, whimpering softly in pain as she crunched through small drifts of broken glass, stumbled over bloody textbooks, she skidded on torn construction paper and stopped, gasping for breath.  She remembered a party in college where somebody had asked "how many twelve-year old's do you think you could beat up?"  She never wanted to answer that one, she always thought it was a barbaric, horrible notion.  And then this morning, she was just innocently walking to her office when all of a sudden she was set upon by three separate sixth-grade classes.  Some kind of model U.N. thing in the auditorium.  Suddenly the fat kid gasped and flopped over onto his side and she sighed in relief.  Bad enough she was facing ninety-two cases of felony assault on a minor- multiple assaults on multiple minors.  Jesus wept.  But thankfully, she didn't seem to have killed any of them.  And she was the school nurse.