Dr. Michael Alabaster paced the front of the classroom slowly, taking the time to deliberately level his gaze at each and every student in the room. There are many frightening denizens of Halloweentown that you're used to seeing daily, but there was something to be said about how terrifying the were-unicorn's glare could be. It wasn't eat-your-face-off scary; it was more of a please-don't-make-me-read-The-Great-Ghastly-again scary. For there is nothing scarier to a student than the prospect of having to stay in on a Saturday night because they just have too much homework to get done.He knew this, and he levied this power against his students. Literature class was a core requirement; at one point in time or another, every student had to come through this room and sit and suffer through boring comparisons of how great writers used to be compared to how pathetic they were now. Dr. Alabaster was stuck in his ways, and any piece of remotely modern literature was trash in his eyes. No fancy stories of star-crossed sparkling vampires and glass-eyed human lovers for him. He had never been one to keep up with the times.
"It is safe for me to assume that none of you had read a good book prior to coming into this class," his arrogance and contempt was palpable, "but what I want you to do is to strain your feeble little minds and think about something worthwhile you have read. Pick out your favorite book, and write an essay about what it means to you. Dig deep and compare the character's feelings to your own. Tell me how their story runs parallel to your own. You have one week to complete the rough draft, at that point in time, I will assign a partner to you, and you will swap and revise each other's work."
