Mr. Aghorian, a draconian teacher, tapped his claws on the desk impatiently as he watched the kids taking their seats. The claws left deep dents in the oak. He took a moment to straighten his tie, and brush his vest free of wrinkles.

“Hurry up, sit,” he said. The kids scrambled to get into their desks; one stepping on another; there was a little pushing. They sat straight-backed and wide-eyed. Aghorian was their favorite teacher, but he was feared.

“Turn your texts to page…”

“Professor, I have a question,” a tubby girl toward the back said. The draconian simply lifted his eyebrow. “Are you dangerous? Would you kill us? How did you…”

“How did I come to be?” the draconian finished. “Telling you that story would probably answer the others.”

“I came about in the ordinary way; a dragon’s tooth was buried in the ground, with hate. Yes, an essential ingredient in the birth of a draconian, that is commonly overlooked, is a hate-filled and murderous intent. A young woman found me in the attic of her grandmother’s house, unwrapped and touched the tooth I grew from. I resonated with her hatred at her first touch.

“I have no idea where her hatred came from, but she took me to the orchard behind the palace of her island, and used the tooth as a pick to dig a hole. She planted the tooth and watered it with her bitter tears. I grew quickly, and ferociously. In the morning, I exploded from the ground, blasting the girl against a tree. I finished her remaining life by quickly breaking her neck. I climbed a tree in pursuit of a bird I saw moving, and crushed it with a quick grasp from my hand.“

“Professor, I have to go to the bathroom,” said a thin boy, sitting near the front of the class.

“Go.” The teacher waited until the boy was out of the room. “I forgot that his parents were killed last year by a rampaging draconian, such a shame. Umm, we should get back to our studies, turn your texts to page 425.”

“But Mr. Aghorian. You didn’t finish telling us why you aren’t dangerous,” said the girl at the back of the class.

“Oh, well you know, we mellow out with age. I’m very old. Killing things gets so boring. After I had the joy of killing all the people and wildlife on the island; ripping up trees was fun, but pulling weeds was a chore. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t kill every living thing on that island. Trying to annihilate all the birds, and the fish drove me crazy. One day, I was walking the beach, looking for turtles to kill, when I saw a boat in the distance and swam to it, and followed it to a new island with fun new creatures to kill. After island jumping for a few years, I grew bored with killing peasants and pheasants. I liked hunts with a challenge. Now turn to page 4…

“Was Professor Bachusrand like you? I can’t imagine him ever hunting,” said a student.

“The math teacher? Oh, the old lizard who ties himself with rigging to the rafters of the tower and lowers himself down the inside, as he works his never ending equation, making math graffiti all around the inside of the tall tower. I have to buy my own chalk because that old fool uses. . . nevermind . . .He is an odd little lizard, but he is a draconian, so he is like me, but maybe a few thousand years older. Now turn to page …oh what was it...435?”

“But how did you become a teacher?” asked a student.

“Well, first I became a zoologist/anthropologist of sorts. You can’t become a teacher if you have nothing to teach.” The draconian smiled. The students stared at the draconian’s sharp fangs the way a field mouse would freeze at the sight of a snake’s open maw.

“After becoming an assassin, and later a military general, I became the leader of a small desert nation. I am not cut out for the mundane tasks required in the leadership of a country, and I fell into a boredom hibernation for ten years or so. Afterwards, I no longer had a nation, so I went for a walk. I found myself hunting these creatures, half-kangaroo/half-man creatures...fascinating, fascinating creatures. They were easily hunted, even though they are one of the few creatures who can keep ahead of me in an open foot race.

“After killing them, I stumbled upon their homes. They had very cozy places to live. I gathered some of their musical instruments, tea cups, and other artifacts. I took them to a man-town to inquire about their purposes, how they are made, etc. I tried to get some of their writing deciphered. I became very curious about the creatures known as Grazers. I didn’t have much success interviewing live Grazers, because they are very timid creatures who frequently faint .

“Unfortunately, my inquiries inspired a man-demand for Grazer produced goods, and men began to hunt the Grazers and raid their homes. They are almost extinct now. I regret that. Umm…maybe we should turn to page 423? 440? in our text…”

“You became an anthropologist, to learn instead of kill, but as a result of your killing instinct. Are other draconians like “The Banker” and Professor Bachusrand just more evolved killers, modified killers?” asked a tall sulky student.

The draconian chuckled. “So you know about “The Banker.” The draconian stuck his head out the window, went to the door and looked out into the hallway. “Are there any Bank spies here? No. I don’t suppose you’d tell me if you were, all I will say about “The Banker” is that he is a lot younger than I am. Whew!” The draconian’s eyes bulged, and he wrung his neck with his necktie.

‘As far as Professor Bachusrand is concerned, does anyone know what the equation is for? No? It is a doomsday equation. When he finishes it, he will have proven that life does not exist. I wish him all the best with that, but now turn to page 421.."

The buzzer rang. All the kids ran out of the room. Yet again, poor Mr. Aghorian had been duped by his students into telling stories, instead of teaching from the book and assigning homework. He straightened his tie, and thought that it might be good to go on a little rampage, but thought better of it.