Janitor's Gripe

 

Gunrup Finnery McGowen grimaced at the tracks of mud left across the normally white tiled floor of the entrance hall.

“Why those no-good, light-blinded, mud-tramping, beet-brained!” Gunrup’s stream of coarseness prevailed for the next minute or so as he sloshed water and soap along the stained floor with his mop.

His gruff voice echoed throughout the empty hallways as he kicked the tarnished bucket of water along beside him. Every single time after a heavy rain it was the same story. Students already late to class forgetting to wipe their feet and what’s worse half them had the stinking spark enough in them to magic it away. But as he gazed across the large hall his mood only soured. There were countless tracks of mud and dirt by the second set of large double doors as well.

“Blight-forsaken wretches!” Gunrup fumed.

It was that blasted club of wannabe swordsmen, it had to be. Most of the other students had enough common sense as to stick to the flagstone paths, but those miscreants ran through the forest like wild men… By my good mothers’ grave, if I were the Headmistress I’d teach those stuck-up heathens manners!

The janitor grumblings continued as he mopped harder, his worn leathery skin growing moist from the splashing water. Abruptly, the oversized doors behind him swung open and Gunrup was eager to give this particularly tardy student a piece of his mind.

However, once he had spun all the way around Gunrup merely starred in awe. There standing directly in front of him was none other than the Headmistress herself.

The End

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