Permanent Time-Out Chair An uproar of a laugh distracted the quiet time in the young class. I couldn’t help but cringe a little. My friend Hunter is always so loud. He said it’s just what otters do. But even worse for Hunter, Miss Bastille seemed to just materialize behind him and grabbed the note while he was too busy giggling. The white cat seemed like she would have been an easy one for pranking with those innocent freckled cheeks. Calm and casual, with a young air of innocence. It felt like that for the first few days she started with so many fun jokes we made (at her expense). It was when she brought out a strange wooden chair that things started to get weird. She said that if we misbehaved too much we’d ride that chair to heaven. But it didn’t look like any chair we had ever seen. She taught us a cheery little song for the chair’s warning. It went something like, “The handle on the chair goes round and round. The bar pushes out and the collar stays bound. You’ll gurgle and wiggle until you're downed!" To a playful musical beat. It wasn’t as good as real songs, but it was kind of catchy. Sometimes even little snippets of the song would be heard or hummed when someone was acting up. The chair was a lot less fun and cheerful than the song. All scratched up and the edges worn smooth. While the straps and buckles looked brand new. Some days even Miss Bastille would spend some time polishing it all up at the end of class. A colorful sign labeled it as the "permanent time-out chair." And now the owner of that odd chair was showing the class my badly drawn doodle of her that had been passed around. It had extra stink lines of course. Doodoo heads always got lots of extra stink lines. Even being a cat like me wouldn’t save her from being a boring doodoo head teacher. “Oh, it looks like today is going to be an exciting day! Jay, you get your fourth demerit star for your artistic creation. And Hunter, for making such a showing as an art critic you get to be the first to ride the gurgly chair to heaven. Now be a good boy and follow me up to the front of the room.” Miss Bastille had a sharp edge to her cheerful voice that the entire class went quiet. Hunter realized what this meant, as he looked back at me. But I shrugged. I didn’t like that she put a big sparkly halloween skull on the end of the naughty chart on Hunter’s name. My own name was one step away from a matching skull as a shiny new X sticker was added to the row labeled Jay. Hunter couldn’t say no, his eyes as big as saucers as the teacher undid the straps on the chair and opened them up. “Now take a seat and no complaints about the chair, it isn’t supposed to be comfy.” Miss Bastille said in her most proper teacher commands. The otter found himself turned awkwardly on the seat with his big tail in the way of the thick back support. All of us were curious as the teacher bent down and pulled his ankles into thick leather belts. A yelp and wriggle as he replied, “h, hey, that pinches!” “You’re going to get a lot more than just a little pinch in here. Don’t you worry. Now class, we all remember the gaspy gurgle garotte song?” Miss Bastille’s voice was very excited now, nearly singing already. There was a resounding cheer as who doesn’t like sing-a-longs. Everyone was watching as the teacher dragged Hunter’s wrists behind him to place in the thick straps behind the chair. Adjusting the back stand and the big loop on it until it lined up to his neck and locked in place. “Hunter here will show what happens to bad boys and girls in my class. They get to go to heaven extra early.” Miss Bastille said in a cheery voice. Working a thick belt around the young otter’s neck, she pulled it until he couldn’t move his neck. The boy’s green Lion Guard shirt rose and fell with his quick breaths, Kion’s excited grin on Hunter’s shirt seemed to match the otter’s nervous energy. Hunter’s big eyes were showing little tears as he was quite stuck now. Firmly pinned to the solid wood of the device, each strap locked down so it won’t release by accident. “OK class, this is what happens if you act up too much. The permanent time out chair!” Miss Bastille hummed a little as she put her hands on the big handle behind the wiggling otter. “Is everyone ready to sing along,” she said. She gave the handle a slow twist, the device creaked. Something was moving but it was hard to tell. Our eyes widened as Hunter made a squeaky yelp and jerked his head about. “ah, ah, it’s pushing into my neck Miss Bastille!” He exclaimed, unable to move his neck away from the growing pressure. “That’s right, I turn the handle and the rod pushes into his neck. Now what can’t move? And what happens next?” the cat teacher asked as she slowly but surely twisted the device. A quiet squeaking sound barely audible above the shuffling tugs of young otter wrists and ankles. Jingling the locks and doing little else. Hunter’s butt was squirming on the hard wood with a shaky thumping of his fat tail against the floor. There was a gurgling sound from the boy as his neck visibly pushed into the taut belt. A quiet mouse girl to my left spoke up first, “the belt stays still as his neck is pushed into it, until he can’t breathe?” “Good girl! That'll be extra credit for listening well!” Miss Bastille said as we could all see how his neck was pushed into the belt until there was a visible depression in his neck. The rod groaned as she continued the steady turns of the handle. Hunter was drooling as his head turned this way and that, desperate to find any relief from the choking pressure. His eyes were wide and leaking tears as he realized how useless his struggling was against the fat leather straps and hard, unyielding wood. “There we go! Four full turns and it will be time for him to go to eternal sleepy time. So let’s all sing along for him. You’ll gurgle and gasp, struggle and sleep!” She started singing, waving her hands to encourage the class to join in. I couldn’t help but watch my friend’s tongue bulge past his lips. He drooled and made horrible coughing sounds and rattles, but he couldn't gasp anything back in. The darkening tinge of blue in ears and cheeks was showing up. Even his lap got all bulged! Just like mine really! A funny tingly scary excitement, as I thought about what it would be like making those odd sounds. Why we got little stiffies thinking about it just made it more taboo. “Just relax and let the garotte do all the work, it’ll be over soon. I’ll call your parents once you’re napping in heaven.” Miss Bastille casually said as she stroked the dying otter’s ears. Hunter’s eyes were a little bloodshot now, all pink and tears in the corners while his tail slapped helplessly against the wooden support of the chair. As if to message us to try and help him. But the rest of the class was just the chorus of everyone singing now. With a manic energy and strange excited arousal as the teacher led us along. Even I couldn’t help but join the song, watching my friend struggle and choke. My lap tingled with funny excitement as we cheered on my choking friend. Gurgle and gasp! Struggle and sleep! Gurgle and Gasp! Struggle and sleep! It was a rolling cheer now as my once friend rolled his eyes up and slumped forward. A fidgety mindlessness to his wriggling now, as fingertips tapped a funny pattern on the arm rest and curled weirdly. His chest barely rose and fell. His tongue was fat, bloated and purple and poked out past his lips. Eyes barely open but we could just see them darting around aimlessly. I didn’t want to think about why one pupil got really huge and the other did not. “There he goes! Remember, bad boys and girls go and piss themselves in front of their friends, you don’t want to do that do you?” Miss Bastille had gotten a little camera and took some pictures of the otter, limp in that foreboding chair of hers. Even getting a selfie showing off her big grin and the boy’s slumped and perfectly still head. Sure enough there was a wetness in the boy’s shorts. A whiff of that bittersweet scent of piss as it spread ever so slowly across his lap and down his legs. His tail had stopped wriggling. His chest no longer moved. My friend was no more. Just a macabre decoration to show what bad boys and girls will become. What I will become, pissing myself and having it dribble down my toes onto the carpet. “There we go, Hunter is off to a better place, where he’ll know not to read naughty notes from his naughty friends.” Miss Bastille looked me over as she said so, probably eying up what size to set the chair for my own kitten butt. Of course, I was only one demerit away from joining him in heaven. I wondered if they had mean boring classes up in heaven as everyone looked over at me. I suspected I wouldn’t be long in joining Hunter in finding out.