As we stroll through the bright corridor, we pause to admire our surroundings. Paintings and writing are strewn across the walls. The setting unnerves us; with multiple doors on both sides of the hall, it is almost as if we have been lured into an ambush. Our hairs bristle up, similar to that on wild animals backed into a corner. There is something in the air that gives us a fraction of a second to prepare before a horde of miniature monsters rush us. Instinctively, the girls jump in front boys, trying to shield them from the swiftly approaching menace. To our amazement, the cluster swiftly reveals itself to be a group of miniature children. Stunned, we reevaluate the situation. The fierce mob betrays its intention as its members begin squealing with laughter. Caught off guard, we can only stand there speechless as little boys and girls continue to spill out of the classrooms. Against our will, we are dragged into the rooms by countless tiny hands. We are dropped off at the front of the classroom, where upon the tiny figures retreat to their little tables. Unsure how to proceed, our reflexes kick in and we carry out the task that was programmed into our heads. We lift our hands up to the whiteboard as we draw pictures of the season SPRING, the topic we have been sent here to teach.  Their little eyes follow us around the room as we describe to them how beautiful spring is. As time goes by, our movements become more graceful, less stilted, as we become the teachers we were assigned to be. Foolishly, we relax, despite being told in implicit terms to never let down our guard. One of the SPAS reporters turns his back to the kids as he draws on the board. He is rewarded with a little one biting his finger.

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