The Red Bucket
Huina Zheng
Teacher Li, the homeroom teacher of Class Two, Grade Three, stood at the front of the classroom, holding a red, plastic bucket.
“Put your unprocessed emotions into the bottles,” she said.
The new policy came after a rise in student burnout, depression, and suicides. The education bureau had issued each child an identical cylindrical glass jar. All they had to do was blow hard into the opening, forcing the negative emotions that had built up inside them into the jar, then pour it into the bucket. The students obediently followed Teacher Li’s instructions. Soon, the classroom filled with the rise and fall of breathing. Teacher Li watched with satisfaction as each child clutched a jar, cheeks puffed round.
Then the students began lining up to empty their jars.
The first to come up was Ming Zhang. Dark purple gas rose from the bottle’s mouth. The moment it crashed into the bucket, Teacher Li smelled sweat mixed with salt. She saw the boy hunched over his desk late at night, copying each wrong answer ten times as punishment, wiping away tears as he wrote.
Next was Jun Chen. His bottled air was blackish in color, heavy and dense, escaping with an exhausted hiss. She saw him nailed to his seat all day, eyes drifting occasionally toward the window. When the bell rang for break and he walked slightly faster toward the restroom, her shout of “Slow down!” had struck him, filling his eyes with panic. Only when the dismissal bell rang and he left her sight did he finally start running and jumping, a smile breaking across his face.
Na Lin walked up smiling, but that smile made Teacher Li’s stomach tighten even more. From her jar burst a wave of hot red mist, flickering with faint, bitter laughter. Teacher Li saw herself ordering Na Lin to stand at the front of the classroom for being late, arms raised, the whole class watching. Only now did she realize how sharp the look of disdain on her own face had been.
The last to step forward was the class monitor Ling Wang. The model student’s emotions were colorless and odorless. But the moment the jar was emptied, the air in the classroom turned thin and suffocating. Teacher Li felt she could hardly breathe. She stared at the girl.
“I’m sorry, Teacher Li,” Ling Wang said. “This is the sound I make when I swallow my words.”
Teacher Li gave a small nod.
All forty-two students had emptied their jars.
She realized then that all the emotions etched into these children’s bodies pointed back to her, Teacher Li, who had been their homeroom teacher for three years.
Teacher Li lowered her head and remained silent for three full seconds. She thought of all the reactions she might have, all the things she could say. When she finally looked up, her gaze moved slowly across every small face.
“Class,” she said, her voice slightly hoarse, “one red bucket doesn’t seem to be enough for all of this. Tomorrow, I will apply for two.”
What she did not say was that one of those buckets would be for herself.
“Put your unprocessed emotions into the bottles,” she said.
The new policy came after a rise in student burnout, depression, and suicides. The education bureau had issued each child an identical cylindrical glass jar. All they had to do was blow hard into the opening, forcing the negative emotions that had built up inside them into the jar, then pour it into the bucket. The students obediently followed Teacher Li’s instructions. Soon, the classroom filled with the rise and fall of breathing. Teacher Li watched with satisfaction as each child clutched a jar, cheeks puffed round.
Then the students began lining up to empty their jars.
The first to come up was Ming Zhang. Dark purple gas rose from the bottle’s mouth. The moment it crashed into the bucket, Teacher Li smelled sweat mixed with salt. She saw the boy hunched over his desk late at night, copying each wrong answer ten times as punishment, wiping away tears as he wrote.
Next was Jun Chen. His bottled air was blackish in color, heavy and dense, escaping with an exhausted hiss. She saw him nailed to his seat all day, eyes drifting occasionally toward the window. When the bell rang for break and he walked slightly faster toward the restroom, her shout of “Slow down!” had struck him, filling his eyes with panic. Only when the dismissal bell rang and he left her sight did he finally start running and jumping, a smile breaking across his face.
Na Lin walked up smiling, but that smile made Teacher Li’s stomach tighten even more. From her jar burst a wave of hot red mist, flickering with faint, bitter laughter. Teacher Li saw herself ordering Na Lin to stand at the front of the classroom for being late, arms raised, the whole class watching. Only now did she realize how sharp the look of disdain on her own face had been.
The last to step forward was the class monitor Ling Wang. The model student’s emotions were colorless and odorless. But the moment the jar was emptied, the air in the classroom turned thin and suffocating. Teacher Li felt she could hardly breathe. She stared at the girl.
“I’m sorry, Teacher Li,” Ling Wang said. “This is the sound I make when I swallow my words.”
Teacher Li gave a small nod.
All forty-two students had emptied their jars.
She realized then that all the emotions etched into these children’s bodies pointed back to her, Teacher Li, who had been their homeroom teacher for three years.
Teacher Li lowered her head and remained silent for three full seconds. She thought of all the reactions she might have, all the things she could say. When she finally looked up, her gaze moved slowly across every small face.
“Class,” she said, her voice slightly hoarse, “one red bucket doesn’t seem to be enough for all of this. Tomorrow, I will apply for two.”
What she did not say was that one of those buckets would be for herself.
Huina Zheng holds an M.A. with Distinction in English Studies and works as a college essay coach. Her creative work has been published in Baltimore Review, Variant Literature, Midway Journal, and other literary journals. She has received multiple honors, including nominations for the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, Best Small Fictions, and Best Microfiction. She lives in Guangzhou, China, with her family.