I once created a work of art—just brown hand marks splattered on a giant paper mache ball. I installed it one Sunday at a vacant lot beside the schoolyard. Every day since then, students would stop by my workshop to ask me what it was. I didn’t tell. I just smiled and shooed them off to class. Soon they would know, I thought. The curiosity on my masterpiece did not wane a bit. For some reason, a group of students started doing techno-rituals around my giant paper mache ball. Funny how children can get so weird. I didn’t see it coming, but things have gone south of good. A fortnight ago after that, a petty quarrel ensued at my classroom. It involved members of the already cult-like club of the giant paper mache ball. The incident hurt one student who accidentally stepped on a loose spike I owned. I was eventually fired on the charge that even school officials cannot spell right. That was bizarre to be honest. In one spat, suddenly I was the fly. I think it just took all the oddity of the whole affair. Before I left the school, I thought of bringing with me my artwork. But then I decided to just leave it. Heck, it was just a giant paper mache ball. Every day since then, students would stop by my house to ask me what happened. I didn’t tell. I just smiled and shooed them home. Soon I would know, I hope.