Leadership is Death

I am usually that annoying kid in class that sniffs his nose. Today, I was sniffing my nose, and, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a girl make a weird glance at me. In this class, we all sit in a semi-circle so it is easy to see people look at each other. I assumed she looked at me because I made an awful sniffling noise.

But perhaps I had something growing out of my head — à la Resident Evil. Perhaps my thoracic cavity had been invaded by a seedling, and my body was unfortunate host to an alien parasite — à la Alien Vs. Predator.

A tentacle grew from my head and showered its fleshy limb in front of my eyes. I jumped back aghast, and the entire class stared at me. I stared back with an afraid innocence. I looked at the teacher, and he carefully backed away.

He told me to stay back because I was becoming a dangerous creature. I, however, still possessed my natural mind. I did not dream of hurting anyone in my class; I only wanted someone to help me.

My teacher began to back away quicker, tripping over his steps as he traced backwards toward the door. My peers began running out, and, though my teacher could have left before any of the students, he waited until all his students had evacuated. It would have been a poor quality for a teacher to leave before all of his or her students. That is part of leadership.

It is also incumbent upon a leader to stare at danger and not waver.

I approached my teacher and he stared into my eyes. I wanted him to hug me and tell me everything was alright. I reached out for him, and the beastly tentacle that grew from my head, beyond my control, stabbed him through the heart. He died instantly.

Leaders have to accept that they have to die. If my teacher had ran, that would have reduced the quality of his leadership, and his followers would have questioned his ethos. Leaders have to die, otherwise they aren’t leaders.

• Leadership