It was a piece of art, the gong that hung in the main hall of the place. Round, polished to a sheen by those who were called to their places by it's reverberating tones, it was feared and hated by those around it...they chose to wish it gone. Prayed it would be destroyed by someone, anyone.
However, Sisiter Mary Patrick refused to change out the old ways, and kept it in place, ignoring the rolled eyes and heavy sighs of the uniformed students under her care, secretly enjoying their discomfort.
Ahh yes, the horrors of parochial schools. I didn't attend one myself, but heard plenty about the teaching nuns from my friends who did. You conveyed their feelings well.
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