My first ever Creative Writing class

Is it wrong that my first ever Creative Writing class was as a teacher?

I had a chat with the three students, Nyree, Vanessa and Finbarr, about what they want out of writing. Their previous teacher, Alison, has moved away.  I have the impression they'll miss her terribly. There are two other regulars who weren't there today.

Then the session should have been over - it's been cut to an hour and a half - Alison used to do two hours.  But they didn't seem to know that and they sat looking at me with puppy-dog eyes, so I gave in and gave them a writing exercise.  I got the words from an online random-word-generator.

Write something containing the following words:

cable
exaggerated
privileged
vintage
expense
pretend

When I'd finished myself, I needed to go to the loo so I threw in another word: 'trellis'.

Hilariously, everyone including me wrote in their own genre. Vanessa the romance fan wrote about an impending proposal.  Nyree the poet wrote a poetic piece, and Finbarr, who writes in a nostalgic 'Ireland's Own' vein, wrote an article about the cable coming to Waterville.  (Top marks to Finbarr for adding 'trellis'  at the end in the most natural fashion imaginable.)

Here's the piece I wrote, complete with only-20-minutes-to-finish glaring problems:
"The exaggerated silence in the room told me that I was too late.  Moriarty had got there first.

The way the cable was twined round Alicia's neck told me she must be dead.  Her vintage fox fur had been cast aside.  All the expense of her privileged background, the security guards, the alarm systems, even the panic room had not been able to prevent it.

I knew there was trouble in store.  There'd be questions.  There would have to be answers.  But for now, all I could do was pretend.  Pretend that she was a stranger, and not the only woman I had ever loved."