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"There are 720 hours in April." "What?" "I thought you needed to know that." "Why the hell would I care?" "It could be a useful fact someday. I may have just saved your life." Merick rolled over onto his side to fix an apathetic stare on his mother, who was standing in his doorway. "Or were you just trying to get me out of bed already?" "There are only 707 hours left for you." Meh. Just a short piece of dialogue. Too lazy to type much in the morning. Always in the atrium, Really just a carpet-coated stage Until they tore it up. Teacher in the back, Mrs. Doose with curly hair The tall girl, next to her Angry for being the only one. The front row, the small ones I stand behind them, at the end of the row Not really the right size to be there, Just the odd number evened out. There's a fight to hold the sign First a number, for the photographer Then the name of our class "Grade Four. Onate. Doose." Anna wins. Arguments tend to go her way, Mitchelle and I backed her up Because Mitchelle backed me up And he was always fast and strong and mean Anthony was his friend And we followed each other through school Until I left He never changed from that picture Anyone could recognize him today from it He stood next to me there, and Nick behind us Because our desks were together And we were a group But later In high school psychology we'd butt heads and wonder if we ever knew the other Adam was there too Back-row brown shirt We'd catch mosquito larvae Once he tripped me And I landed in a lake Another face to fade in a year. It was our second year together, us kids and that teacher Everyone was comfortable With everyone else Sarah is hugging Anna She hates us now And Anna would never speak to me anymore Not like when we'd babysit together, when she was stronger, but I was tougher and for some reason That worked Yes. It is mostly made up. hell if I can remember where everyone was and what they were wearing in my 4th grade class photo. All I can say is true is the people who were in it. Silly exercise. As a note, I had an odd vocabulary as a child. The portable class rooms were "barracks" and the "atrium"... granted, it had plants in it. But why we called it an atrium I have no idea ^^ Choir practices in there were horrible... the stupid pink flowers from that tree would get everywhere >.< And I mean it when I say that Anthony and I followed each other, without effort we were always in class together up until I moved half-way through junior year. Heh. After elementry school I never saw Nick unless I ran into him on the street... until that sophomore psychology class (glitter wars!) when he was a part of the "other side," ne,  lycreumi_no_michiruNostalgia... not what I needed to be dragged into before lunchtime. Puts me in the kind of mood to keep on talking. After fourth grade came fifth, naturally. Mrs. Keene. Ugh. This woman was BEYOND evil. I'm impressed if you havn't heard this story from me: Laura and I would, on a rather regular basis, spend recess in the classroom instead of going all the way down to the playground. So one day, when we had done this there was a commotion outside. Anthony G. (as opposed to Anthony C., the kid in the poem) had tripped and rolled down the steep hill in front of our classroom. He was the unpopular kid (and for good reason. He sat at the table with me and Laura... he breathed loud. I can't stand the breathers.) so this was met with great amusment for the class. Yikes. We were assigned 200 times (even me, even Laura... although we didn't even get to SEE it) to write "I will not laugh as my classmate rolls down the hill." ::snickers:: As you can imagine, the phrase was funny. It was hard not to laugh at it. Oops, mistake. 300 times, 400 times... finally we all had to write *500* times... "I will not laugh as my classmate rolls down the hill...I will not laugh as..." It was bad. So, yeah. I posted writing ::victory:: Post a comment in response: |
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