It has been theorized that if time travel were possible, you would only be able to travel backwards, not forwards.
Someone let loose an exaggerated yawn. The class snickered in response, a single entity moved by simple humor.
The tips of Mr. Kline's mustache twitched for a moment. The class settled back down, quieting enough that a fly could be heard buzzing against one of the overhead lights.
Please turn to page three hundred ten in your books....
A symphony of rustling pages and slamming books on the lab tables echoed throughout the room now devoid of speech.
On this page you will see a diagram of Reynold's Theory -
Who's Reynold? A belligerent student demanded.
A very important but not very well known man. Mr. Kline snapped back.
Calm your pants 'Heniz'. Mia Kesher muttered, her friends tittering around her with laughter.
It was an old joke in the school, perhaps as old as Mr. Kline himself. His unusual name evoked taunting from the children - Ketchup Kline, Fifty Seven, and many more names had been invented over the years.
I settled my head down on the desk, folded my arms, and attempted to get some much needed sleep.
Soon, Mr. Kline's words blurred together into a murmur of mumbling sounds. The sharp sound of a gunshot in a vivid dream of my own creation yanked me back to reality. The fly above me buzzed lazily against the glaring light. I looked up to see three football jocks nudging each other and chortling to themselves. They'd slammed their textbooks down at the same time to scare me.
It had been two days since the shooting. Two days was all that I had been given to reassess my mental state before returning to the school.
It hadn't been enough.