Just another day

'Get up'.

The words cut into him, like a bolt of energy cutting into his concious.  He jolts upright in his chair, eyes flinging wide open, and finds himself toppling in his cheap plastic seat, falling backwards into an abyss.  The hard laminate floor rushes up to meet him, crashing plastic against his ribs, with a painful crunch. 

A customary moment of silence follows, before the whole classroom erupts with derisive laughter.  Jeers and names are throw like stones at Jason's fallen form, as he slowly unfolds from the painful crumple he fell into. Jason looks up at the obelisk-like form of his teacher, staring down at him with a raised brow, an oh-so-much-better-than-you stare, and a poorly hidden smirk.

'Why are you down there Mr. Gennadius?' she says, raising a hand to quieten the baying sheep around her.  Her other hand rests on her hip, as she stares down at him.
'It wasn't by volition I promise you' Jason replies, slowly raising himself from the floor, brushing down his form, and stretching his shoulders.  'You startled me a bit is all'.
'Hmmm'.  She looks back at him, her thin brow still raised. 'Perhaps you shouldn't sleep in my classes then'.

'Oh because they're so important'.  Jason really wants to spout this at her, and her redundant subject, but he has learnt better over time.  But still, who could blame him, he thinks as he takes his seat again, amongst his giggling classmates.

The tediousness of General Studies never fails to astound him.  Being asked questions on things that don't matter for 50 minutes a day, and 100 on Fridays.  What Jason would give, to be back in front of a Piano, pushing his feelings into a staccato beat, bringing out delicious chromatic harmonies as he-

He raises his head from his desk again, shaking it vigorously.  Almost falling asleep again would not do him well.  He begrudgingly opens his exercise book, getting ready for another question on things that don't matter.

What is it today?  Oh wonderful, the importance of Ethical safeness in lyric when writing songs.

Another day of mediocrity awaits.  Wonderful.

His weary eyes don't take in the flash of black as it flies by the window, and doesn't realise that he has been chosen.  He doesn't know that as his pen scratches his page, the gears of change have begun to move, pivoting around him.  The black flies by the window again, for one last glance, before taking its leave.

The End

1 comment about this story Feed