So, this is my 100th page of my book. I just wanted thank everyone who has assisted me thus far whatsoever in the writing of the Clepsydra and to those who have been following the story. I hope you keep enjoying it and that it continues to meet your expectations. From: MK
After school, my short, floral dress flutters faintly in the light breeze as I make my way to my locker from where I had entered the main building. The cardigan draped over my shoulders may seem unnecessary with the promise on the weather radio report of a warm day, but I still have a smorgasbord of healing bruises which are faintly tinged a purple-blue from my first practice session with the Hektor family. James' hadn't been lying when he mentioned the involvement of ice...me and that solidified chunk of water became well acquianted on my arrival home after leaving that house.
My sneakers squeak loudly on the linoleum flooring, the hustle and bustle of students finding their way out of the area filling the halls with an incessant buzz. I pack my books quickly, the habitual and forever present canvas bag filling up in a short amount of time. I slide in my literature book, the collection of bound together paper containing all the set-work for my AP English this term. Stalink had made sure to hand them out during class, stooping over my desk last as he slid it in front of me.
"Try not be late for this today Elena. I would hate for Mr Dolus to obtain the same impression I have." He had said bluntly, then returned to tell us about the 'wonders' of compound sentences and that's when my mind decided to take a short vacation.
Here I am now, walking towards the allocated class for Mr Dolus with the now abandoned halls quieting down since there are minimal amounts of students participating in extra curricular activities that Port Greylot High has to offer. The sound of the choir dashes in and out when the door to the music room opens and shuts with a late arrival, while a slightly sulfurous stench wafts down from the lab where the chem group are working on their formula to make a cheap knock-off of candle scents. Not their best work, in my opinion.
I enter room 304, the recently built cube room hazy as the afternoon sun lights up the dingy class. The furniture is mismatched, with an assortment of different desks arranged in an odd pattern not like the usual set up seen in a classroom. Then again, perhaps Jacob Dolus is not your average teacher. I've arrived on time, contrary to Mr Stalink's low expectations of me, but there are a few people who have arrived before me. Daniel is one of these, and I feel a tad better to notice a familiar face.
I slide into the desk in front of him, turning around to be met with his neutral face devoid of any particular emotions. His full lips part as if he's going to say something, but they quickly shut again at the sound of someone clearing their throat ahead of me. I swivel around, seeing Mr Dolus placing down his briefcase and pushing up the sleeves of his buttoned shirt. The sight is an oddity among the normally formal class setting, causing me to straighten in my seat and pay attention just as the other students have done.
My AP English teacher has a certain demanding presence, which, once notices, is like a flame to a moth and therefore difficult to ignore. It's not that he's flamboyant or forceful, but he just has a way of making you notice him and know that his word is law and must be obeyed. His salted dark hair is straightened when he uses his fingers to comb through it, his hands swinging onto his hips. Mister Dolus then stands regally before us, a king addressing his countrymen rather than a master before slaves of the education system.