For my Gifted Writers class. Our prompt? Write about a daily even/activity as if you'd never encountered it before. My choice? School. XD
Oh and by the way people, this doesn't have an ending so don't bitch about it being incomplete.They are walking down the hall; two very different people with nothing to say. The silence is stretching. Longer and longer, the awkward glances and nervous coughs barely fill the space between lockers and rooms. Finally, he can’t bear it; he has to say something. Anything. The silence had to end.
“I had a dream last night.” He says.
“Oh. Really?” She isn’t helping him.
“Yea. It was strange.” He waits for her to respond. She’s looking at him in anticipation. He gets the hint, and continues. “I was looking at it from above. Like I was some sort of God...or dead person.” His humor doesn’t reach her. He hides his smile quickly, and continues on. “In my dream, I’m looking down on a series of chairs with pieces of wood attached by some supports. They’re attached so that a person can fit in between the back of the chair and the front of the plank. They are situated in rows; five across, 7 back.” He pauses, stutters.
“That means that there are thirty-five chairs with pieces of wood attached.”
“I know. I’m passing math.” She says, smiling. She’s beginning to be more comfortable; he can feel it in her tone. His confidence grows, and he continues with his narrative.
“There’s also a big plank of wood at the front of the room. It has a lot of objects on it; a metal box, some pointy objects, some thin sheets of white...wood? It’s hard to describe.” He looks at her nervously. She nods, telling him to continue. He can see it in her eyes. He starts back up again, more excited than before.
“There’s also a large black board behind the board, with pieces of condensed white dust supported by a small ledge just underneath. I take these things in carefully, trying to figure out what they do; what they mean. But I can’t think about it for too long; all of the sudden, there’s a loud, blaring noise. A ringing sound that goes on for at least a minute before subsiding.”
“A bell?” She interrupts him, curious.
“Yes, I suppose that’s what it was.” He smiles. Now she’s becoming interested. He can see it in the way she’s starting to lean in, to hear what he’s saying. Happy that he’s telling a good story, he continues.
“People start filing in; thirty five of them, to be exact. They all look young. Not kids, but they aren’t adults either. They all have large, complex pieces of cloth on their backs, or hanging by a thick string by their sides. They look heavy. Some of them are leaning, to compensate for the imbalance in weight. Then, there’s a unanimous ‘thump’ as they all put their heavy pieces of cloth down. They sit in the strange chair, each knowing their place. Then they pull out something; a thick collection of the thin white sheets bound by a thick, colorful sheet. They open them up. They all look like they are on the same page.” He glances at her, to see if she’s still listening. Now she’s practically facing him, and their pace has slowed. He knows that she wants to hear more by the intensity in her face. He resumes.
“Now a man, an adult, walks in. He’s carrying a bag like the middle-people are. He, too, drops it with a ‘thump’-but his place is at the large piece of wood in the front. He takes a condensed piece of white dust and writes on the big black board. Words, and definitions. He tells the middle-people: ‘write these down, verbatim, and I’ll look at them in five minutes.’ Now everyone reaches into their cloth holders-”
“Bags?” She asks him.
“Yea, bags.” Now they are sitting. He can tell she is interested because she is at the edge of her seat. Encouraged, he carries on.
“They pull out loose pieces of the thin white sheets, and the pointy objects that I mentioned earlier. They put the pointy end of the object to the sheet, and they start writing. I’m assuming that they are writing what is on the board; they always look up quickly, record, look up, record. Now five minutes have passed; some of the middle-people have turned the white sheets over, and now they are leaning back. The adult is now collecting the papers, and he’s taking storing them somewhere.” He glances up from the table, and sees that all of her attention is on him and his story. He can tell because her eyes don’t avert their gaze. Almost excited, he starts again.
“Now the adult is writing something else on the board; a series of words that when put together make a sentence. He turns around, almost dramatically, and starts talking. He asks one of the middle-people-”
“Are you talking about students?” She asks. Her eyebrows are raised. He understands that she is amused. He can see it in the twinkle of her eye. Happy, he lets the story unfold.
“Anyway, he asks one of the students-” he puts emphasis on the word, looking at her with a friendly smile. “-to come up to the big black board. He tells the student, a girl, to write down what each word in the sentence is. Word by word. She writes letters, and series of letters, above each part of the sentence. Lines, arrows; it’s all a big diagram. When the adult looks at it, he smiles. He’s happy; the student is right. He tells the other students why she’s right, and he tells them to write it all down. Once again the students are looking up, recording, looking up, recording.”
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accomplished
distressed
aggravated
confused
stressed
worried
lonely
artistic
cheerful
bored
depressed
tired
