I wasn't expecting to finish it tonight, but I felt driven to.
Chapter Two
Death
I have made my peace with it. My parents, not so much. They became angry. Society has changed so drastically in such a short amount of time that it has been difficult for them to accept the new rules by which we are being governed. And naturally, as my parents, they are quite protective of me. They want what is best for me while others insist on knowing what is best for everyone else.
Even the teachers are mad, although their displeasure is due in great part to the fact that they are not qualified for their positions. As is the case for most people in the country right now. The best way for an ideology to maintain power is to remove all non-believers.
My parents are smart enough to still have their jobs, because they are good at faking adherence. None of the former teachers, and rightfully so, could bring themselves to lecture on that which is unacademic. The previous education system was not perfect, but it was preferable.
Now instead of learning anything constructive, we are simply expected to accept that we no longer have to exercise our brains via critical thinking. Because thinking, after all, has become the enemy of a new national order wrought with fallible faith.
"Jahl, are you paying attention?"
Not to your drivel. Aloud, I respectfully say, "Yes, Ma'am."
"Then you wouldn't mind answering the question."
Uh-oh, I think as I look up at a blank white board and then toward a similarly blank expression on a face caked with pasty foundation. She seems to be the only woman allowed to wear makeup, since it has been outlawed, and I wonder if her age has something to do with it. As elderly as she is, I suspect she was removed from a nursing home to fill a position at the school.
Knowing better, I say, "But I just did."
She blinks, again, then a third time before she moves her attention away from me and sweeps the class of students with her gaze. When she speaks again, she starts with something I am certain she was not talking about earlier.
When it is finally time to leave, I take a peek at the single paper Mrs. Westerly is always holding as though it is holier than scripture. Turns out, it is a seating chart. Which tracks with how she cannot do more than seem to be familiar with our names.
"Hey, Vajahl," calls an all too familiar voice in the hallway.
The v-a in the insult is supposed to represent the female reproductive organ. It is not very clever, but neither is the girl. I imagine her multiple inadequacies is why she is the premier bully at the school. Equal opportunity, I also suppose.
Using the usual method of escape, I slip into a crowd of students and then sneak into the rooftop access stairwell that is off limits to us. The teachers tend to use the roof for smoking, but not at this time of the day. They stink when they return to class as though they are unaware of the repugnant odor surrounding them.
Also, this stairwell does not seem to get cleaned. At least in the two years I have been here I have never seen the steps absent the dirty imprints of various shoe patterns. I have slipped a few times and probably would have fallen to a broken neck demise if the railing was not here.
The roof access is only available from the third floor. It is a short trip up a single flight and then a gust of fresh air slams into me when I open the door to the outside. Before the door closes behind me, I think I hear the clicking of the door down below being opened.
Unable to enjoy the calming mountain view, a loud metallic tearing sounds behind me. Spinning around, I duck just in time to avoid the door as it flies over me with a whoosh of air indicating the high velocity at which it must be traveling.
"Thought I wouldn't figure out where you've been disappearing to, didn't you?"
Remaining close to the ground, I raise my head to look at her. One never to be insulted with the typical patriarchal usage of petite, her size has given pause to grown men. It is uncertain where she gets the giantess physique, because both of her parents are little people. Being compared to such parents only ever fueled her anger whereby a bully persona was developed.
I have never understood her psychopathic interest in me, but I know better than to start a cliche dialogue with her. Maybe I just looked at her wrong one day in gym class. It is not as though we were ever friends for her to feel somehow betrayed by me.
Her anger is evident in the color of an otherwise perfect complexion. The unfortunate facial features are entirely out of place, something else that no doubt contributed to her self identity. At one point, I considered being friends with her. Not out of pity, but because she was not always the monster she allowed herself to become.
"It's time you pay for what you've done."
Oh, you are a loon, I think as I wonder if there is any way this can end in my favor.
As she rushes towards me, the only thought that comes to mind is how my parents are going to arrange my body in the coffin. This thought is more horrifying than the two hundred pounds rushing at me as though I am the singular infuriating pin to be knocked down in a game of bowling. Yet I am not troubled enough to use my smaller size and excess stamina to move clear of the threat.
I close my eyes and take a final calming breath before the impact that will likely cause me to lose consciousness. This is not how I want to be remembered in the yearbook, but there are certain instances in our lives that are always out of our control. Death happens to be one of these defining moments we cannot avoid.
Chapter Two
Death
I have made my peace with it. My parents, not so much. They became angry. Society has changed so drastically in such a short amount of time that it has been difficult for them to accept the new rules by which we are being governed. And naturally, as my parents, they are quite protective of me. They want what is best for me while others insist on knowing what is best for everyone else.
Even the teachers are mad, although their displeasure is due in great part to the fact that they are not qualified for their positions. As is the case for most people in the country right now. The best way for an ideology to maintain power is to remove all non-believers.
My parents are smart enough to still have their jobs, because they are good at faking adherence. None of the former teachers, and rightfully so, could bring themselves to lecture on that which is unacademic. The previous education system was not perfect, but it was preferable.
Now instead of learning anything constructive, we are simply expected to accept that we no longer have to exercise our brains via critical thinking. Because thinking, after all, has become the enemy of a new national order wrought with fallible faith.
"Jahl, are you paying attention?"
Not to your drivel. Aloud, I respectfully say, "Yes, Ma'am."
"Then you wouldn't mind answering the question."
Uh-oh, I think as I look up at a blank white board and then toward a similarly blank expression on a face caked with pasty foundation. She seems to be the only woman allowed to wear makeup, since it has been outlawed, and I wonder if her age has something to do with it. As elderly as she is, I suspect she was removed from a nursing home to fill a position at the school.
Knowing better, I say, "But I just did."
She blinks, again, then a third time before she moves her attention away from me and sweeps the class of students with her gaze. When she speaks again, she starts with something I am certain she was not talking about earlier.
When it is finally time to leave, I take a peek at the single paper Mrs. Westerly is always holding as though it is holier than scripture. Turns out, it is a seating chart. Which tracks with how she cannot do more than seem to be familiar with our names.
"Hey, Vajahl," calls an all too familiar voice in the hallway.
The v-a in the insult is supposed to represent the female reproductive organ. It is not very clever, but neither is the girl. I imagine her multiple inadequacies is why she is the premier bully at the school. Equal opportunity, I also suppose.
Using the usual method of escape, I slip into a crowd of students and then sneak into the rooftop access stairwell that is off limits to us. The teachers tend to use the roof for smoking, but not at this time of the day. They stink when they return to class as though they are unaware of the repugnant odor surrounding them.
Also, this stairwell does not seem to get cleaned. At least in the two years I have been here I have never seen the steps absent the dirty imprints of various shoe patterns. I have slipped a few times and probably would have fallen to a broken neck demise if the railing was not here.
The roof access is only available from the third floor. It is a short trip up a single flight and then a gust of fresh air slams into me when I open the door to the outside. Before the door closes behind me, I think I hear the clicking of the door down below being opened.
Unable to enjoy the calming mountain view, a loud metallic tearing sounds behind me. Spinning around, I duck just in time to avoid the door as it flies over me with a whoosh of air indicating the high velocity at which it must be traveling.
"Thought I wouldn't figure out where you've been disappearing to, didn't you?"
Remaining close to the ground, I raise my head to look at her. One never to be insulted with the typical patriarchal usage of petite, her size has given pause to grown men. It is uncertain where she gets the giantess physique, because both of her parents are little people. Being compared to such parents only ever fueled her anger whereby a bully persona was developed.
I have never understood her psychopathic interest in me, but I know better than to start a cliche dialogue with her. Maybe I just looked at her wrong one day in gym class. It is not as though we were ever friends for her to feel somehow betrayed by me.
Her anger is evident in the color of an otherwise perfect complexion. The unfortunate facial features are entirely out of place, something else that no doubt contributed to her self identity. At one point, I considered being friends with her. Not out of pity, but because she was not always the monster she allowed herself to become.
"It's time you pay for what you've done."
Oh, you are a loon, I think as I wonder if there is any way this can end in my favor.
As she rushes towards me, the only thought that comes to mind is how my parents are going to arrange my body in the coffin. This thought is more horrifying than the two hundred pounds rushing at me as though I am the singular infuriating pin to be knocked down in a game of bowling. Yet I am not troubled enough to use my smaller size and excess stamina to move clear of the threat.
I close my eyes and take a final calming breath before the impact that will likely cause me to lose consciousness. This is not how I want to be remembered in the yearbook, but there are certain instances in our lives that are always out of our control. Death happens to be one of these defining moments we cannot avoid.
"Never trust a fox. Looks like a dog, behaves like a cat."
~ Erin Hunter
~ Erin Hunter