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HEYYYYY Okay this is the updated version of May 4 2017 "The Red Pen Does Shine"
Chapter 1 -
A Unidentified Humanoid
Everyone’s hands went up, all the way above their shoulders, in perfect synchronization. By everyone I mean everyone but Thomas. He just sat there with his head splat - down on his desk. Classic Thomas.
I peer down at my pencil as it rolls off the edge of the desk and my testing paper. Multiplication...I hate it. Then again, would a rather do division? No. I can now see which questions I missed as I pick up my red pen, and we begin to correct.
I like that feeling, when you brush the red pen against the white paper. Some feel that ink bleeds through the paper, but to me it is a smooth cut that gently stains the fibre. I can only imagine using a pencil with it’s scratchy noise as it marks the sheet. The pen in smooth and runs freely with it’s bold red colour and the check marks on a page. I would’ve preferred to draw little circles, they seemed like a whole, one that never ends it’s happy smooth life. However, as due to the class rules I would have to live with the checks.
They belong in the same section as the triangle.
I then surveyed the classroom as Mrs.Poulin fixed the broken projector. It had been doing that for a long while now, and she had lost it two weeks ago.
Hair had flipped up for a second from behind the singular window in the classroom, amber waves shining in the sun. My eyes had darted around the class, but no one seemed to notice.
“You idiotic piece of hunka junka!!” I had heard from out in the hall. This got their attention. All the faces snapped their necks to the front door and we all got a terrifying glance of a constipated face through it, with a perfectly matched audio of a banshee.
Eventually time had passed and everyone returned to their own conversations.
We got a new projector.
The new art projects were displayed on the right wall board, straight down from each other, which makes total sense for organization and how teacher’s love a good straight line in the hallway.
In order for the projects to be displayed, Mrs.Poulin must’ve taken down the paintings we did previously. We'd be getting them back in about a week I’d estimate.
I could still hear her muttering from behind the cart now, sprinkling some sort of ashy dust around it.
The pen dwindled in my fingers as I intensely watched the clock.
It’s like everyone in the class, sensing the time was up for the school day, would stare at that clock. No matter what the people staring at them thought. If people were even staring at them, that is. I wouldn’t know, I was staring at it too.
The bell rang, Mrs.Poulin would have to handle her failure, and chaos began.
Now, I don’t understand the fundamentals of getting out into the hallway in such a hurried rush. Before you step out from the thin border between smooth tile to granite I bet it's almost impossible not to realize that we all leave the doors of the school at the same exact moment, and whether you were ready early or not, you would have to wait.
Just imagining the creak of the exit door gets me ruffled. You know, there’s something called oil! Then again, the school board is so caught up in focusing on health supplies, that I can see why it would be a challenge.
Pretty sure I was caught up in my own thoughts just then cause a soft linen, blazing bright, fabric rushes past me in a hurry and I can feel wind blow on my face. My hair blows up in front of me, just long enough so I take in the strands clinging to each other like the two sides of velcro on a running shoe.
Ugh, I must look like a mess. Especially my hair. Why do others have such perfect strands while i’m here in the form of a demented sewer troll. Not just a sewer troll. A demented sewer troll.
A slight part of me tugs, wondering who would have run past me, but after a moment of contemplation, it must have been Mrs.Poulin. She’s always trying out new extravagant clothing styles, she’s just that sort of woman. Petite with plan musty brown hair, and a strange far off look in her beige eyes.
I bend down to put my test in my desk, allowing myself to get lost in the thoughts of what would happen if I wore such clothing pieces as her, and how long it would take for velcro to pull off it's other half, naturally.
Obviously other factors would affect it, like rain and other natural processes.
What if it was in a box?
Yeah, that could keep it safe, but human interaction involves itself as well. I mean, kids these days can’t keep their hands off signs that say “Don’t touch”. It's basically an invitation! So, what if it was kept under heavy guard? Expensive much, think smaller Em, smaller.
What if you kep-
Ok that’s definitely not my subconscious having a unplanned conversation. In fact, it feels as though someone is looking straight at the top of my head.
Now why on earth would they do that?
I put on one of my best “annoyed, leave me alone” faces and look up,
Yup. Yup yup yup yup yup.
There is definitely a person there.
A human being. A humanoid! A homo-sapien.
Kill me now.
All at once i’m self conscious about the dandruff that must be sitting at the top of my head. I know it mustn't be true, it's just my brain playing nervous tricks on me, but ugh I need a shower. The capping was recently changed though, so that water really stings.
“Um, hi?” the voice says
Oh schintzel! I wandered off again! I stand up and look the person in the eye.
Ok, obviously the person can now be classified as a boy. I don’t know how, but I just know. There’s no need to interact, or find out any other characteristics about this boy, as this conversation is probably a mistake. As always.
And then this human being, humanoid, homo-sapien reaches out his hand - let me remind you, his human being, humanoid, homo-sapien hand - and...pokes me.
“Do you talk?” he says, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Excuse me? I’m a bit offended at the fact that he seems to think I don’t have the ability to talk, and then has the AUDACITY to prance on over here, disturb my loneliness and POKE ME?
Deep inside though, I do appreciate the conversation break into reality. Being lonely can get tough.
And so, I speak back. For ALL I KNOW (which is not that much in relation to human conversations), this could be a genuine conversation! Maybe we would talk about how pens should be allowed during every assignment, or how we both agree that triangles are idiotic.
Well, I did not really speak.
I nod my head.
Strangely enough, he laughs. Like lol, rofl, lmao and other weird contractions lazy people make up. Including me.
Then, he does the unthinkable. He reaches out his hand, down to mine, which is, still resting on the desk I’m leaning on, and hands me a piece of paper. A small, colourful, piece of paper.
“Wanna come to my birthday party?”
And all I can manage to blurt out of my introverted mouth is,
“Gulf bugga sheesha gulf seesamore?”
And then, out of trying to convince myself I had not just publically humiliated myself, I nodded.
I hate my life.
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Twinkle Tale Teller
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