Embrace Your Fate

From Create Your Own Story

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(Created page with 'A heavy atmosphere awaits you in the class. All eyes fall upon you, their faces a dark grimace, as if everyone already knew who was going to step through the door. "Tardiness is…')
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A heavy atmosphere awaits you in the class. All eyes fall upon you, their faces a dark grimace, as if everyone already knew who was going to step through the door.
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Laughter awaits you as you step into class. The teacher shakes her head at you and clicks her tongue. "Well, well, well, our guest of honor is fashionably late today - and how." She gives you the usual kind of lecture you come to expect, about taking your education seriously, how you won't have such privileges of coming on your own timing when you enter the workforce. You are sentenced to detention for two days after school, but she otherwise says nothing too degrading and points you back to your seat. Considering that detention usually involves an indifferent teacher and you scribbling your daydreams onto a pad, you feel like you got off easy and proceed to your seat without complaint. Your mood is further lightened up by your classmates nudging you as you walk by, cracking inappropriate jokes about the cause of your lateness.
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"Tardiness is not tolerated in this room, class," a stern voice announced from behind the table. "If any of you are not well aware of that fact so far down your school term, please do us all a favor and make your exit. I'm sure a lesser school would be more hospitable to your indifferent attitude."
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You hold your tongue. You've been numbed to such tirades by now. As usual, when met with such lectures, you bow lightly and apologize, your voice barely audible. You've been practicing such submission forever that it comes naturally, a reflex. "Sorry for the trouble."
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Of course, you are also aware that getting off the hook won't be easy.
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"Three hours late. That's six lessons you missed. I should simply write you off for detention and let you catch up there." The teacher taps her pen against her pad on the desk, glaring fiercely at your lowered head. "But, this is your first offense. A detention record is very well a death sentence for you, I'm aware. As it is for the rest of you." She turns her gaze sharply to the rest of the class. "Remember well this moment. The scholarship is only granted to three students in this class. It's not a privilege, but a goal you must earn. Any bad record - any at all - shall remove your name from any possible consideration. I hope you understand the seriousness of this."
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One thing you do not understand, however, is why the old bag bothers to give these lectures instead of proceeding with the class. It ironically takes up time you've already wasted being tardy, thus leaving not only you, but the entire class further behind on the lessons. But of course, you do not speak aloud of your opinion. You lack the conviction to usher changes in this class or your life, or you would have already picked the other path and escape somewhere more fruitful. No, silence is golden in this room, a simple fact anyone observing the class could understand. No one speaks up. No one gossips with his classmate about your possible suspension. Everyone merely listens.
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Closing her speech with a sigh, the teacher signals you to your seat. You give another light bow and proceed to your spot.
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The day carries on as usual. No one asks why you are late during or even after class, no one snickers behind your back. Lunch shall come, then classes, then it will be heading home as usual. Once again, you are just fine today.
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Home brings no salvation from the humdrum of your grind. Your parents sit you down for a 30 minute talk about your tardiness before grounding you for the rest of the day, asking you to "think about your mistake". You are returned to your room without dinner. Your stomach grumbles at this command, but you are used to it. You could lose a few pounds after all, you tell yourself. You gaze at your bedroom window, wondering if things would have turned out differently had you turn around this morning instead of chickening out. But even such a thought begins to drift away, becoming a blurred notion that feels like it's coming out from another's mouth, and soon replaced by a more placid, soothing idea. "Maybe I should turn in early tonight."
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Detention begins the same way as your last session. "Grab a seat," says the teacher who doesn't even bother looking at you as he concentrates on on his trashy tabloid magazine. You think about remarking how he looks like a less handsome Paul Rudd doing a comedy sketch, but you decide to say nothing instead and merely let out a tired sigh. You roll your eyes at the apathetic teacher and move to an open seat. You pull out your colorful notepad full of sketches on its cover and begin scribbling the hours away.
What shall you do?
What shall you do?
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*[[Sleep Early | Turn in for the night]]
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*[[Draw A Fantasy Creature | Sketch out a fantasy creature from your imagination]]
*[[Sneak Out | Sneak out]]
*[[Sneak Out | Sneak out]]
[[Category:Perspective]]
[[Category:Perspective]]

Revision as of 16:17, 22 October 2017

Laughter awaits you as you step into class. The teacher shakes her head at you and clicks her tongue. "Well, well, well, our guest of honor is fashionably late today - and how." She gives you the usual kind of lecture you come to expect, about taking your education seriously, how you won't have such privileges of coming on your own timing when you enter the workforce. You are sentenced to detention for two days after school, but she otherwise says nothing too degrading and points you back to your seat. Considering that detention usually involves an indifferent teacher and you scribbling your daydreams onto a pad, you feel like you got off easy and proceed to your seat without complaint. Your mood is further lightened up by your classmates nudging you as you walk by, cracking inappropriate jokes about the cause of your lateness.


Detention begins the same way as your last session. "Grab a seat," says the teacher who doesn't even bother looking at you as he concentrates on on his trashy tabloid magazine. You think about remarking how he looks like a less handsome Paul Rudd doing a comedy sketch, but you decide to say nothing instead and merely let out a tired sigh. You roll your eyes at the apathetic teacher and move to an open seat. You pull out your colorful notepad full of sketches on its cover and begin scribbling the hours away.

What shall you do?

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