Random events, facts, opinions, fictions, nonfictions, speeches, tirades, and criticisms
Sorry in advance
I'm sorry.... I couldn't think of anything to write so I continued my last post. This is the last one, I promise. Chapter 2
On the corner of Yale and Second is a school with four hundred students. Ninth through twelfth grade, none of them can stand it for one second. It's one of those schools that, in the sixties when the Usuals built it for two hundred thousand dollars, must have looked futuristic. Now it looks dated and dusty, like a science exhibit from nineteen fifty six. The students share a similar sentiment. The teaching techniques were trendy when the school was brought up. Backhand rap-pings, public embarrassment, and other corporal punishment that only a school with a reputation for discipline can possibly justify. Uniforms, punishment, a mass of masks disguising the very individuality that threatens to poison the foundation. Here is where a hero is born, that rises above the toxic air of oppression and stands with chest puffed and gawks at the authority that attempts to enslave him. No such hero is bred in this place. No such hero is needed for the lives of all four hundred students to run smoothly and slyly, slipping between the gaps of their pencils and their ears, studiously awaiting the next weekend so they can get consume whatever they can find and escape for a few hours. Monday morning is back to business, though. No questions asked. No such questions are needed for the lives of the 16-1 ratio faculty members to smoothly run through their job. Why complicate things. Twenty ruler taps train the slobs for society. Twenty ruler taps to save the world.
Tuesday, the drizzle dampens the decks where the masses wait for the bell to puncture their ears and hopes. Nihilism is instilled subconsciously in every wanderer there. They just have to reach the end. Just have to finish to Friday. No heroes, few people, but some remain, some resilient residents remain intact. They don't stand under the cover of the pathway between the two corridors. They stand in the cool rain and let their clothes get wet. They look up into the sky and curse God and let the rain fall on their faces and let it sting their eyes and let it make them uncomfortable. They smile a smile that is hard to define. A smile that tells the masses that they are alive and they don't wait for Friday to live. No heroes, no questions, just people. People are a necessity