by Michael Diaz
I guess that's just a weird classroom
| Well, now I'll say that there is no point to life and one might just give up. Yes, that's what I will say:
"There is no point to life and one might just give up," I tell the audience of 250 people.
The teacher comes, embarrassed as she could be, and just look me in the eye and says
"Hey, listen. Why don't you go take a drink and come back afterwards?"
Great idea Ms. Teacher. I'll go. And I did.
I leave the classroom and go to my private fridge in the bathroom. It's just a bucket with ice and a thermal box, but it's enough for me. Maybe the lady in the class meant that I should drink some water. Well, it's wine. I'm sort of a Jesus myself. Meaning I rather dehydrate on a desert than drinking water over wine. It's true. It's in the bible. Psalm 75:8. Or is that the one about God being an alcoholic? It's probably both. Neither? I don't know, I'm drunk.
The bathroom door opens.
"What are you doing?," the boy shouts
"Drinking. Can't you see? Oh no, wait. You're blind."
He looks at me with his very seeing eyes, confused by my comment. Then I offer him a cup.
"Would you like to see?," I ask
He scoffs, turns away, pretending he will leave, then comes back and accepts the offer.
"Just because it's physics," he says
"That's not physics. According to physics you would have continued your movement away. It's called inertia, ever heard of it? You would if you actually went and watched the class."
"Just give me that," the boy says, grabbing the bottle from my throbbing hands.
He then continues to drink the whole bottle in just one gulp. He tries it, anyway. It's not like he succeed, he didn't, and after about 10 seconds of gulping, that freaky 14 year old kid, 37 kg, just passes out. I kind of laugh but not really. I just want my bottle back. The bell rings.
"Hey, why do you smell like Friday?," the class girl asks.
The classroom is like, super crowded. Almost 12 of the 36 students came to class today.
"Why are there so many people here?"
"The biology teacher warned us she be sick, and class today is optional study session."
My eyes sparkle in joy.
"Oh really?," I say. "So that means"
"Yep. Cut and Run."
The Cut and Run! Such an exquisite game. You run, cut someone's body part, and then run away. I always thought it should be run, cut, and then run again, you psycho. But people though it was too long. I just call it Psycho.
"Let the Psycho games begin," I scream with my arms opened. I'm ignored. The girl laughs.
"You're kidding," she says. "It's cut and run. Just go and cut something."
"It's psycho. Look."
I then proceed to cut my arm a little bit and let it drip on the carpetless floor.
"Let the psychology begin!"
I'm not ignored this time. It's because of the smell of blood. People told me it's because I cut my arm in the middle of the class, and that happens to call attention. I disagree. It's because of the blood smell, that's what calls it.
"Hey, not fair," says the boy. Tall enough to be a man but not enough balls.
"What?," I say impatient.
"You cut yourself. It's cut and run. How are you gonna run from yourself?"
"I'm always running from myself, kiddo. Check it out."
I then punch him in the nose. Again the room looks at me, or us, and again it's because of the blood smell. The boy almost falls down, but is able to hold himself up from that one punch. So I give him another. He blocks, punches me, I lose a tooth and he loses his right to beg for mercy.
He takes a chance at a punch. I proceed to take the knife from my pocket. He repeats it isn't fair. I cut his hair and I run away. The crowd cheer, oh, it's wonderful.
What about the stamina, huh? The adrenalin. I run. I jump. I touch the ceiling with his hair in my hands. More cheers, applause, clapping of nails, the voices stop, my voice stops. It is now three in the morning.
I open my hand and there is no hair. There is no class. There is no booze, how horrible!
There is only the moonlight hitting the cell bar. The cell is empty. My body is just as empty. My body is in the cell, dead as a rat. My nose? Broken. My throat? Cut . My arm is fine, though. My spirit is free.