The days cold and we feel old where is the gold that once used to be known. Wake up, clean up, eat up, same routine different day; repeat but we wanna retreat we want that treat.
School is distressing and we feel that our minds are oppressing and here we are our, our minds begging. Begging for release, leave us in peace as we lay there riddled and fiddle with our pens. We are captivated in the isolation of the emptiness of our minds.
Many of you will be reading but you know where I’m leading but I promise you there will be no heat, it’ll all be neat. The pages flick and the pen clicks, we hear the teachers in a good mood is this a trick? The thought of coursework makes me sick; the catchphrase of my friend penetrates my mind “you gotta motivate yourself bro” and often makes me think where I can find this kind.
The wretched winter breeze slaps our faces and then paces on to slap a few more faces. We shudder to find shelter as we hurriedly scurry along to our business lesson.
We enter, she isn’t there but she must be in her lair. The class is cold, the teacher states she’s hot-blooded and we freeze under the discombobulated moldy breeze of the AC. The absence of the teacher fills us with joy… but lasts only a while. Click and type, we log on, and suddenly, the metallic door handle turns and she enters.
Our hopes die down, our laughter dies down and slowly everything dies down; the silence indulges itself in the blankness of the atmosphere. The wrapper rattles as we battle to meet the eyes of technology.
The sound of typing continuing, a fusillade of shots, the click of the mouse grows louder by the second its timid monstrosity filling the room with irritation. The keys rattle and our hearts settle, she turns the computer off and we turn around and she’s paddling… paddling towards the door.
Her actions confuse us, at first her arm reaches towards the rubber buttons of the AC then… our heart rises elevating itself. The other hand reaches to the door and twists the metal handle and out she goes.
Inside I scream at last!. Harmoniously, the chatter begins to grow as we nurture it, its intoxication and contagiousness spread leaving us no choice but to join within the formation made. Some talk and some walkabout, some listen to music, and some stare into the midst of the world through the windows that have been embarked in front of us.
Outside the wind howls and growls, the trees swaying and the grey clouds waving about; pacing about. Some of us may be on Hip-Hop but these two girls are on TIKTOK, not the sound by the app. Two girls going mad at the moment one makes animalistic voices and one sings in poor tune but nobody seems to fume.
The animalistic noise grows louder and repeatedly and switches, a seagull, a cat or sometimes a species that hasn’t even existed. Peculiar voices are heard and the singing is not like one of a bird’s but we chuckle and enlighten the mood.
A boy uses the dim surface of his computer to obsessively stare at himself, flicking his hair back and in some cases even humming. His attention diverts to the gloom of the world, staring into nothingness he is indeed lost in the dreams of the world.
Two fight viciously yet enjoyable to watch. Tap, slap, kick and punch and a new one a scratch! The scratch marks on my friend’s hands are visible and bleeding as he is pleading for plaster but there is nothing but laughter.
The cat-like fight moves make me weak. As for the rest of the boys we violate and some stick their headphones in that’s it their gone. Miraculous music menacingly penetrates most of our ears blinding and deafening them from others around them. Our chairs swivel our heads puzzled we turn she’s back its the end; see you later friend!