You're late. It's the first day of classes and you're late. You're hopping the stairs, two at a time, and wheezing like a heavy smoker, and you're absolutely, unarguably late.
Why did I think a morning class would be a good idea?
Other students hurry past you sporadically. Some of them look vaguely worried or even lost. This pleases you. You wouldn't admit it, of course. But it does. You feel like less of an idiot now. It's comforting to know that other classrooms will soon be interrupted. You won't be the only sweaty, panting student wandering through the door apologetically.
You can see it now.
You'll burst through the door, thirty-five minutes late. The Professor will stop, mid-sentence. He'll look at you. Everyone will look at you.
"Hello," he'll say, slowly.
You'll stare at him dumbly.
He'll start to ask, "Can I hel--"
"English 135? Is this English 135?"
"That's right." He'll nod, as if reassuring a child. "Please, take a seat."
You'll look around, find the only spot. It'll be in the very front row, of course, and the seat will be turned the wrong way around. You'll try to maneuver it around the desk, but it'll be a tight squeeze. You'll make a lot of squeaks and scrapes, clanging against the table legs and getting settled in. Everyone will still be looking at you.
Then you'll realize. Your morning English class is taught by Miss Burgoyne. And this man ain't no Miss.
And then, and then you'll--you'll--
SNAP OUT OF IT.
You stop outside the English building. You take a deep, strong breath.
I can't daydream now. Not on the first day of school. Focus.
You go inside. It's quiet, and the halls are empty. It reminds you of a library without any books. But then, you don't get out much.
You take a folded sheet of paper from your pocket. Double check it. Stop outside the right door. You spot a woman inside! She's just beside the door -- bent over, her face away from you, she's rummaging through a duffel-bag. The entire class seems to be ultra-focused on her, and some of the students are smiling.
You open the door, step inside.
And as your new Professor turns, she LUNGES out at you. You scream pathetically.
The skin is literally melting off her face. She has thick boils spotting her pale-green cheeks, and one has burst and oozes down to her chin. Sickly strands of greasy hair hang limp, clinging to her nose and forehead.
You scream again as you stumble backward and run from the room. The sound of your footsteps in the hall breaks an otherwise perfect silence.
"Oh, shit." Miss Burgoyne removes her cheap witch mask. "That wasn't Daniel."
She looks at the class. A few nervous looking girls appear to be sympathetic for their Professor's victim. They scrunch their faces a little with worry and fiddle with their pencils. The rest of the students are in hysterics. They hoot and howl. Miss Burgoyne has won their unfaltering loyalty for the rest of the term.
As the laughter dies down, a young man pushes past the open door into the room. He's strong, good looking, and he reeks of cockiness. And he's got a smug grin on his face.
"That thing?" he says. "That's what you were gonna scare me with? Come on, Teach -- you're gonna have to try a little harder than that. I'm not a baby."
"Take your seat please Daniel."
She looks at the class with a weak smile. "No more bathroom breaks today," she says. "And no more bets."
Last edited by A.r.p.; 11-12-2010 at 07:14 PM..