The Slings and Arrows of Outrageous Schooldays

"...The Australian Government has a bicameral system…" Tick, tick, tick. Words fell on deaf ears as I stared into the clock, synchronising the teacher's eye. My fingernails dug into my palms as I counted down. “10, 9, 8…” Tick, tick. “3, 2, 1…” Brrrrrrriiinnnngggggalingalingggg! The students threw their notebooks into the air, while the teacher, Ms Squalor, tossed a folder behind her back and wiggled her arms and legs, screaming: “Oooohh, yeaaaaahhhh!”

My classroom, a small planet with a navy sky and violet floors, transformed into yellow and my Dungeons & Dragons Essentials Kit sat high in the sky on a white pillar. Sprinting out of the classroom, my shoes took the form of spring shoes as I sprang over the astroturf. My steaming shoes emitted smoke. I sat down, dark grey miniature jagged surfaces harassing me. Nonetheless, my yellow mind put pay to my pain receptors, as I handed everyone their character sheets. My numb arms waved the sheets in front of me with eyes locked on my kit. The sheets were still in my hand, as my yellow mind turned black. I realised that Seb went off to play handball, Ian was sick, Dylan was at Band Camp, and Alexey was visiting high school. In my excitement, I had forgotten the absence of my friends. I exiled myself from the rest of the world, my face disguised beside the dumpster.

Brrrrrrriiinnnngggggalingalingggg! My class began to assemble on the dark, rough landscape. I ignored them. As a House Captain, my duty was to clean the sandpit after lunch. A Kindergarten cyclone had swept through the sandpit: misplaced shovels, toy trucks were missing wheels, and the once red sand cover had seen better days. Sweat insulted my dripping brow. Is there no end to pain for a wretched schoolboy? A lightbulb lit over my head. Instead of breaking my back with a shovel, why not dig a hole? My weightless arms further destroyed a shovel as the sandpit vomited sand. A mound towered behind me, and before me, toys were deep in the pit, as the sandpit began to swallow the sand. Voila. Rest in peace, toys.

My leg was covered in invisible rashes; I looked down. A spider the size of my palm was challenging me to a staring contest. Accepting, my lips frowned, eyes narrowed, and a tumbleweed passed by. But those black eyes, twitching legs, and an abdomen. What is that? My pupils dilated. Do I scream? Stay? Fortune favours the bold. "HEEEEELP!!!!!!!" A pattering of footsteps. Shuun, a fellow House Captain, arrived. “What's wrong, Ein?” “A spider!” “A spider? Yay! A remarkable specimen!” The spider broke from his entrance. “I'm naming you Bobby!” Shuun smiled and the spider's 8 eyes were enveloped in love hearts. His murderous blood red eyes and red fangs sneered at me: nothing like Louise Bourgeois' Maman.

A wisp of cold air exited my lips as I collapsed on a chair in my classroom, its monotonous blue walls welcoming me. Ms Squalor said, “Ein, you're just on time for Maths! You have to solve 50 word problems related to Linear Algebra!” I was comfortable, cushioned, and air-conditioned. I had encountered a spider, was scorched in the sand, and was lugging dead weight.