// trying out something new, aka writing. Pls give honest feedback ;)
The last year of middle school, oh, how time flies. The year was 1990, the date, probably sometime in October. Yeah, October. The air grows colder and the colors start to shift from bright greens to grey and occasional orange, yellow and red. Though, mostly boring grey and brown, just like all the rest of Nockwell.
Oh, fuck yeah, Nockwell. One would be more surprised if someone heard of the town rather than not. It was small, though if you took a 30 minute bus drive, you could make it to a bigger town, city, even. Thats where the fun is at. Nockwell is like a raisin or an old piano. Old folk like it because it reminds them of something it no longer is. It's the memories that keep them comfortable and the people don't actually enjoy the town all that much. These days it seems like it's more of a place where very Christian gather.
Why is Erik thinking all this crap?
Erik Golding, 13, the star of this show, taps the paper on his desk. Boring. The teacher was going on and on about... something. Quite frankly Erik sat at the desk furthest from Mr... fuckface? Kimberly? Kimmel? Okay, no, he has to ask someone. Not remembering will eat Erik alive.
Looking up from his doodles, the boy glances at the biology teacher who seemed to be talking to a fish in his tank. Whatever makes him happy. Erik pokes a kid in front of him with a pencil. A girl with braids and a purple glittery beanie turned to look at Erik, a bit confused but smiling. Campbell..?
- Ashley? - Erik muttered, something between asking if he got her name right and making sure she was listening
- Yeah, Erik? What's up? - The girl nodded and stared at Erik, waiting for him to say something else.
- What's the teachers name? - the boy nodded in the teacher, who now seemingly was trying to squeeze a skeleton of a fish from inside some tube-bottle.
- Oh! I think like, Mr Cricket?
Erik leaned back and decided to continue watching.. Mr Cricket. The man's voice was oddly quiet for a teacher, it seemed like even those in second row would barely hear him. Maybe he was just shy. But why on earth would this motherfucker become a teacher if he's shy? He looked to be barely reaching his 30s, what kind of moron chooses to teach and study instead of partying and getting a girl? Though considering.... Mr Cricket and all related to him, Erik came to the conclusion that perhaps the guy doesn't want a girl. Or happiness.
Erik rolled his eyes and glanced at the clock on the wall in irritation. Wow, 15 minutes left. Okay, what game should we play? Who's hair looks weirder? Or throw paper at someone and see if they notice? Or open the pen and drain it's ink? Drink the ink and pretend to be dead?
All sounded fun. But okay, let's go with the hair game. How do you play, you ask? Well, it's easy. You pick a random person, examine their hair throughly (from a distance, duh), and conclude what their hair resembles most. Let's start with... Ashley. Her hair is brown, kinda long and has some glitter stuck in it, presumably from her beanie, which was ynow, covered in glitter.
After a few moments of thinking and staring at the girls hair, Erik came to realize that..... her hair just kinda looks like hair. Boring and just... hair. The beanie looks like a condom though. Okay, not really. Forget it.
Chugs hair looks like grass. Chug could make a very convincing impersonation of a floating island. Green grass ontop and brown-ish everything below.
Tiffany has a bunch of small braids that stick out of her hair like she's a sea urchin, but orange.
Joe's hair looks like... nothing. But it does look like he needs a shower. Has needed it for a while, at that.
Erik stared at one of his classmates. He couldn't really decide, his hair looked both like piss yet gold at the same time. Not like Travis needed to be aware of Erik's judgement, yet it felt wrong to say that the pastors son has piss hair. Though... so does Kenneth.
"Mister Phelps it is, young man!" - the firm voice of Erik's mother echoed in his head, making him grimace.
"Yes, mom, Mister Phelps has piss hair" - Erik thought to himself, pretending to have a conversation with his mom in his own head. This is what modern schools do to children, this orgy or teachers, meatloaf, bologna and really, really bad pumpkin soup is driving Erik insane, middle school is giving him SCHIZOPHRENIA. Voices in his head and oh dear God, hallucinations, swirls of color!!
Wait. Erik pulls his hands away from his eyes as he opens them. The pressure from his palms on his eyeballs dissappears, only leaving less and less of those "hallucinations".
Holy shit this is torture.
Erik looked at the clock. 3 minutes left. Okay.
Erik digs his left hand into his backpack and rummages through, searching for something. Finally he feels the familiar texture of worn cardboard and sharp edges. His treasure, his everything, his savior and his secret. A pack of cigarettes the boy totally didn't steal from the store.
This lunch break will be special, Erik is equipped with matches. He will finally try smoking. As his uncle said, any self respectful man has tried to smoke at least once and continues doing it until he becomes a father or dies.
Erik only cared about the "self respectful man" part. The boy grins at the thought, feeling warmth of pride in his chest.
