|
Post by Dante on Aug 27, 2005 17:16:19 GMT -5
It's all very good, Dupin. I like it a lot.
|
|
|
Post by champ103 on Aug 28, 2005 14:49:41 GMT -5
The chapters are all turning out really short, and I'm sorry about that. Well, enjoy.
Factory, part three
3 ‘In which an expulsion is rewarded, among other things.’
‘potato yoursefl,’ the conversation began. Mister Dante-a man reaching his elder years, and a higher authority in the classroom stood up at this, his face red, snatching his glasses out as the waiting class sat in silence and anticipation.
Meanwhile, in a different country, a rather different situation was unfolding. ‘Twenty-six,’ Kimia said, with a determined smile on her face. Her teacher-Miss Antenora-who some of the clever children called ‘Aunty’ or ‘Nora’ or a combination of the two-smiled, and picked up a piece of chalk to show Kimia’s method on percentages and fractions. ‘And as a fraction, Miss Etemadi?’ she asked. Kimia pondered it for a moment, sat at the front of the class as usual. ‘Fifty-two?’ she asked, sounding a little unsure. ‘That’s right!’ Aunty Nora replied, clapping her hands a little, and smudging chalk over her palms. There was a sudden chime of the school bell, and everyone instantly scooped up their bags from beside their feet, and pushed themselves off their chairs, before heading to the door. Kimia followed slowly behind, giving Miss Antenora a quick wave. There was a quick twenty minute break from school before Kimia’s next lesson-French-which she usually spent alone, reading the library or getting homework out of the way. It was a time where all the popular girls exclaimed that they had a crush on everyone, and squealed and awful lot. And it was a time where Kimia would rather they would close their mouths for a moment, as she sat, with Jane Austen’s ‘Pride And Prejudice’ tightly in her hands. She had finished Lemony Snicket’s new books way before even Pandora Morose had found a golden page, and she was way over the prize, the tour, the factory. She didn’t really care about it, but even so, when a shrilling voice came from just metres way, screaming ‘I found one! I found a golden page!’ she slammed her book flat on her knees and tried to see where it was coming from. It was one of the popular girls, no doubt, who was huddled together at the other side of the hallway. Kimia picked herself up, as the squeals of ‘I got it!’ went on, but then the popular girl’s dispersed, and the girl holding a bright yellow piece of paper that she had clearly made smiled. ‘Fooled you,’ she said to her friends, and it sounded like it was directed to Kimia too, who she had obviously seen coming over to find out. Kimia sighed, and took her seat again. ‘I beg your pardon?’ Mister Dante snorted. ‘I said ‘go potato yourself.’’ Said the girl, who was looking relaxed as she sat way at the back of the glass. Suddenly her eyes widened, and she comically shook her head. ‘Oh, sorry,’ she said. ‘I mean ‘go potato yourself, sir.’ Mister Dante froze. ‘Miss Scipio,’ he growled. ‘I’m sure you know that it is against school rules to use profanity towards a teacher, or towards any student for that matter?’ Miss Scipio shrugged. ‘I guess so,’ she replied, slouched in her seat. Mister Dante bit his lip at her casual behaviour. ‘Well, then, I’m sure you know that you’ve just broken school rules then, Miss Scipio?’ he sneered. ‘I’m sure I do,’ Miss Scipio-first name Shruti-replied. Shruti Scipio wasn’t alarmed at Mister Dante getting angry with her-she was constantly getting told of by any teacher of any subject, as long with the rest of the school staff, or just pretty much any adult she knew. She wasn’t really bothered-to her, it was like a game, winding teacher’s up like a clockwork, and letting them get angry with her. It highly amused her, especially when Mister Dante turned bright red in the face like he was now. ‘Good,’ Mister Dante snarled, red-faced, before sighing and trying to act calm. ‘Now,’ he continued. ‘There is no reason for you to use such…such foul language towards me.’ ‘I beg to differ,’ Shruti snarled in return. ‘Let’s evaluate on it, shall we?’ she added, using a pompous posh voice to mimic Mister Dante, who folded his arms. ‘Why don’t we then, Miss Scipio?’ he asked, and lifted his head to talk to the class, as if that would help them to see him. ‘Now, I’m sure you have something to say to your classmates?’ he asked. Shruti nodded. ‘Yeah,’ she agreed. ‘They can go potato themselves too.’ She smiled. Mister Dante stood up, fists clenched, his face redder than ever. ‘I think you might need a trip to the principal’s office, young lady,’ he snarled, grabbing her by the wrist. She pulled away. ‘Good,’ she replied, picking herself-and her books up from the desk, and then, slipping her bag over her shoulder, began walking towards the classroom door. ‘This class was salsae anyway.’ And with that, she left.
‘Any news on the golden pages?’ was the question Kimia asked when she arrived home. After being reminded about them during school, it had interested her quite a bit. James shrugged at he stared at the television. ‘A third one hasn’t been found yet,’ he explained,’ if that’s what you mean.’ Kimia sighed, not sure whether it was of relief or not. No matter how long it took to find the golden pages, she wouldn’t be able to find another Lemony Snicket book, or gain one in anyway, unless one fell out of the sky, which Kimia wasn’t betting on. She sat down as her mother entered the room with mugs of tea, which she seemed to drink constantly. ‘Oh, you’re home early,’ she said, slightly alarmed. ‘Everything okay at school.’ ‘Yeah…I just jogged the way home…school exercise thing…’ Kimia lied. She had travelled home to hear the news of the golden pages, but she wanted to cover it up. She wasn’t even sure why she was lying, and why she shouldn’t admit the truth. But she found herself doing it, and she didn’t make the choice to suddenly change her answer. ‘Oh,’ her mother replied, slowly waving the mug of tea in her face. ‘Silly schools…’
‘Miss Scipio, Miss Scipio,’ the principal said slowly, a large hint of disappointment, followed by a long sigh. ‘How many times have we had meetings like these?’ Shruti said nothing, and after a long, hard stare, the principal continued. ‘More times then I would like to count,’ he answered himself, and straightened a piece of paper. ‘What is it this time? Paper balls? Spit? Thumb tacks?’ ‘I told him to go potato himself,’ Shruti replied quietly, still looking relaxed, and certainly not bothered. The swear word seemed to sting the principal, who winced slightly. ‘Well, that was very unnecessary, I’m sure,’ he replied. ‘And why did you tell Mister Dante to go…’ he mouthed the swear word…’himself?’ ‘He was giving me jip over homework,’ Shruti whined. ‘If you can’t teach us enough in school, it’s your problem. We’re here for a bloody six hours a day, and then we have another few hours at home.’ ‘Two,’ the principal reminded. ‘Whatever,’ Shruti snarled. ‘Well, every teacher has lost every bit of faith in you, Shruti,’ the principal replied. ‘You’re in everyone’s bad books, with all this so-called ‘hip’ rebellion, and arguments. Why can’t you be like the other children?’ ‘Do you think I give a damn about other teacher’s feelings?’ Shruti hissed. ‘Because I really couldn’t potato ing care less.’ The principal froze, his eyes squinted, his hand dropped the pen it was in. Finally, he slowly muttered something. ‘And after all this, you continue your ragamuffin behaviour, Miss Scipio?’ he asked, still stunned, his face pale. ‘Well, I don’t see why I should have to listen to you,’ Shruti snapped. There was a pause. ‘Because I’m the potato ing principal of this school!’ the principal roared, his face turning bright red, contrast to its previous pale colour, and pointing to the table with a stubby finger. He sighed, and calmed down, but scooped up his pen and a form. ‘Expulsion,’ he muttered, writing something down. ‘Miss Scipio, I am giving you the boot from this school. Your attitude is getting worse and worse, and no one can take you on anymore. I just hope your parents can put you in a school where you’ll be kept under control.’ His monologue was quiet and hushed as he ticked boxes and scribbled things down. And when Shruti left school that day, it was for the last time.
‘Shruti,’ her mother said, as she returned from work with a pile of books. Shruti had been home an hour, and had let herself in with her very own house key, as usual. Her father Akbar was away on a three day business meeting and wasn’t expected to arrive until the day afters evening. ‘Oh, hey mom,’ Shruti replied. ‘I have your school reading material,’ her mother explained, putting the books down onto a nearby table. She knew Shruti was reluctant about reading, but she liked to help her obey all the school rules. ‘No need,’ Shruti explained calmly, and pulled out the expulsion form, crumpled and folded in her pocket. She explained everything to her mother as she read it. ‘You what?!’ her mother cried, slamming the form down beside the books. ‘That school has tampered with my final nerve-always blaming you for everything, always trapping you in webs.’ She rushed over to the phone in a fit of rage. ‘Let me contact them.’ ‘Mom, it’s really o-‘ Shruti tried to say, but her mother was already tapping in the number, which she had memorized to ring if Shruti was absent. ‘I’d like to speak to the principal,’ she snarled. ‘Or should I say ‘princi-enemy’.’ At this, she winked at Shruti who muttered a ‘not funny, mom’ under her breathe. ‘Hi, this is Mrs Scipio,’ Mrs Scipio said, kindly. ‘Yes, her mother.’ There was a pause. ‘Well, I don’t have time for that-my daughter has been wrongly expelled today, and I demand to know…’ she trailed off, and there was another pause as the principal spoke. ‘Well, maybe the teacher deserved to be told that…’ another pause followed. ‘Well, maybe they all deserved to be told that too…and well, maybe the lesson was…’ ‘Hmm,’ she muttered after another long pause. ‘Well, I’m going to take you by force, mister…’ pause. ‘No, I don’t know what I mean by that…I’m going to hang up on you, with all respect…’ She hung up, and turned to her daughter. ‘Useless, really useless,’ she sighed. ‘Hey, you heard what I said about the ‘princi-enemy’. Funny, eh?’ ‘No,’ Shruti replied, and picked up the reading books. ‘Maybe we can burn these to make a cool fire…’ Her mother frowned and snatched them away. ‘I spent perfectly good money to buy these,’ she snarled. ‘I advice you read them for once…I mean, expulsion was unreasonable, but swearing at a teacher, then at the whole class…I just don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Shruti.’ With that, she walked off. Shruti looked at the books. All of them looked really boring to her: ‘The Confidence Man’ which made no sense to her from the blurb, a book called ‘The Lovely Bones’ which sounded depressing, Lemony Snicket’s new book, when she hadn’t read the previous eleven in the series, some boring Agatha Christie novel…the pile went on and on, and none of the books seemed to interest her at all. Why read something that was just going to bore you? Finally, that evening, she decided to start one. “Wit” as it was called, which had a picture of a target on the cover, and turned out to be a boring book of quotes. She didn’t find any of the first few funny at all, and she noticed they had a rather lack in wit, if anything. She picked up the next, which was by Lemony Snicket. The first page of full text turned out to be fiction, so she continued on. But when she arrived at page thirteen, something fell out onto her lap. She ignored it, and continued reading. After finishing two chapters, her attention started to wonder, and Shruti stood up, and watched as the golden paper that had fallen from the book now fell to her feet. She scooped down, and picked it up, before folding it up and slipping it into her pocket. At this time, she was looking at the pack, and assumed it as a blank piece of paper, and thought nothing of it. But at that dinner, things changed. Her and her mother were eating some pork chops, damp with gravy when the subject was brought up. ‘So, read any of those books, dear?’ her mother asked. ‘I started that stupid book about quotes,’ Shruti explained. ‘And then I started that Lemony Snicket book, which seems okay, but a bit confusing.’ She stuck her hand into her pocket, and pulled out the golden paper she had found. ‘This came out of one of the pages,’ she explained. ‘Weird, huh.’ Her mother, who apparently knew what it was, found it other than weird. ‘Pass it here!’ she cried, and snatched it out of her daughter’s hand. ‘This is…amazing, Shruti!’ ‘Mom, it’s only-‘ Shruti began. ‘It’s only one of Lemony Snicket’s golden pages!’ her mother cried. ‘It’s only one of five in the world! It’s only our ticket to going inside Lemony Snicket’s factory! It’s only our chance of fame! We’ll show that stupid school of yours that the second you were expelled, our fortune became good. And that’ll spit into their smug faces!’ ‘Fame?’ Shruti asked. ‘I’m not interested in fame…I’m just interested in you talking slower so that I can understand.’ And so her mother talked slower, so that Shruti could understand, before rushing to the phone, and calling up the newspapers and news shows, and before she was promised cameras and journalists round very soon. And as the cameras did, Kimia was watching the whole thing.
|
|
|
Post by Dante on Aug 28, 2005 14:56:23 GMT -5
Oh, that was very good. Very good indeed. Particularly my role. Most accurate. I liked this one. Although, I suppose, that could be because I'm not having to read it in a hurry...
|
|
|
Post by xangelkimzx on Aug 28, 2005 15:11:40 GMT -5
Jorge, I love it! Wow.
Hahaha, princi-enemy. ^_^
|
|
Antenora
Detriment Deleter
Fiendish Philologist
Put down that harpoon gun, in the name of these wonderful birds!
Posts: 15,891
Likes: 113
|
Post by Antenora on Aug 28, 2005 15:24:50 GMT -5
I liked "princi-enemy" too. This was great; I liked my cameo as a teacher.
|
|
|
Post by s on Aug 28, 2005 15:30:02 GMT -5
Excellent. Very well written. Although I'm just a tad (read:completely) out of character. But that doesn't diminish the fact that this is really a great story...
|
|
|
Post by champ103 on Aug 28, 2005 16:17:56 GMT -5
I know, I sort of took the things you said were bad about you, and completley-and purpousley-over-exaggerated on them. Otherwise, we'd have six nice children, which would be a bit boring.
|
|
|
Post by deanna. on Aug 28, 2005 18:23:27 GMT -5
This is SO GOOD, George!!! I LOVE Pandora's character!! I can't wait for the next chapter!!
|
|
|
Post by Carma on Aug 28, 2005 19:08:39 GMT -5
Heh, The Lovely Bones, I love that book. Anyway great chapter. I didn't think it was short at all.
|
|
|
Post by PJ on Aug 28, 2005 23:36:09 GMT -5
Excellent. Write more. Uh...*compliment* *compliment*
|
|
|
Post by Akbar Le Grey on Aug 29, 2005 5:36:22 GMT -5
Fantastic, Dupin. I particularly liked the way you made a play upon Aunty Nora. Post the next chapter.
|
|
|
Post by mysteriouscreep on Aug 29, 2005 7:59:08 GMT -5
Loved it. And I can't wait for a few chapters time, because ... well, George knows why.
|
|
|
Post by xangelkimzx on Aug 29, 2005 11:48:39 GMT -5
Heh, I'm the nice child. [happy laugh]
|
|
|
Post by champ103 on Aug 30, 2005 14:05:21 GMT -5
Time for another chapter.
I know that MikeT isn't Scottish, but I didn't want two English people. Scotland is near England anyway. (:
Factory, part four
4 ‘In which it is unknown whether curiosity killed the cat, and how the printing agency made such a blunder.’
The next few days whizzed by, as Kimia’s attentions towards the golden pages grew and grew. She was constantly seeing people reading the latest volume of Lemony Snicket’s series, and every time she saw that scene, she was thinking about the two remaining pages, for the numbers left available were getting smaller and smaller. And then she decided, one day, as she came home and saw that the fourth had been found, a big choice. She was going to try and win the final of Lemony Snicket’s pages. There was only one left, and it could be anywhere in the world. But so far there had been one in Australia, two in America, and one in Scotland. None had been found in England yet-the country that used to rule the world-surely that gave her more chance. It had been early February when the fourth golden page had been found, and Kimia had only found out when she was returning from another dreary day at school, and as she was just passing St. Walburga’s Cathedral, someone cried out-Kimia didn’t know who to-‘Another of Snicket’s page things ‘as been found!’ At that point, unsure of whether the person had yelled the truth, or just a lie, she began to run home a little faster. When she arrived at her front door, she noticed the newspaper, left at her feet, not taken into the house by James or her mother as usual. She raised an eyebrow, and turned the doorknob to see that the house was locked. She was a little alarmed, but quickly whipped out her key, and let herself into the house. ‘Hello?’ she cried out, putting her schoolbag down onto the floor. ‘James? Mum?’ There was no reply, so Kimia turned back towards the door, to search around for any signs of where they might be. After a few seconds of nothing, she simply scooped up the newspaper, and walked back inside, shutting the door carefully behind her. As she walked into the kitchen to turn on the kettle, Kimia noticed a note on the kitchen table, and she quickly picked it up with one hand and read at the scraggly writing she recognized as her mothers. ‘Kimia-‘ the note began, and which Kimia thought was an appropriate way to begin it,’ James is working a shift at the shop until 5pm, and I’ve got a hair appointment until 4:30pm, so we won’t be in when you get home from school. Love you, Mummy.’ Kimia didn’t care much for when her mother called herself ‘mummy’, but she was delighted that she knew what was going on, and that she had been left a note explaining everything. She filled the kettle with water at this, before switching it on, and retreating back to the living room. Kimia picked up the newspaper, folded in half and thrown carelessly onto the small coffee table by the sofa, and looked at the headline. ‘ONE SNICKET TICKET LEFT’ read the headline, which was enough to interest Kimia greatly. Under the headline were a few paragraphs and directions to page thirteen of the newspaper for more news, and by that, a picture of a smiling boy wearing neat and proper glasses. Kimia smiled-hopefully one of the winners would be a nice person. As she read on, she soon discovered that the fourth golden page had been found by a boy her age in Scotland named Michael Tee, who loved Lemony Snicket and claimed he was ‘very curious’ about the golden pages, and desperate to find one. Apparently, luckily for him, he had found on in his first copy anyway. His father, Sam, was accompanying, and said he was a ‘special little boy.’ Kimia smiled-he did seem nice. She decided to turn her attentions to the television, sure that they would have coverage on it, like they always did. She was right: Kimia turned the television on, and she was quickly shown footage of the boy from the front page-Michael Tee-who was surrounded by cameras and journalists, all waving questions in his face, and shouting loudly as he stared forward nervously at the one ahead. ‘Where’d you get that tie?’ he was asking someone, quietly but still audible to Kimia, who smiled. ‘Well, I found a ticket, because I asked my ma how to get one, and she took me to a bookshop-Waterstones, actually-and we asked for one, and why do you want to know? You know the drift, don’t you? My story is only a wee bit different from anyone else’s, because I wasn’t childish about it.’ Kimia smiled, and could almost imagine PJ Thomas, Pandora Morose and Shruti Scipio watching in anger. ‘I had to know where the golden page was,’ Michael said. ‘But I was very reasonable about it all.’ What really happened was more of a different story…
Michael Tee was not a kind boy, as he had made out. He was constantly loud and annoying, asking questions until he got answers, always eavesdropping, being nosy, feeling the need to know everything, And when he didn’t, he didn’t have a tantrum like Pandora Morose, but he remained the same-asking the questions, louder and louder, still trying to find out what was going on. If he didn’t know something that was happening, it was a major problem. So of course, when the Lemony Snicket golden pages were announced, he was to know what it was like in there-it was a bonus that he loved Lemony Snicket. If it was his least favourite writer, Jacqueline Wilson-though he didn’t suspect she had a secret factory-he’d still make sure he won, and saw what was happening. ‘Reasonable’ was not the word to describe his behaviour. ‘What’s that?’ he would ask when a plane flew over his head. ‘A aeroplane,’ his mother would reply with no emotion. ‘Yeah, but what type?’ he would ask. ‘I don’t know.’ ‘What type of plane though?’ ‘Um…Ryanair.’ ‘Where’s it going?’ ‘I really wouldn’t know…’ ‘What’s the time?’ ‘Eleven.’ ‘I’ll go look it up on the Internet.’ It was his need to know things that put everyone off him. That, and his need to make people guess the stupidest things, like how much money he found under the sofa a few days ago, or what his mother’s maiden name was. (Answers are 31 pennies, and Bea.) But of course, without knowing the truth of Michael Tee, Kimia was very fond of him, and shared this with her mother and James when they arrived home. ‘I guess he does seem quite nice,’ James said, after watching a clip of him on television. ‘Nothing horrible stands out with him like it did for the others.’ ‘Exactly,’ Kimia replied. ‘I thought they were all going to be jerks.’ ‘I think we all did,’ her mother replied with a roll of the eyes. Kimia travelled up the small flight of stairs that lead to her bedroom just minutes later, and continued with the book she was reading, with her head full of thoughts about winning the golden page. She was not sure how she was ever going to get one, but she was determined to try-it was complete luck, the whole thing. She just needed luck. As she thought about where she was ever going to find a four-leaved clover, something tapped her on the shoulder, and with the limited option of who it might be, Kimia hazarded a guess. ‘What James?’ she snapped. ‘I have a little something,’ he explained. Kimia turned her head to him, intrigued. ‘What?’ ‘Well, the shop was giving out so much wages to staff,’ James explained. ‘They gave a few of us some book tokens instead. So I managed to get a Lemony Snicket book.’ ‘Oh James,’ Kimia said, sounding disappointed in him, but feeling delighted. ‘That was a stupid thing to do.’ James rolled his eyes. ‘What else was I going to do with book tokens?’ he asked. ‘We have quite enough books here, and with this something might benefit.’ ‘But the odds are it won’t,’ Kimia explained. ‘There’s only one ticket left. One, in the entire world. Any where-any country, any city, any shop-anywhere. And you think you have it with you, in that book?’ ‘Of course I don’t,’ James snapped with a raise of the eyebrows. ‘But there’s only one way to find out, eh?’ Kimia nodded, with a nervous gasp. ‘You do it,’ James said. ‘Oh, but you c-‘ ‘No, no, I’m not really…’ James replied, but his voice trailed off. Kimia sighed, and flipped her way to the very rim of page thirteen, before pulling the book open. She looked, and blinked as she saw what was in front of her. It was a page she’d recognized, and times before. It was page thirteen of Lemony Snicket, and nothing else. She looked up at James and shook her head, before giving a large sigh. ‘I guess luck just isn’t on our side,’ James replied. Kimia nodded, but said nothing. And the next day, it was all over. Kimia came downstairs, dressed in her pyjamas-for it was a Saturday-and saw James and her mother watching the television, with a sombre look upon their faces, but an interested one at that. Kimia looked at the television, and saw another teenaged boy with glasses, holding up another-the fifth and final, as she’d assumed-golden page. ‘I-what’s happened?’ she asked, although she knew. It was obvious. ‘The last one’s been found,’ James said, and her mother nodded with apparently nothing to add. ‘Another American.’ ‘Three in America, one in Australia, one in Scotland,’ Kimia said quietly. ‘No one here in England stood a chance.’ Her mother shrugged as she came out of the kitchen with tea in her hands. ‘The golden pages were placed in random countries, dear,’ she explained. ‘Everyone had the same chance.’ ‘Not the Americans,’ Kimia pointed out. ‘They had three times the chance.’ ‘Lemony Snicket’s American,’ James said afterwards, his words filled with thought. ‘Maybe he was bias-‘ ‘Children, that’s quite enough,’ their mother hissed, as she placed the tray of tea down onto the coffee table. ‘Don’t be sore losers.’ ‘Mum,’ James cried. ‘We were-‘ ‘James, you didn’t win. End of.’ ‘I know but-‘ ‘I said ‘End Of’ James.’ ‘Right, but-‘ ‘I SAID ‘END OF’.’ And there the tension inside the Etemadi household froze. James looked at the television, their mother looked down at the tea before scooping up a mug, and Kimia looked around at everyone before speaking. ‘So…who was this kid?’ she asked. ‘Pardon, dear?’ their mother replied. ‘Who won the ticket?’ she explained. ‘Oh, someone called Derik,’ James explained, and pointed to the television before taking the second mug from the tray. Kimia followed suit, with the tea taking. ‘He seems like your average teenager, really.’ ‘Loves music, apparently,’ their mother added following a gulp from her mug. And it was true: Kimia could see it obviously as she looked at Derik Q. Beaulieu, who was wearing huge headphones, and holding a large radio as the journalists tried to speak to him. All she could here was the music pounding its way into his ears. The only way to describe it was ‘really’ loud, to Kimia. ‘Pretty dang loud’ she thought. ‘Epic loud-but in a bad way’ she concluded, before watching, and listening closely for the questions and answers. ‘Turn it down,’ her mother said, putting a hand over her ear to the music. ‘I never like these new hippy bands.’ Kimia and James rolled their eyes, and the latter managed a slight ‘tut’. ‘DERIK!’ someone shouted. ‘DERIK! HOW ARE YOU FEELING TO FIND THE FINAL GOLDEN PAGE!’ shrieked the reporter. Derik lifted one headphone from his ears, and said something inaudible in reply. The journalist jotted something down in his notebook, and their mother turned the television off. ‘I said turn it down,’ she replied. ‘That Derik boy is the worst of the lot, with his…music, and his…headphones.’ She began striding into the kitchen again. ‘I mean, is it really necessary for music to be that loud? Just think of what it’s doing to his ears…’ No one replied. -
The weekend drifted on by, and Kimia found herself wondering what to do with her whilst the hours ticked by. With all the tickets found, and her chances of getting a golden page, she felt slightly sad, and unsure of what the point of everything was, and found herself staying away from the television, and spending most of the time drawing, writing or reading in her bedroom, which suited her fine. By Monday morning, she awoke with ten tea mugs scattered around her bed, and a dry throat, but she hopped up from the mattress and was still dressed and ready for school as her mother passed her more tea in the morning. She had found herself into tea recently, although her family always were anyway-she loved the taste of it, and the milky hot feel of it down her throat. ‘So, what lessons do you have today?’ her mother asked, trying to spur on conversation. Kimia thought. ‘I have English, with Miss Antenora, who’s nice,’ she explained. And then she decided to go to the bus stop. Lessons went very slowly that day, with no purpose to them, whatsoever. Kimia wasn’t sure how knowing about complicated angels connected with perpendicular lines would ever save her in a real-life situation, but eventually, the last lesson of the day, English, finally had some meaning to her. ‘Now, today we’re studying ‘Romeo + Juliet’’ Miss Antenora said with a smile, holding up a copy of the famous play. ‘Now, this is by William Shakespeare, as I’m very sure you all know…’ What followed was Miss Antenora reading some, explaining everything about the way Shakespeare wrote, and going into the plot, which all interested Kimia very much. But what was the most interesting that that occurred that lesson happened at the very end, where the final bell had rung, and everyone was just leaving the classroom. ‘Kimia?’ Miss Antenora called out as she tried to leave. ‘Could I…could I have a word with you?’ ‘Yeah, sure,’ Kimia said quietly and kindly, and walked back over to the teacher’s desk. ‘I found something,’ Miss Antenora said. ‘I have no use for it, in my age, but well…you’re the only child I know that would fully appreciate it, and the only one I think deserves it.’ ‘What is it?’ Kimia asked. ‘I just found it when I was reading the new Lemony Snicket book,’ she explained. ‘I’m sure you’ll recognize it-I don’t know a person who wouldn’t.’ And then Miss Antenora slipped something from her pocket, and placed it into Kimia’s small palms, and smiled. ‘It’s a golden page,’ she smiled, and Kimia gasped, and stood in silence and she saw her hands holding the sixth of Lemony Snicket’s golden pages.
|
|
|
Post by Dante on Aug 30, 2005 14:13:31 GMT -5
Excellent timing, Dupin. I was just thinking "Hm, I don't have anything to do, and I have a headache." This has really cleared my mind. And it's good, too. Good chapter. I liked the way Kimia found the last ticket. And probably a bunch of other things that I've forgotten (perhaps), too. The deceptive Mike Tee, for example.
|
|