The class gathers around the teacher, listening to every word he is saying. Upon a glance at the clock, it is just 3:00pm. I turn to my pencil case. Something's missing.
My eyes zero into something familiar to me, at the teacher's desk. It's my pen. I bought it personally. I feel discomfort for not being able to write in my journal.
Openly I raised my hand. 'Excuse me sir, the pen you have over there, it's mine'.
'No it's not' he replied promptly. I try not to stand up.
It's 4pm and class is over. I stand up and walk over to the desk. The teacher blocks me, twirling the pen in his hand. 'Do you not have a pen of your own?' I ask. He doesn't care and packs up his stuff.
I impulsively made up my mind to do something about this. I don't care as well.
Tomorrow, the teacher enters the class. He notices something missing. What's familiar disappearing is always an unexpected shock that morphs into discomfort, anger boiling inner rage. His laptop is at my home. I pulled it off, just like he did. Class is canceled for the day as he doesn't have access to the lecture resources.
I think, in the free time given to me. Should I return the laptop for my pen? I continue delve in these thoughts and write in my journal for the betterment of the world.
