I couldn't think of what to write so take this crap
I sat there, motionless. It's not like I had arms or legs to do so anyways. The first period teacher the kids call, 'Mrs. Brene' had just walked into the classroom about five minutes ago, though it seemed and felt like it had been five times ten minutes ago. Fifty minutes ago if you don't know simple multiplication.
I've needed to write many things. Math problems and confusing chemistry formulas. History diagrams and Language Arts clauses. Spanish translations and emergency protocols. You name it, I've written it all. My good friends, the Expos, stood still about five inches away, or twelve point seven centimeters away on the scientific metric scale. They had been stuck together top to bottom, making a "marker sword" as the kids call it. The only problem was that my arch-nemesis, Powder, a black, musty, chalkboard eraser, was placed in front of me last night. It's not like he could move either, we were both inanimate objects. He was covered in me, always destroying my beautiful calculations and getting my powder all over himself. I knew he couldn't control erasing it, but I still held a grudge.
Mr. Chronoface announced to Mrs. Phonahan that she needed to ring, as she was the bell after all, and she did. Her song rang throughout the school, alerting everyone that they had two minutes to get to the classroom before they were classified as tardy. Two minutes later, Mr. Chronoface read 7:37, and the whole class was present today.
YOU ARE READING
Random Crap that isn't art
Humorthis is rly just for the people in our yt group.. if you aren't part of it you won't rly get any of it.. that's the only thing. if you still want to read this that's fine. it'll probably just sound like alien talk. half the time it'll be that and...
