Killjoy ; SetoSolace

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| 1 | The World is Pretty Fucking Ugly Like Me Wasted On A Thursday Night

***

I sighed, eyes gazing at the clock that hung loosely on the ceiling next to the little crack in the wall that seemed to have been always there. I've never really taken an interest in school, let alone my own future in general—everything was just a stupid puzzle piece wanting to fall into place. I know that I was guaranteed to have a well-financed future, and I know that I will inherit my parent's stupid company and get an arranged marriage to some bitch in pink heels. I know that my children will give less of a shit about school as I had did, and I know that they will end up in the same twisting fate that I, and my parents, had endured. It was like an endless cycle that no one could break out of—a cycle of unfairness and heartbreak.

"Mr. Source?" The teacher's taunting voice had called out. My vision was dull, I adjusted my glasses and focused. Her misshaped greasy curly brown hair always bothered me, it looked so out of place, especially on her wide, pale shoulders. "Are you paying attention?"

I slouched in my chair and huffed as I crossed my arms. The class had their eyes directed at me; judgmental eyes that never really stopped following me around. I was just another spoiled, bratty rich kid with a stereotypical attitude, I didn't mind the stares since I've already expect it. Hell, I've been stared at like this for my whole entire life, nothing new and nothing embarrassing. Not like my parents would care about a rebellious action during school anyway.

"Mr. Source, do I have to repeat myself?" The teacher snapped. I cringed thinking of all the saliva that could have blown into the air and onto that poor student's face. "Are you giving another attitude?"

"Are you giving another attitude?" I mocked, quite loudly. Some of the girls giggled, the guys in my class just laughed loudly as they clapped their hands.

"Mr. Source, I do not like this behavior of yours. Do I need to ring you up to your parents?" The teacher warned. I sneered, rolling my eyes. Such a weak threat; like that would work on a spoiled kid, especially since that spoiled kid was a high schooler.

"Go ahead," I replied, "not like my parents ever cared."

"Mr. Source, your parents do care about you." She sighed, putting her papers down.

"Are you there to see if they're around? No, you're not. I'd suggest you should quiet down about my personal life," I began, straightening up my posture as I smiled devilishly, "I do have the money to buy this shitty school myself and fire everyone in it and turn it into a shopping center, so I would watch your mouth."

That got her quiet.

I resisted the urge to laugh at the reaction on her face; those wide hazel eyes that were frozen in shock, her chubby cheeks sagging down past her chin, and her pink lips, that were usually curved in a smile, were sunken down in deep thought, almost as if she was thinking of a retort but didn't have the heart to say it. She turned around, forehead wrinkled and eyebrows furrowed, and began to write on the chalkboard again. Her cherry red nails scratched against the chalkboard a bit as she fumed her anger out with the chalk. I knew I had already won.

I drew my eyes back onto the clock that was ticking rather loudly. It managed to drown out the sounds of the teacher's shitty way of writing down on a chalkboard, or maybe my mind just managed to drown out the sound. I knew the teacher had set it twelve minutes and thirty-eight seconds ahead of the real time; it would usually devoid students of hope on when class would be over. The overall excitement that class would be over in two minutes would be replaced with the reality that class would be actually over in fourteen minutes. Bummer, but it was only just for this particular class, math (which made it even worse, actually.)