The Words Between The Lines

Claria Newton

"E=MC2 you already know this, right?" Ms. Carenson babbled, even sounding a little bored herself. We all bobbed are heads simultaneously in absentminded unison.

I waited.

Anticipating the loud blaring siren that goes off everyday at 2:50.

I then realized that I was not alone in my dreams of freedom from the prison cell of boredom that school had us captivated in.

One kid, was already packed up and nearly falling off their seat. Meanwhile, another girl looked as if about to make a run for it at any second.

Then suddenly, It happens an loud noise erupts throughout the room and all of us try to escape the building like our feeble lives depend on it.

But, I foolishly try to escape the cascade of students rushing like a stampede, Only to have my efforts stifled as I fall behind. Being trampled as I stumble to reach out and grab my books and belongings; saving them from the masses.

I mean its not like I blame them I have the same goal as they all do. As students at the end of the day we all have one certain purpose as pupils and human beings.

We all want to go home.

I also happen to be one of those people but as I hear my name being called, I unfortunately have to go back.

I search for what teacher might be requesting my presence, I don't make any trouble I'm an a student they would have no reason to.... I'm called from my thoughts when I hear someone shouting my name, I look behind me to find the horror!

the same teacher who's class I was trying to escape from is calling me back to her room.

I slowly edge to the open door of what I'm sure will be the death of me.

I eerily shuffle over to her desk and look at her expectantly.

She motions over to the desk in front of her.

Finally, I take a seat.

" Claria Newton, that is your name? Correct?" She asks sounding like something out of the British Soap operas my mom makes us watch on Sundays.

"That would be adequately correct."

I confirm just as smoothly as she. She looks baffled but she quickly turns her expression back to an unamused indifference.

"I have a proposition for you. I have seen your intellect and your technique of writing is very advanced rather than some of the other students I teach. there for I would like you to join the Writers Elite. Mostly are ages ranging for adulthood but I think you can handle it."

I sit shocked at the opportunity laid out so neatly before me. I have always loved to write. Writing is the single most amazing ability that some people have to piece words together and make them into only fragments of life fantasy. But it has significance and clears the way for bright imaginations in young minds.

While my parents have always had plans of me becoming a doctor. Even at eight I knew my fate had been when I had written my first poem. Throughout are lives we all have those moments that define who we are as human beings and that was mine.

Though my parents said I would grow out of it at 14 that same dream still stands.

I look at her with determination in my eyes.

" I'll do it."