She can just try. Just try and find me. As a most extreme enthusiast in the game of hiding, no one has ever found me. With all the places I could be I wonder if she's gone mad with confusion yet. I could be behind the bright red, four-foot tall cup that resembles her go to morning drink. She would never be able to tell with the plethora of bags and water bottles laid not far from it as a perfect distraction. I could be tucked under the cluttered table just to the right of the deep green door. She would never know with my all-black attire blending into the onyx walls. Maybe she would assume me to be along the front wall. Would she suspect for me to be under the desk, just in front of Anne Frank's watchful gaze? Even if she did, the all-seeing eyes of the people shaped posters would let me know she was getting closer with just enough time for me to get away. She would never think for me to be along the right wall, the wall with less things, with less cover. I can't very well hide in the middle of the room though, can I? Not with all those chairs in such a scramble in the middle of the floor, all at attention facing the one fuchsia directors chair at the front corner, diagonal, of her disarrayed desk . No, I'll take my chances huddled under the bags off to the right. She probably didn't think about the hallway for me to slip down if I feel that she's getting to close for comfort or the door by the desk for me to sneak into. So I just lay here in the fetal position, suffocated by the heavy bags of unorganized high schoolers. Just barely enough of a peephole is visible for me to see through. My only source of fresh air and entertainment. I spend my next ten minutes waiting, listening. Perhaps I was too good at this game. Perhaps she would like a turn hiding from me. Perhaps I should wait just a moment longer. I spend another ten minutes admiring the beautiful work on the ceiling. Possibly murals based on previous plays and performances. None the less, beautiful. Little Shop of Horrors, Fiddler on the Roof, Footloose, Beauty and the Beast, a Midsummer's Night Dream. All classics and all artfully and intricately painted up above for any wondering gazes ,tired daydreamers, or exhausted actors and actresses. My patience has begun to wear thin. I no longer want to count ceiling tiles. Where could she be? Just as I was about to spring up I hear a stirring. Then a slight shuffling. Then nothing again. Getting impatient with waiting I slowly begin to remove my cover of bags from my person, not wanting to feel so constricted and dewy anymore. With as little noise as possible I slowly stand and stretch my limbs, numb from resembling a roly poly for almost half of an hour. Eyes clenched tight I let out a slight groan as I reach far above my head for the beautifully decorated ceiling. My eyes snap back open as I hear another shuffle and shimmy. My eyes scan the room only to find her, asleep in one of the many chairs, astray, in the middle of the room. I let out a deep sigh, unsure of when she got so close, and without me hearing too, and when she fell asleep. Regardless, it seems there will be no more hide-and-go-seek with grandma during lunch hour again.
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Guys, I KNOW this one is bad. I also know that you might completely understand this. That is because I wrote this for a class assignment. The prompt was to give a panoramic style description of a room in our school. If you don't get it, you know why.
~Bunni <3
YOU ARE READING
Gradation
DiversosA compilation of stories written in the past [cover by: @fiftyshadesofmagic]
