Second Life: A Second Chance

Un Peu D'amour (I)

I head toward Mr. Anderson's Class first thing in the morning. As I enter through the wood colored door, I say to him the daily greeting before entering the chilly yet unexciting classroom. Inside the classroom, I make my way toward the center desk located at the center column of all three desk rows contained inside, seating myself down on a cold wooden chair. While I wait seated for Mr. Anderson, I look around the familiar surroundings of the room once again. The surface walls surrounding the inner classroom are chock full of common language phrased posters, blending in with the wall's almost unviewable white painted surface. Looking away from the poster covered walls of the room, I shift my attention away and focus it on the three by six chair-desk organization maintained inside the classroom. Recalling the bloodbath I had survived in the week before, I notice nothing has changed in the classroom in respect to the dead, pity. Glancing at the front of the room, I spot Mr. Anderson's brown wooden desk, standing in front of his famous colored chair, both looking away from the biggest and most unique poster found in the room. 

"Un Peu D'amour," the slogan of the poster reads, written in brown amongst a white background setting, proving my point as to how nothing has changed. That poster had been hung there for a good while, ignorant of the common language and acting as praise for an old one. I find it ironic how Mr. Anderson would have a poster of another language, yet he does not have anything in regards to what had just occurred. Typically, he would put a special poster up in respect to a certain event, even the death of a retired male. However with today, a week after the bloodbath, I notice nothing hung up. He has as much empathy as the town has for the fallen. Several males died not too long ago, albeit a significant portion of about fifty of the town's medium sized Hom population, with no alarm raised, even by Mr. Anderson himself, what a disgrace. Mr. Anderson seems to be gladly carrying on with his day, as he himself would not know what went on the past weekend, how disgusting. However, if David had not perished, an opinion of the fallen would have never crossed my mind before. How pathetic must I be? A wave of injustice suddenly fills my mind, alerting my internal being with frustration and anger, forcing me to swallow any emotion I might have toward the subject, as to deflect suspicion on my whereabouts that night.

Luckily, my attention is redirected into offense and not of anger as I notice a male student one desk ahead of me biting his pencil top, before making a motion before him that simulates the act of oral misdeed, with the rest of my now arrived classmales giggling like idiots alongside him. Mr. Anderson, as his acting goes, continues to jumble through his desk surface, not paying a single thought to the classroom idiocy being shown before him. Watching him organize his things leaves me with a bit of need to assist him in his practice, as he does not appear fit to organize his own paperwork. Observant of his slow pace, I take note of an unusual aspect to his idiotic organization ritual, where it seems literally nothing is able disturb him, even if a natural event occurred and caused the building to somehow collapse outwards. And even if that did occur, he would still be in his same position, organizing his items in the same slow pace he always does, every morning, of every day.  

Approximately ten minutes have now passed, with the loudness of the room intensifying to a near maximum. By this time, he would have already stopped moving his things and tell the class to quiet down, but he does not and instead, maintains his focus on finding whatever thing lurks within his multiple array of thin items. As I stare into his activity even more closely, I notice he finally finishes, with an empowered look on his face. Quickly now, I brace myself for the repeated and tired history lesson he gives briefly every time he is well composed. The same lesson being: how the male led powers of the world once waged war against each other with non-nuclear weapons amidst the rise of several global phenomena and the female empowerment movement, which when combined, selectively killed off nearly eighty-eight percent of the entire male population on the entire western hemisphere, with the survivors and conquerors of the war's aftermath mainly being the superior females, who dubbed that chaotic time period as, the "Masculine Apocalypse."