Through Your Eyes

Ten: The First Days

[Two days later]

“Life’s too short to even care at all, oh

I’m losing my mind, losing my mind, losing control”

My phone buzzed and rang at my bed side table.

Aw c’mon, you’ve got to be joking.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Lochy, my boy” it’s Charlie.

“Damn you! I’m not in the mood to talk” I groaned. It’s half-past one in the morning and I just nodded off about two hours ago.

“Well, you should be. Look, I know you don’t want to go to school, but Angus and I had an agreement” he said.

Then I recall it, in the midst of my fuzzy-just-awaken mind.

Grand Da helped him with his schooling about fifteen… no… twenty-two years ago, or so he says.

“What agreement?” I asked.

“When your parents died, your grandfather was ten years away from retirement. As a way of paying the great debt that I owe him, I told him I’d help you with your university years” he babbled.

“Yeah? Well, you know what? I’m as giddy as a school boy getting a lollipop!” I cracked sarcastically. Seriously, this is not the time to call.

“ No need to get mad, lad. I just wanted to check on you, that’s all” he says in a calm tone.

“A’ight, I’ll have you know that I’m trying to adjust. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get more shuteye.” I said before hanging up.

The next few hours were horrible, and by that, I truly mean HORRIBLE.

My nightmares came to haunt me.

The blood.

The screams.

The whir of the ambulance.

Constant sobbing.

The bitter tears.

And the new addition to the horror marathon, getting buried by my parents. Shovel by shovel of cold, damp dirt, covering me up.

-Brielle’s P.O.V.-

School’s just around the corner, which is just one week more, I can’t wait!

It makes me happy to know that we are going to meet new people and learn a lot of new things. I can tell that this year’s gonna be memorable. All those new books and lessons will surely be a treat.

The week passed by way too quickly, but I guess that’s what happens when you have a hefty amount of fun. I spent all seven days on solving puzzles, gardening, reading, and singing songs with Marian &sandy as I play the piano or guitar.

[In the class room, early morning]

“Good morning, class. My name is Renée Dawson, I will be your mentor in Fiction and Literature for the whole school year. You may address me as Ms. Dawson, for professor is a dash too formal for my preference. Is that clear?” the teacher asked.

“Yes, Ms. Dawson” we answered in chorus.

Her voice sounds very calm, firm, but gentle, I suppose. She kinda reminds me of Miss Jenifer Honey from Matilda, one of Roald Dahl’s masterpieces.

The discussion was nice. It was a bird’s eye view of what we’ll be going through for the next ten months.

-Lochlan’s P.O.V.-

The time on my watch claims that I am just in time, five minutes before class starts.

I head to the main office to get my time table, a firm sheet of paper with my schedule printed on it.

“Yes?” said the skinny woman with graying hair and thick-lens spectacles.

“Where do I get the time table?” I asked,

“Right this way” she motioned to her left and started walking, she lead me to an office filled with closets and sheets of eggshell paper.

“Thank you” I tell her, before heading to the counter.

A middle-aged, ratty-looking man looked up. No, wait, he’s rabbit-like in appearance. Long front teeth, slightly pointed ears, yep, I reckon he just needs a carrot or two, and fur.

“Name?” he asked, his voice is a tad hoarse.

“McGarth, Lochlan?” I said.

“Wait here” he scurried off to some cabinet, fiddling with folders.

I settled myself on a beautiful driftwood chair, and waited for about a minute.

He returned with a card almost the size of a bank note, it’s coated in a thin layer of plastic. The man also had something else to give- a black booklet.

“Your time table and handbook, sir” he handed those things to me, I thanked him and left the office.

First period: Fiction and Literature. Someone named R. Dawson is in-charge. I walked into the room, the class is divided into two groups- group A (that’s where the ‘students with disabilities’ are), and group B (that’s where I should be going).

The teacher started to discuss. She was talking and using sign language simultaneously. Impressive, but tiring. She talked about what we’ll be doing for the next ten months of schooling.

All I could hear was “reading and writing”.

Yawn.

I sort of hate school. Not the hate where I want to blow it into pieces, I just want to get out of the place. It’s nothing different from a prison. Neutral walls that don’t perk-up the mind, lifeless halls that could be confused with hospital corridors (if it weren’t for the lockers), the emphasis on silence and order, confinement to a seat for minutes, plus the limited time set for breaks.

“It that clear?” she asked in a sickeningly sweet manner.

Finally, Fiction and Lit is over!

“Yes, Ms. Dawson” we answered in chorus as the bell rang.