57

Bliss

What an utterly useless class. There was no reason for anyone to take a Creative Writing class like this one since the professor clearly had absolutely no idea what he was rambling about. Little ums filled spaces in his speech of uncertainty.

"The first ever paperback books were made in 1941, um, yes 1941  Paddle-To-The-Sea by, um, Holling Clancy Holling." 

My ears perked up. Was this man completely idiotic? That whole sentence was disgustingly wrong. The first paperback books were Penguin Books in 1935! God I don't even have the strength to listen to this moron ramble about incorrect nonsense. I could use a nap though, but to get any kind of comforting rest, I'd need to tune out Mr. Incompitant. I reach swiftly into my book bag for my earbuds and connect the Bluetooth to my phone as discreetly as I can. I pull my hoodie over my head, covering the earbuds from view of any prying eyes. I leave one earbud out just in case of Mr. Beckly asking me a question.

My eyes float to the window, were water droplets race down, the tapping of rain trapping me into an entracement. I love rainy days so much, the calmness of the water, the nice breeze and smell of fresh rain outside is pure bliss. Music tops it all off in the most beautiful moment. The window pane is cold against my  forehead but I don't mind a single bit. The trees outside blow under the weight of the wind and water spitting down at them. The dark sky creates no shadows on the ground, a perfect little picturisque view.

A sharp tap on my shoulder jolts me back to a bleak reality. I turn around to confront the person who ruined my moment of bliss only to see a girl that i've never noticed in this small class before. She had wavy pink ombre hair that fell to her shoulders. Her eyes were green-grey, a color i've never actually seen before. They were the most beautiful eyes I'd ever seen. She had dark freckles that danced around her whole face and she had tan olive skin that seemed to glow. Her lips were slightly plumped and her nose was small and upturned. Her whole face was stunning. She wasn't hot, nor pretty, nor gorgouse. She was just beautiful. She was more elegent than any princess, more stunning than any model, and warmer than any summer day. She smiled at me, her plump lips curving upwards. 

"Sorry to disturb you from your dreams, but the answer is 1987," she whispered in a silky voice. The words dripped from her mouth like sweet nectar that I couldn't get enough of.

"Hayden! Since you are so obviously too good for my class, would you care to tell me the answer madam?" Spat Mr. Moron. His boring, blue, small eyes looked at me through wrinkles that made his fat face look like one of a bulldogs. Man has gravity and time taken a toll on him.

"1987," I blurt without even questioning if the girl was right. Of couse I hadn't even heard the question in the first place, so I didn't really have too much of an option. Mr. Beckly muttered that I had just had a lucky guess and that any idiot could've gotten it right. I rolled my eyes at his accustation. I turned around to say thank you to my savior, but instead I come to a shockingly disappointing view of a big guy name Brice that was snoring away at his desk where the angel had sat. Where on earth did she go?

I looked around, hoping to see her. It wasn't possible that she just left in the middle of class without me noticing! My eyes, I discovered, were still on Brice when he woke up and caught me staring at him. ¨What do you want?¨ he said in a rough voice that made me cringe. It was so different from the beautiful girl's voice, so gravely and inconsitant. I gave him a small sorry and faced back to the window. I looked at the trees that were being pushed around by invisible winds. My eyes darted across the field were i spotted, unmistakably, pink ombre hair being thrown about a tan olive flawless face. My eyes grew wide. What on earth? She was just in here!

She smiled at me from a distance, and mouthed a word that even though there was no way i could've heard it, i knew she said in her silky nectar voice, "Madria Nicko".

I blinked for a second, and as if the wind had blown her from existance, she disappeared, gone without a trace. Madria Nicko? Who on earth was that? Was that her name? Was it a hint to something? I got out my notebook and wrote down the name. I'll search her up when I get home. As if right on cue, the gracious bell rang, dismissing me from Creative Writing.