The Dark Side (Improved)

Philosophy

"The only thing I know is that I know nothing" -Socrates

The classroom was large and expansive like an Victorian aged ballroom. With pillars at each corners that mimicked the style of Grecian architecture. Their was a elongated passage way that split the classroom in half. On the left there were fifty cushioned laminated chairs in perfect symmetry. And the right was its exact replica. I was taken back by it's beauty and intricacy, because beauty was a luxury I was not used.

An arm jerked me forward and I realized it was Sarah. I followed her lead in our seating arrangements because she seemed very comfortable maneuvering around the room as if it wasn't her first time in here. We sat in the second to last row of the left side, a perfect seat for observation and the best place to not be noticed.

The atmosphere in the classroom was overall jovial and it had a feeling of youth that is portrayed on television. I watched a lot of television during my earlier days of freedom to get caught up with what was considered normal in the world. It wasn't the best source of knowledge but it was the only one I had. After all this is my first time in school, a conventional school. The memory suddenly came back, of me and sixteen children all sitting before a women who was no teacher, but a dictator. She had a slightly arched back, with muscular arms perfect for beating a large man but in her case children. She had a permanent scowl on her face and a mole the size of Russia which ironically was her mother country.

The room became completely silent and only the heavy breathing of those close to me were heard. Even Sarah who was chattering away was completely silent, completely stiff. Almost statue like. I turned my eyes to where everyone's eyes were trained. Two people walked in with an air of authority and a vicious army of booty lickers behind them. The first two people I met on my first day here: Maddison McClain and Xavier.

Xavier 

My first class of the day was Philosophy and as I walked through the hallway the throng of people parted like the red sea. It's nothing new and it has happened everyday of my life since I was born. Everyone knew who my father was, what he did, and what he was capable of doing. And everyone knew I was his exact replica. Ruthless to my enemies, even worse to traitors and benevolent to my friends. I was to be the next Romano Russo.

  Dark skin, wild bouncy hair, slender hands. Dammit! Xavier get that girl out of your head. Just as I was ready to internally punish myself I heard heels clacking at rapid speed towards me; Maddison. She was so clingy and aggravating and doesn't know when she's not wanted. The only reason I tolerate her is because her father is my father's business partner.

"Xavier!! Wait up!". Dannazione!, lei è fastidiosa (Damn!, she's annoying)

"What is it Maddison" I said through gritted teeth close to a growl.

She said nothing and just held onto my arm as if she owed me and glared at the girls that were staring at me. On our way to class the usual leeches whose parents probably told them to get on my good side followed us like sheep.

We made our way into the class and the whole class fell silent. Nobody was moving excepts one person who was shifting in their seat. Suddenly I beheld a pair of eyes that I have been (even though I didn't want to admit) waiting to see again. At first she just looked at me with no emotion in her eyes and steady breath obviously not intimidated by our presence, then she just looked away as if she lost interest in this spectacle in front of her. I was no longer her point of interest. WHAT THE HELL?!! What am I even saying. I walked over to the left side of the room and sat down in the front but not before looking her way again but she wasn't looking my way

Lena

After this whole spectacle unfurled Dr. Petrov, the psychology teacher walked into the classroom silent as night with his back faced to his students. His back was erect and he had a perfect posture that extruded with power that rippled through his designer suit. His knuckles and the creases in between his finger were callused a sign of constant gun usage and just before he was ready to face the class he leaned his veined neck to left close enough to his shoulders until a loud crack came; a sound of breaking bone which he repeated on his right. He reminded me of a man I once knew and trusted, the only person I trusted in that place and we called him Markov. But he is dead, how would I know? I shot him myself........

As he slowly began to turn around my face faltered; he was Markov. His mannerism, the habitual cracking of his neck when he wished to intimidate and his face, it is a face I know all too well. My face began to feel warmed and a strange liquid bled out of my eyes. Tears. I read about it once in a book Markov gave me. Whether these were tears of joy, sadness or fear I do not know, he left before he could teach me. As soon as these tears fell they were gone they fell for only a short moment. It was fleeting, almost beautiful and they looked like diamonds: just as crystal and clear but not sharp enough to pierce my skin, if they kept falling I would of collected them but just like everything they left me too.....

"The only thing I know is that I know nothing". Were the first words said by my dear friend Markov. It is a famous quote by Socrates one of the most infamous philosophers and it was the first one I learned. 

"That quote represents the you state of minds as you enter my classroom. None of you truly understand philosophy. It is often said to be "the study of knowledge, reality, and existence" but that is a frequent misconception. Philosophy is not the study of said things but how it is perceived. Therefore we can never understand it completely, therefore we as Socrates said know nothing".

I was overwhelmed by emotion at the sudden realization that Markov is alive but will he recognize me? It is virtually impossible for someone to recognize me after only knowing me as a small child but for Markov I am not sure...

As I began to clear my mind and access the situation a puzzling question arose that I did not consider. Why is Markov not dead? And what is he doing here? That is the question......