Falling

Fate and Irony

   The whole room is screaming.

   Not in terror, of course.

   I am sitting in a high school gymnasium during a pep rally, after all.

   Then again... Maybe you could call it terror.

   I watch as the football players arrhythmically skip around to music on the polished wood floor, reminding me how imbecilic they are. Not that I needed the reminder. I've had to deal with them since kindergarten, and when I say they haven't changed in the least, I mean it.

   "Idiots," the girl next to me sighs. I nod in agreement.

   "My thought exactly." I glance over at her, and if anyone could appear more bored than I, it is Ariana Remes. Her right elbow is resting on her crossed knee, propping up her chin; her eyelids are sagging dramatically, the corners of her mouth seem like they couldn't be raised with a forklift, and her olive toned skin is flushed from drainage of life.

   "For God's sake, they can't even find the beat."

   "Ariana, they wouldn't be able to find it if it was up their ass."

   "Then maybe we should put it in Haylee's cleavage. They'd surely find it there," she says flatly, maintaining her straight face. I snort.

   "I mean... you're not wrong," I say, pushing up my glasses.

   "Finally, she realises."

   "You would think they could turn down the sound a bit," I say as the mashup of "popular songs" drones on.

   "Old people always tell us to value our hearing. Middle-aged people always complain about the volume of our music because it'll hurt everyone's hearing. People our age always keep the volume to whatever's necessary. So guess who's running the sound?"

   "Mr. B?" His full name is Brad Boazman, if that tells you anything about him. Yes, that is his real name. I've always wondered how parents can be so cruel. He's probably around 30, so he could've changed it by now, but I suppose one can get used to anything if you just give it time.

   "Ding, ding, ding! Rebecca Dufour for the win!"

   "Wow! What's my prize?"

   "Newly produced carbon dioxide!" she announces, doing small jazz hands and blowing on my face.

   "Just what I've always wanted! Thank you for this splendid opportunity. I wish to thank Firmin, Roan, and... That's it. Thank you! It truly means so much to me."

   "Oh, come on. You thank your pets and leave me out?"

   "You're the host!" I say, nudging her. And, besides, the children will always be my greatest supporters." She just laughs and shrugs in response.

   Firmin's a keeshond and Roan's a British blue. I love the two of them to death. Firmin was the first and only dog I've ever had; and, not only that, but he's been my best friend. Whenever I'm in a bad place, he just knows, and he comes to try and comfort me. Roan is... Well... She's a typical cat. She's sweet and has the softest fur, but she probably wouldn't even notice if one of us disappeared.

   Sighing, I look around at the crowd around me. A game of blindfolded musical chairs just started, and I feel a surge of hate. No, not hate, really - just frustration.

   Why are they all so enthralled by this? I don't pretend to think I'll ever understand. Loud, pulsing music that can only be described as manufactured ear worms; mechanical chanting of learned words and rhythms; childish games designed to keep short attention spans from drifting. What is the point of it all? They say it builds school pride. But I sure as Hell don't feel any different about my school or the people in it when I'm walking back to class after it's over. Everything just seems so forced. So... fake.