Niner

Keel

They call Edmund Miles an eccentric genius or an outright blatant imbecile. His mind -- nothing more than an oversized can of pickles -- possessed no room to process such newfound concepts.

Preschool's a thing of a past to most at White Sands Elementary School -- a two-decade old prestigious campus dominated by miniature grown ups at a Cathedral City suburb. The half-decade old Edmund might spot old folks from preschool right off the bat, but introducing himself to newer guys is a piece of cake... initially. With nothing but a grayscale attire comprising of ebony khakis and a plain-white collared shirt that contrasted the hipster aroma his first classroom, he surely seemed... professional at first glance.

The classroom is quite spacious, decorated with the generic basic alphabet posters parallel to the entrance, a secondary exit and a clusterfuck of age-appropriate toys at the left, an entrance to a hallway that segregated Edmund's homeroom from another kindergarten class. Unbeknownst to Edmund, this classroom is a playground for any Western Language's building blocks as hinted by a large sign depicting West on the whiteboard adjacent to the alphabet posters. Close to the center is a navy-blue circular carpet complete with red markings divided into perfect eights. With its close proximity to the whiteboard, it was a perfect mingle cluster for other students around the same age.

---

"And my name is Edmund, that about you?" Edmund smirked with utmost optimism.

"Kris," muttered a tan-skinned shaggy-haired male no taller than forty-four inches as it's typical of his age range, "Kris Barrio; you call me Krissy."

"Krissy here I go!"

Instant friendships were the norm for Edmund Miles, a feat quite unprecedented like an award-winning film bearing a debut director's name plastered onto the vibrantly-colored release posters. With his eccentric moniker garnished with countless blabbering of Miles' upper-level concepts of aviation, weapons, and any other technical jargon, most cherished his exhibition of such rare trait; some repulsed -- or even despised his charming demeanor.

"Wow. He's one talkative nerd!"

"Nobody likes nerds I said."

Perched at the corner of the classroom like famished vultures stood two black-shirted males twice the height of Edmund. Acquaintances indeed they are, despite the taller two barely completing their introductions in mere seconds. Their glares were fixated onto Edmund, demonstrating his above-average intellectual mindset to his fellow peers. With a gnarly grin from one of their faces, they protrude their ulcer-covered tongues, and blew wushioning raspberries that filled the room.

"And that is how airplanes go woo woo. All you need is how fast it goes, and the wings will float!"

The duo separated, with Edmund exchanging waves towards the two. Normally, he would snitch the duo for their insubordinate behavior. With no homeroom teacher present, any attempts is pointless. Kindergarten has yet initiate a spark that'll hurtle the engines into working condition.

A/N

This is among the numerous  unreleased stories stashed in my notebook that's worth posting. Since this is my first story in ages, constructive criticism is welcome.

--J2 Skyly