In my high school English class we were required to write for 15 minutes every day without ever putting the pen down. Even if you were only writing "I am thinking about what to write, but nothing is coming, this is shit! I know it's shit, but I can't stop because the teacher is looking straight at me because I am not looking at my paper and writing. There are small moments, seconds, where I look up or even just away from my paper, and her icy stare is there. She is looking only at me! Why!? Im sure other kids in the class are faking it. Look at Dave, he couldn't write for 15 minutes if someone had a gun to his balls. And there he is, scribbling away and looking like he likes it. Is he just drawing curly q's or what?, what the fuck is going on here, this bastard is totally faking this shit and I'm taking all the fucking flack? FUCK that, this sucks. I wanna see what that dick is writing, he's probably writing about me, OH! look a Migliacci! Writing away, scribbling around like he is really doing something, that fucking pig, probably just drawing huge long dicks across each line. Pausing for a second to look like he's really into it, getting it done. Like he likes it, that phoney fuck, what a dick, here i am drawing curly q's and this cock smoker is shakespearin' it up, OH look at me teacher I've got a huge hard-on for this project Im so artsy you know this shit is right up my ally. Holy fucking god, what just happened? Was I writing for dave? is he channeling me somehow? does he have access to my thoughts! thats impossible, I wont believe it I would rather die than believe that, but it was him not me, He was even looking at me, calling me a pig. That rat bastard Ill pull his kidneys out for that one! He cant fuck with me. After this we each have to carry our own desk to the gym to have exams. Do you believe that shit, our own desk. That is like making a group of people dig their own grave. Like digging all day and then catching a bullet in the back of the head falling face down onto the dirt, shattering teeth on a half exposed rock, blood running down the back of your neck and around your throat like a necklace, as body after body pile on top of you, pressing the air out of your lungs, squeezing your eyeballs out, splintering ribs, its getting darker, dirt starting to seep through the bodies. Buried Alive."
Ok times up! Put your pencils down and pass your papers to the right. Take out Romeo and Juliet, page 23 line 6.
No comments:
Post a Comment