Skyler Marks

United States of America

He/Him/His but like really I don't care that much.
MUCH MORE IMPORTANT... I'm an introverted wiccan scorpio and if that doesn't say enough, I also love cats.
and Marvel
and Dr Who
and Poetry, dammit!

Message to Readers

This is the beginning of a short story/novella that I MAY continue writing. I wanted to see what people thought about this much.

Summer School

April 13, 2019

FREE WRITING

1
Chapter One: Character

A fictional character is what draws people into a story, what we identify with. But our own character is how we can define our life. 

There are two types that attend summer school. Their are people too bright or stuck up to confine themselves to three seasons of school, because heaven forbid that you should have a life at some point. On the other hand you have kids who do their best to get good grades, but also feel the need to actually get some physical exercise at some point. I don't fall into the first category. I'm really a good student, but my last english teacher didn't fully understand me, and I ended up - through no fault of my own - not quite passing english. As a junior, I need every single credit I can get to graduate, so I grudgingly agreed to subject myself to six weeks of intensive humiliation. 

I've been to summer school exactly once before in my life, so I knew more or less what to expect. I would walk into the room, some prison guard with educational delusions of grandeur would hand out stapled packets so big they must have killed a redwood for the paper, and the tyrannical silence would ensue. These were my thoughts as I walked into the room, only to be greeted by an unexpected turn of events. The layout of the room I entered was pleasantly unexpected, with bean bags strewn haphazardly around the floor instead of the usual stricter desks, as well as a picture of a massive boat above the teacher's desk. However, the greatest shock was the teacher himself. 

The man behind the desk was, clearly, sound asleep. His ragged beige trench coat, looking more at home in the revolutionary war than a modern classroom, was fully unbuttoned so that you could see his v-neck shirt, cut low enough to reveal a brilliant white scar directly above his solar plexus. His hair was long, down to his shoulders, and brown, with several braids hanging down over his face. The only aspect of his appearance that marred his perfect image of malnourished vabond was that he was surprisingly muscular, not ripped per say but decently built. He might even make my track team, if he had been twenty or so years younger.  But that's the other thing about him. I could not begin to guess his age. Usually, I'm fairly good at ascertaining an age estimate by looking at someone, however this man defied me. 

Glancing around the rest of the room, my eyes wandered over a child, probably at least a freshman, sitting straight up in the only student desk in the room, while a girl dressed in a leather jacket and ripped jeans slouched in the corner, blending in almost perfectly to the only black bean bag. the scene was, on a whole, one of mild absurdity.

"He's been like this for almost an hour!" whispered the freshman, gleefully breaking the moment of silence. 
"and you've been here for how long?" I asked incredulously.
"Almost an hour," the child responded, his glasses sliding down his forehead a little. 
"Did you think it started earlier?" I questioned. 
"No," he offers as insufficient explanation. 
I give up, walking over to the girl on the bean bag. "what's your name" I ask kindly. She sighs, picking up her beanbag and moving it across the room with an air of determined superiority. 

We wait in silence for another event to disturb our awkward three-way truce. 
 

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  • April 13, 2019 - 9:13am (Now Viewing)

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