Last lesson of the afternoon

Essay by Afzal7864u February 2007

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The heat which had been barely bearable the entire day has finally begun to crush me . It weighs down upon me; turning my limbs to boulders and my head to a vacuum in which neither time nor sound can exist. I stick my tongue out, noting that boredom tastes like old socks. I turn to the wise all-knowing face of the wall clock; its unmoving arms amuse me. An incessant fly buzzes around my head, its millions of eyes reflecting the glare of the fluorescent tube-light above me. The annoying fly settles on the end of the pencil which lazily dangles from my finger tips. Just as I begin to turn back to the stopped clock, a movement at the edge of my vision enthralls me.

The fly! He* beckoned me! I stare at him, my eyes enlarge, my jaw plummets and my tongue lolls while at the same time my eyebrows begin to attempt to incline which is my forehead.

He stops beckoning, and emits what I'm quite sure is a giggle. I am truly aghast. My conscious self tries immediately to rationalize the sound, screaming that it must have been the squeal of tires outside, or, or ... I don't know. But the part of my brain which still believes in fairy-tales (Don't tell anybody!) gets very excited; it argues that my eyes (which are still open very wide) saw the fly open its little-sucker-mouth and release a giggle! My conscious self gets quite across and declares, with a pout, that flies most certainly cannot talk, let alone giggle! What is this world coming to! If a vaguely intelligent SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD girl can find it in herself to suspect that flies can giggle, then anything is possible! All hell could break loose!

Then as if only to provoke me, he (the fly, that is) raises one furry foot in a sign of greeting. And then, to make matters worse, he opens his little sucker-mouth and a low-pitched sound emerges from its depth. The sound begins to take the form of words, the words being "Peace, sister." I smell the tang of the sweat which is making tracks down my back and with that my conscious-self faints, leaving the-part-of-my-brain-which-still-believes-in fairy-tales to jump up and down emitting whoops and cheers. My features slowly form a grin, my smile unfurling. I begin to giggle, and shake, and quake, and positively roar with laughter. I can't help it; I can't stop. I tilt my chair backwards to accommodate my stomach muscles which have began to spasm due to my crazy laughter. My chair tips too far and spills its contents (namely, me) on the floor in an untidy heap. My falling chair upsets the two desks behind me causing them to topple on top of me (much to the shock of their inhabitants) not movements after I had been deposited on the floor by my most unruly chair.

Dear reader, it breaks my heart to inform you that the second desk which plummeted on top of me rendered me unconscious, and therefore I have no idea what became of the fabulous talking fly, who miraculously managed to save me from twenty minutes more of sheer boredom. You see, when I was eventually revived, all I could talk about was an amazing talking fly. As a result my Maths teacher sent me immediately to the school nurse for a sedative and to have the nasty-looking bump on my head examined. So, dear reader, if you or anyone else ever finds my saviour, the unshaven fly, please tell him to pay me a visit sometime soon. On my new timetable I have double algebra last lesson everyday and I could really use the entertainment! My number is 083 SUPA FLY.

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It was completly done on my own