Hey gang, what's the good word?
I know this is where I normally would post a review of something amazing and under appreciated by the world at large, but at the moment I'm on the go and unable to sit and write the normal amount of appropriate text. So to ease the burden and remain consistent, here's another bit of fiction, picked pure from my mind. I promise that to make up for the lack of music I'll do a double post tomorrow. In the meantime enjoy this little fiction...
They only move when I move, he thought. Silence hung in the room, unmoving and thick, save for the monotonous electronic drone of the wall mounted clock on the north wall. Each second that passed felt forced and deliberate. He ran a hand up to his short black hair and rubbed the fur in frustration. At the same moment, 24 students and a middle-aged teacher mimicked his movements, right hand sliding up the side of their bodies, rustling their hair, letting out the same barely audible sigh; with 25 people sighing at once the level of the sigh was thicker, a ghostly rush of air from all around him. Tom was growing weary.
He couldn’t sit here forever. Tom had been sitting in his desk, peacefully, for awhile, doodling in his notebook as Ms. Zucker waited for the last of the tests to be turned in; he wasn’t sure when it started happening. He had looked up to see how much time was left for class and saw that it was 2:00 in the afternoon. When he looked back at the class, everyone was facing away from him, looking out the door. His eyebrows drew together as he craned his neck to see what everyone was looking at so intently. As he fidgeted, so did the class. 26 heads swiveling and gyrating on necks at once, like snakes being charmed. Tom leaned over to ask the girl next to him what was going on, but when he leaned over, so did the class. Tom froze. The realization that everyone was aping his movements made him feel as though electricity was coursing through him. Yet at the same time he felt a twinge of curiosity.
It was 2:40 now; class should have gotten out 15 minutes ago. No one had left their seats because Thom hadn’t. He was afraid of what would happen if he went for the door. Professor Zucker was still sitting perfectly still in her seat in front of the chalkboard, which was a blank expanse of green. Tom wanted to flee this room very badly, both to escape his doppelgangers and to relieve his aching bladder. He sat in his orange plastic chair-with-mounted-desk in the back row along the east wall. The prof was sitting against the west wall. The door was on the south, only twenty feet away, surrounded by corkboard pasted and stapled over with flyers offering students fast cash and cheap travel opportunities. The desire to pee had begun to press heavily on Tom, and the desire to escape this room was even heavier. Tom decided he had had enough. He stood up.
24 students, mostly sophomores and freshman wearing jackets and coats, as well as Ms. Zucker, stood up with a resounding simultaneous creek from the plastic chairs. “Cripe,” Tom dropped out of his mouth.
“Cripe,” 25 people said back at him. No one had repeated his words before, and Tom was even more puzzled by the increase in their imitations. This is going to be a problem he thought as he tried to figure out a way through the door.
Tom stood in the back of the class between the last two rows of chairs. He turned to the left, everyone rotating 90 degrees with him. He took a watchful and measured step forward. The class did the same. Another step forward and the class followed suit. A girl with shoulder length red hair wearing a denim jacket lined with fur at the far end of his row walked straight into the wall with a low thud as her face collided and stopped on plaster. Thom’s pulse crept up as he contemplated his escape plan. He thought back to his swimming records he’d made in high school, how much you had to focus, time your breathing, move in….
Breathing,, Tom nodded to himself. He stepped through a row of chairs closer to the door. Some students tripped, but most moved along fine. Ms. Zucker was sliding forwards along the chalkboard in a blocked diagonal path. The students ahead of Tom were bottlenecking in the doorway like traffic, just as he had planned.
He cursed himself for sitting in the back of the class. The doorway was too crowded to move through. A dozen or so had become wedged in, and Thom tried turning and twisting his own body, but they seemed fairly lodged. He swiveled his head around. Most of the students were indeed clogging the door. The teacher was on the outer rim of the crowd, her loud floral patterned dress contrasting the students’ denim and khaki attire. Tom had only one idea how to make a little room. He tried to relax.
He began to clear his mind, dump out stress and fear, and slowed his breathing. He remembered a test his biology teacher had performed when lecturing about lungs, and the record his swimming had helped him set that day. Breathing deeply and deliberately, he relaxed his body as much as he could while standing; if he sat he might miss his opportunity. With one final breath, Tom inhaled and watched the crowd gasp for air.
He didn’t breathe. Not for a minute. He quietly and calmly waited. Another thirty seconds passed and one of the students in the heart of the small crowd swooned. As time slowly passed on, students began to drop. Tom’s lungs were burning, his chest beginning to hitch, but he held his breath still. At the two minute mark, more students had fallen to the ground. He began counting to ten in his head, taking a step to the door with every number. His body craved air, was desperate to suck in oxygen, but he held it still as he gracefully stepped over the bodies of two young women and half a dozen young men lying in the doorway.
Once he was safely in the hall Thom let his breath out and sucked in a huge gasp of breath. A few students littered the hallway, having made it into it before the crowd clogged the way. Tom spun around and made his way to the stairwell. Ahead of him in the hall were more students walking towards the stairs. Moving as in fluid.
I know this is where I normally would post a review of something amazing and under appreciated by the world at large, but at the moment I'm on the go and unable to sit and write the normal amount of appropriate text. So to ease the burden and remain consistent, here's another bit of fiction, picked pure from my mind. I promise that to make up for the lack of music I'll do a double post tomorrow. In the meantime enjoy this little fiction...
They only move when I move, he thought. Silence hung in the room, unmoving and thick, save for the monotonous electronic drone of the wall mounted clock on the north wall. Each second that passed felt forced and deliberate. He ran a hand up to his short black hair and rubbed the fur in frustration. At the same moment, 24 students and a middle-aged teacher mimicked his movements, right hand sliding up the side of their bodies, rustling their hair, letting out the same barely audible sigh; with 25 people sighing at once the level of the sigh was thicker, a ghostly rush of air from all around him. Tom was growing weary.
He couldn’t sit here forever. Tom had been sitting in his desk, peacefully, for awhile, doodling in his notebook as Ms. Zucker waited for the last of the tests to be turned in; he wasn’t sure when it started happening. He had looked up to see how much time was left for class and saw that it was 2:00 in the afternoon. When he looked back at the class, everyone was facing away from him, looking out the door. His eyebrows drew together as he craned his neck to see what everyone was looking at so intently. As he fidgeted, so did the class. 26 heads swiveling and gyrating on necks at once, like snakes being charmed. Tom leaned over to ask the girl next to him what was going on, but when he leaned over, so did the class. Tom froze. The realization that everyone was aping his movements made him feel as though electricity was coursing through him. Yet at the same time he felt a twinge of curiosity.
It was 2:40 now; class should have gotten out 15 minutes ago. No one had left their seats because Thom hadn’t. He was afraid of what would happen if he went for the door. Professor Zucker was still sitting perfectly still in her seat in front of the chalkboard, which was a blank expanse of green. Tom wanted to flee this room very badly, both to escape his doppelgangers and to relieve his aching bladder. He sat in his orange plastic chair-with-mounted-desk in the back row along the east wall. The prof was sitting against the west wall. The door was on the south, only twenty feet away, surrounded by corkboard pasted and stapled over with flyers offering students fast cash and cheap travel opportunities. The desire to pee had begun to press heavily on Tom, and the desire to escape this room was even heavier. Tom decided he had had enough. He stood up.
24 students, mostly sophomores and freshman wearing jackets and coats, as well as Ms. Zucker, stood up with a resounding simultaneous creek from the plastic chairs. “Cripe,” Tom dropped out of his mouth.
“Cripe,” 25 people said back at him. No one had repeated his words before, and Tom was even more puzzled by the increase in their imitations. This is going to be a problem he thought as he tried to figure out a way through the door.
Tom stood in the back of the class between the last two rows of chairs. He turned to the left, everyone rotating 90 degrees with him. He took a watchful and measured step forward. The class did the same. Another step forward and the class followed suit. A girl with shoulder length red hair wearing a denim jacket lined with fur at the far end of his row walked straight into the wall with a low thud as her face collided and stopped on plaster. Thom’s pulse crept up as he contemplated his escape plan. He thought back to his swimming records he’d made in high school, how much you had to focus, time your breathing, move in….
Breathing,, Tom nodded to himself. He stepped through a row of chairs closer to the door. Some students tripped, but most moved along fine. Ms. Zucker was sliding forwards along the chalkboard in a blocked diagonal path. The students ahead of Tom were bottlenecking in the doorway like traffic, just as he had planned.
He cursed himself for sitting in the back of the class. The doorway was too crowded to move through. A dozen or so had become wedged in, and Thom tried turning and twisting his own body, but they seemed fairly lodged. He swiveled his head around. Most of the students were indeed clogging the door. The teacher was on the outer rim of the crowd, her loud floral patterned dress contrasting the students’ denim and khaki attire. Tom had only one idea how to make a little room. He tried to relax.
He began to clear his mind, dump out stress and fear, and slowed his breathing. He remembered a test his biology teacher had performed when lecturing about lungs, and the record his swimming had helped him set that day. Breathing deeply and deliberately, he relaxed his body as much as he could while standing; if he sat he might miss his opportunity. With one final breath, Tom inhaled and watched the crowd gasp for air.
He didn’t breathe. Not for a minute. He quietly and calmly waited. Another thirty seconds passed and one of the students in the heart of the small crowd swooned. As time slowly passed on, students began to drop. Tom’s lungs were burning, his chest beginning to hitch, but he held his breath still. At the two minute mark, more students had fallen to the ground. He began counting to ten in his head, taking a step to the door with every number. His body craved air, was desperate to suck in oxygen, but he held it still as he gracefully stepped over the bodies of two young women and half a dozen young men lying in the doorway.
Once he was safely in the hall Thom let his breath out and sucked in a huge gasp of breath. A few students littered the hallway, having made it into it before the crowd clogged the way. Tom spun around and made his way to the stairwell. Ahead of him in the hall were more students walking towards the stairs. Moving as in fluid.
