Status: still in progress, updates coming whenever i've got the inspiration.
The Test
the left side of everywhere
It wasn't typical to my personality to fail to hand in a homework assignment, and it definetely wasn't something I would ever do on the first day of a new year.
"William, where's your homework?"
I shrugged my shoulders, allowing my fringe to fall into my face to obscure the chance of eye contact. It wasn't as if I hadn't done it, because I had, I'd spent four fucking hours but then chickened out and scribbled over my words until they were only inky tatters and there were scratches in my desk surface.
"You haven't done it, have you?" sighed Mr. Stump, using an extremely patronizing voice, "It's the first assignment of the year, and you've not done it."
I nodded.
Mr. Stump backed away from my desk and went back to stand by the whiteboard.
"Now, class. As you are all aware, your homework assignment was to write a short poem describing yourself, and to - "
I had tried to describe myself but I was too afraid for everyone to see it, I didn't want to give myself away to a room of strangers, or to be read into or understood because I felt as if it was my only strength.
I chew through wires in the hope of causing system failures,
Electrocuted myself to kickstart communication errors.
I wanted to seclude myself, to disguise myself in strength, not weakness.
When my bones shattered it just reinforced my poor decisions,
Spark up a powercut and I'll fall apart to superstitions.
I had thrown the remains of my assignment in the trash, before sitting blankly on my bed, trying to think of a reasonable sounding lie to write in it's place.
And if I had a little confidence you might just remember,
My aspirations were sky high but then they burned to embers.
I ended up handing in nothing, a blank sheet, no words, no thoughts. No replacement would flow through my head in the same manner the truth would.
Students were called up to stand at the front, one at a time, to read out the work they had written. I sat in my seat as the twenty five children read their assorted poems, and I scribbled meaningless doodles and shapes onto the corner of my excersize book.
I tried to pay attention but I found their words would bore me, and the way they phrased ideas didn't structure well in my mind.
A description of yourself.
We're all the same when it comes to this, we lie, we talk, and we show ourselves in the best light we can. It's dishonest, it's just lines spat onto paper for a good grade and an encouraging comment, and it's never who you really are.
I had been honest, blunt, and literal. My lack of experience made me an awful liar. I could not work out how to live outside of the privacy of my own mind, or what it meant to exist on the outside.
I let my head droop over my desk in exhaustion, letting the voices wash over me, my ears sometimes picking up words and phrases, but mostly just hearing blanks and white noise.
Hazy sunbeams tired me out and warmed my back through the thin material of my school shirt as I allowed my focus to fade considerably.
I had woken up a little too early and I was letting the unfamiliarity of these sounds overlap into one another, until the flow made no sense and the scramble was without meaning. It sounded like the same words flipped over and laid down each time, and they'd always play themselves in the same mundane rhythms.
But as surely as the fluidity has formed, the mindless pattern destroyed itself, smashed down by the familiarity and security of the last voice to speak.
"...and take down the cobwebs and unlock the cage,
And fix up your jaw but that's not really what's broken.
I'd snap a branch from an oak tree and smash apart the cocoon,
My curiosity lies in any words you've spoken."
"Gabe, that was an excellent piece of work," boomed Mr. Stump, enthusiastically, "I can tell you're putting in more effort this year already. You can go back to your seat now."
...fix up your jaw but that's not really what's broken.
"Your piece was a little cryptic, though. Was it based on something important to you personally?"
...lies in any words you've spoken.
"No," Gabe mumbled, wringing his hands together as he spoke, "Well, maybe, slightly. Sort of."
"William, where's your homework?"
I shrugged my shoulders, allowing my fringe to fall into my face to obscure the chance of eye contact. It wasn't as if I hadn't done it, because I had, I'd spent four fucking hours but then chickened out and scribbled over my words until they were only inky tatters and there were scratches in my desk surface.
"You haven't done it, have you?" sighed Mr. Stump, using an extremely patronizing voice, "It's the first assignment of the year, and you've not done it."
I nodded.
Mr. Stump backed away from my desk and went back to stand by the whiteboard.
"Now, class. As you are all aware, your homework assignment was to write a short poem describing yourself, and to - "
I had tried to describe myself but I was too afraid for everyone to see it, I didn't want to give myself away to a room of strangers, or to be read into or understood because I felt as if it was my only strength.
I chew through wires in the hope of causing system failures,
Electrocuted myself to kickstart communication errors.
I wanted to seclude myself, to disguise myself in strength, not weakness.
When my bones shattered it just reinforced my poor decisions,
Spark up a powercut and I'll fall apart to superstitions.
I had thrown the remains of my assignment in the trash, before sitting blankly on my bed, trying to think of a reasonable sounding lie to write in it's place.
And if I had a little confidence you might just remember,
My aspirations were sky high but then they burned to embers.
I ended up handing in nothing, a blank sheet, no words, no thoughts. No replacement would flow through my head in the same manner the truth would.
Students were called up to stand at the front, one at a time, to read out the work they had written. I sat in my seat as the twenty five children read their assorted poems, and I scribbled meaningless doodles and shapes onto the corner of my excersize book.
I tried to pay attention but I found their words would bore me, and the way they phrased ideas didn't structure well in my mind.
A description of yourself.
We're all the same when it comes to this, we lie, we talk, and we show ourselves in the best light we can. It's dishonest, it's just lines spat onto paper for a good grade and an encouraging comment, and it's never who you really are.
I had been honest, blunt, and literal. My lack of experience made me an awful liar. I could not work out how to live outside of the privacy of my own mind, or what it meant to exist on the outside.
I let my head droop over my desk in exhaustion, letting the voices wash over me, my ears sometimes picking up words and phrases, but mostly just hearing blanks and white noise.
Hazy sunbeams tired me out and warmed my back through the thin material of my school shirt as I allowed my focus to fade considerably.
I had woken up a little too early and I was letting the unfamiliarity of these sounds overlap into one another, until the flow made no sense and the scramble was without meaning. It sounded like the same words flipped over and laid down each time, and they'd always play themselves in the same mundane rhythms.
But as surely as the fluidity has formed, the mindless pattern destroyed itself, smashed down by the familiarity and security of the last voice to speak.
"...and take down the cobwebs and unlock the cage,
And fix up your jaw but that's not really what's broken.
I'd snap a branch from an oak tree and smash apart the cocoon,
My curiosity lies in any words you've spoken."
"Gabe, that was an excellent piece of work," boomed Mr. Stump, enthusiastically, "I can tell you're putting in more effort this year already. You can go back to your seat now."
...fix up your jaw but that's not really what's broken.
"Your piece was a little cryptic, though. Was it based on something important to you personally?"
...lies in any words you've spoken.
"No," Gabe mumbled, wringing his hands together as he spoke, "Well, maybe, slightly. Sort of."