Phobic.
Robot
"Ben? Are you up for school?" I hear Ma call up the stairs, probably just about to leave for work, giving me a little heads up before she goes.
"Yes Ma!" I call back as I make my bed perfectly, tucking the sheets under the mattress and smoothing out the wafer thin pillow. I smile a thin smile, curling chapped lips and quickly chewed after. I stand up and snatch one of the various germ-killing gels and smearing it on my hands, taking a deep breath of the clean air before opening the door to the contamination outside it.
I'm quick in walking to school, quicker there the quicker I can get back, and as I slip through a small gate round the back of school, and take a near deserted route to my form room, I find myself wanting to be out of there already.
Graffiti chairs and scuffed lino floors swim into my vision and my thick white gloves dull the disgusting metal of the door handle as my fingers twist it, like every morning.
"Good morning Ben." Our teacher says, a man with a beard and two beetle eyes behind his glasses. A sickening feeling takes over my body as I glance at him and see the germs all over, crawling, feeding, nesting, disgusting. I take a small breath and turn away, and the man at the desk knows full well he won't receive an answer as the germs burrow and nest inside him.
My small white bag is held beside me, and I can tell the teacher is watching as I take out a bacterial hand wipe from it and wipe my desk and chair, the one in the left hand corner, nearest the door. I sit in the chair and place my bag carefully on the desk.
The bell rings and our teacher sighs, and I glance as he orders his papers and pulls a ring binder from a drawer, the register. It takes another thirty seconds or so, I count it, until the first students tumble through the door and find their seats in little clumps. Not one acknowledges me, the last few with a glance and a sarcastic smile. I don’t mind, I like it better when they stay their distance and don’t spread whatever nasty bugs are swarming over them. I like it better when they stay quiet and don’t abuse the kid all in white. I content myself with counting the tiles on the floor, and the small noise of the opening door snaps me from my counting. I look up and my mouth almost falls open. I see the boy who gave me a raw throat yesterday, I see black skinny jeans and a band t-shirt, I see a chequered bag off one shoulder and black hair. I see chewed lips and bright eyes, nervous and darting as he lingers in the doorway. I almost feel a smile tug my lips.
I shuffle uncomfortably in my seat, and my eyes drop to the desk when he glances over.
"Ah," our teacher says jovially, "You must be Parker."
Parker. I whisper softly, inaudible for everyone else.
"Everyone," Teacher raises his voice to the class, "This is Parker Adamson, a new student, please make him feel welcome!"
A few people murmur a 'Hey', some even paying each attention to add his name on the end, and I'm one who voices a greeting, mixed with the others so no one knows its me. A few of the people who dress similar to him, to Parker, smile wider and one makes a small gesture for him to come sit with them. Parker smiles back a little, chewing his lip slightly, before his deep eyes dart over to me. I find my heart pounding against my ribcage, fear, revulsion, apprehension of the new, and, most terrifying of all, a tiny little tug in the bottom of my stomach, something I've never, ever felt before.
He turns away from the people who had addressed him, and I hear a sorry slip from the same lips that questioned my disposition yesterday, when I was hunched in the bushes with retching lungs and shaking chest. He turns to me, fully, and the only thing I can hear is his neat black shoes scuffing the tiles I was counting. He reaches the seat next to me, and for some reason, he moves the chair a little away from me, as if he knows I'm scared of his touch.
"Hey..." He says, softly, brushing his hair from his eyes with a free hand. I watch as his bag hits the floor, and usually it would spark a twinge of fear in me, as all the germs go into rebellion from the attack on their peaceful floor space.
"Hey." I say back, my voice shaking, my lungs unwilling to take a breath of this new air, filled with a new person, so close.
"Were you the boy…?" He asks, his neat eyebrows furrowing a little bit.
"Yes." I whisper, cutting him off slightly, not wanting him to be another shallow minded robot who couldn't see past the fear in my eyes. Parker smiles, and for a moment I think it’s a fake, another ploy, one the others use when I glance and they're talking about me. My eyes meet his and I see the warmth, I see his smile in them, and I know, instantly, he's not mocking me.
I smile back.
"Yes Ma!" I call back as I make my bed perfectly, tucking the sheets under the mattress and smoothing out the wafer thin pillow. I smile a thin smile, curling chapped lips and quickly chewed after. I stand up and snatch one of the various germ-killing gels and smearing it on my hands, taking a deep breath of the clean air before opening the door to the contamination outside it.
I'm quick in walking to school, quicker there the quicker I can get back, and as I slip through a small gate round the back of school, and take a near deserted route to my form room, I find myself wanting to be out of there already.
Graffiti chairs and scuffed lino floors swim into my vision and my thick white gloves dull the disgusting metal of the door handle as my fingers twist it, like every morning.
"Good morning Ben." Our teacher says, a man with a beard and two beetle eyes behind his glasses. A sickening feeling takes over my body as I glance at him and see the germs all over, crawling, feeding, nesting, disgusting. I take a small breath and turn away, and the man at the desk knows full well he won't receive an answer as the germs burrow and nest inside him.
My small white bag is held beside me, and I can tell the teacher is watching as I take out a bacterial hand wipe from it and wipe my desk and chair, the one in the left hand corner, nearest the door. I sit in the chair and place my bag carefully on the desk.
The bell rings and our teacher sighs, and I glance as he orders his papers and pulls a ring binder from a drawer, the register. It takes another thirty seconds or so, I count it, until the first students tumble through the door and find their seats in little clumps. Not one acknowledges me, the last few with a glance and a sarcastic smile. I don’t mind, I like it better when they stay their distance and don’t spread whatever nasty bugs are swarming over them. I like it better when they stay quiet and don’t abuse the kid all in white. I content myself with counting the tiles on the floor, and the small noise of the opening door snaps me from my counting. I look up and my mouth almost falls open. I see the boy who gave me a raw throat yesterday, I see black skinny jeans and a band t-shirt, I see a chequered bag off one shoulder and black hair. I see chewed lips and bright eyes, nervous and darting as he lingers in the doorway. I almost feel a smile tug my lips.
I shuffle uncomfortably in my seat, and my eyes drop to the desk when he glances over.
"Ah," our teacher says jovially, "You must be Parker."
Parker. I whisper softly, inaudible for everyone else.
"Everyone," Teacher raises his voice to the class, "This is Parker Adamson, a new student, please make him feel welcome!"
A few people murmur a 'Hey', some even paying each attention to add his name on the end, and I'm one who voices a greeting, mixed with the others so no one knows its me. A few of the people who dress similar to him, to Parker, smile wider and one makes a small gesture for him to come sit with them. Parker smiles back a little, chewing his lip slightly, before his deep eyes dart over to me. I find my heart pounding against my ribcage, fear, revulsion, apprehension of the new, and, most terrifying of all, a tiny little tug in the bottom of my stomach, something I've never, ever felt before.
He turns away from the people who had addressed him, and I hear a sorry slip from the same lips that questioned my disposition yesterday, when I was hunched in the bushes with retching lungs and shaking chest. He turns to me, fully, and the only thing I can hear is his neat black shoes scuffing the tiles I was counting. He reaches the seat next to me, and for some reason, he moves the chair a little away from me, as if he knows I'm scared of his touch.
"Hey..." He says, softly, brushing his hair from his eyes with a free hand. I watch as his bag hits the floor, and usually it would spark a twinge of fear in me, as all the germs go into rebellion from the attack on their peaceful floor space.
"Hey." I say back, my voice shaking, my lungs unwilling to take a breath of this new air, filled with a new person, so close.
"Were you the boy…?" He asks, his neat eyebrows furrowing a little bit.
"Yes." I whisper, cutting him off slightly, not wanting him to be another shallow minded robot who couldn't see past the fear in my eyes. Parker smiles, and for a moment I think it’s a fake, another ploy, one the others use when I glance and they're talking about me. My eyes meet his and I see the warmth, I see his smile in them, and I know, instantly, he's not mocking me.
I smile back.
♠ ♠ ♠
sorry its so short :)it was a nice place to leave it xD
and i'm on a roll :)
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