Noise
Late
Orrin 64 did not know the meaning of happiness. He did not know the meaning of fun, either. But what he did know, however, was that he was late. And not for the first time, either. As he sped down the slick, marble hallways, he fought to contain his thoughts--Elder Micah would not allow him into the room with a disorganized mind.
After watching number after number fly by on the gold-plated and glass doors, he slowed to a stop in front of a smooth glass one. Just as his luck would have it, there stood Elder Micah, glaring at him through the unbreakable two-inch panel.
"Late again, Mr. Orrin," he said as he held the door open for Orrin to pass through. He was sure to get a lecture later on the importance of punctuality (Orrin knew all of Elder Micah's speeches and rants by heart, and often times mouthed the words when the old man had his back turned.) He headed over to his seat, head down so that his shaggy black hair hid most of his face.
"You know, if you're late one more time Elder Micah will send you off to be a string maker, and you won't even get a chance to be fully specialized," whispered his best friend Piper, her harsh brown eyes emphasizing her point.
He nodded to her before turning back around to face his teacher, who was off on a tangent explaining the importance of the tuning fork. It wasn't like he cared whether or not he got specialized; he still had yet to find the instrument that spoke to him. Yet he didn't want to become a string maker either, the dullest job one could possibly obtain. Of course it was important, every occupation was, but definitely not interesting in the least.
When the lecture had finally come to a close and the class was dismissed, Elder Micah called Orrin up to his desk. Here came the lecture.
"Mr. Orrin, I'm afraid this is your sixth tardy this term. I'm afraid that your absence may be what is causing your inability to find your instrument."
"Elder Micah," started Orrin, "I know I haven't found my instrument yet, but please give me a little more time. Elder Julien said he'd let me try the cymbals one more time."
Elder Micah sighed.
"Very well. You are dismissed."
"Thank you, sir," replied Orrin, bobbing his head in a show of respect before scurrying out of the room and smacking into someone else.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, sorry," mumbled the person as he gathered up the sheets of music he had been carrying. The boy looked familiar, but Orrin couldn't quite remember his name. He was probably just some zoid who sat far up in the front of one of his classes.
Orrin didn't even bother trying to help the boy or to apologize, caught up in his own thoughts as he scrambled away from him and proceeded onward through the glossy corridor.
The old man had had more to say, he was sure of it. At least he had put that next particularly boring reprimand off for another time. For now he needed get to his next class or he'd be working off his tardies in the percussions room, shining the cymbals for hours on end.
He arrived outside Elder Julien's classroom just in time for him to stick his foot in the scarce space between the closing door and the doorframe, slipping in through the tiny crevice and sliding into his seat at the back of the room. Elder Julien gave him a reproachful look before turning to the class to give them their second dose of instruction for the day. Fighting to keep his eyes open, Orrin was relieved when they were dismissed.
"Orrin," Elder Julien called as he was almost to the door, "Would you like to attempt the cymbals again?"
"Sure," Orrin shrugged.
He walked towards the corner where the shining brass circles were kept, picking them up and holding them loosely in his hands. He sucked in a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was sure would be yet another dissappointment.
Smashing the two plates together was oddly relieving, but he didn't feel waves of his frustration ebb away as it should have. Once again, he had failed to connect to the instrument.
He exhaled the breath he had been holding as he put the cymbals back in their place and walked up to Elder Julien's desk, glaring daggers at the ground.
"Orrin," The Elder began with a heavy sigh, his muddy eyes peering overtop of his rectangular spectacles, "I think...I think you may not be able to be specialized."
After watching number after number fly by on the gold-plated and glass doors, he slowed to a stop in front of a smooth glass one. Just as his luck would have it, there stood Elder Micah, glaring at him through the unbreakable two-inch panel.
"Late again, Mr. Orrin," he said as he held the door open for Orrin to pass through. He was sure to get a lecture later on the importance of punctuality (Orrin knew all of Elder Micah's speeches and rants by heart, and often times mouthed the words when the old man had his back turned.) He headed over to his seat, head down so that his shaggy black hair hid most of his face.
"You know, if you're late one more time Elder Micah will send you off to be a string maker, and you won't even get a chance to be fully specialized," whispered his best friend Piper, her harsh brown eyes emphasizing her point.
He nodded to her before turning back around to face his teacher, who was off on a tangent explaining the importance of the tuning fork. It wasn't like he cared whether or not he got specialized; he still had yet to find the instrument that spoke to him. Yet he didn't want to become a string maker either, the dullest job one could possibly obtain. Of course it was important, every occupation was, but definitely not interesting in the least.
When the lecture had finally come to a close and the class was dismissed, Elder Micah called Orrin up to his desk. Here came the lecture.
"Mr. Orrin, I'm afraid this is your sixth tardy this term. I'm afraid that your absence may be what is causing your inability to find your instrument."
"Elder Micah," started Orrin, "I know I haven't found my instrument yet, but please give me a little more time. Elder Julien said he'd let me try the cymbals one more time."
Elder Micah sighed.
"Very well. You are dismissed."
"Thank you, sir," replied Orrin, bobbing his head in a show of respect before scurrying out of the room and smacking into someone else.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, sorry," mumbled the person as he gathered up the sheets of music he had been carrying. The boy looked familiar, but Orrin couldn't quite remember his name. He was probably just some zoid who sat far up in the front of one of his classes.
Orrin didn't even bother trying to help the boy or to apologize, caught up in his own thoughts as he scrambled away from him and proceeded onward through the glossy corridor.
The old man had had more to say, he was sure of it. At least he had put that next particularly boring reprimand off for another time. For now he needed get to his next class or he'd be working off his tardies in the percussions room, shining the cymbals for hours on end.
He arrived outside Elder Julien's classroom just in time for him to stick his foot in the scarce space between the closing door and the doorframe, slipping in through the tiny crevice and sliding into his seat at the back of the room. Elder Julien gave him a reproachful look before turning to the class to give them their second dose of instruction for the day. Fighting to keep his eyes open, Orrin was relieved when they were dismissed.
"Orrin," Elder Julien called as he was almost to the door, "Would you like to attempt the cymbals again?"
"Sure," Orrin shrugged.
He walked towards the corner where the shining brass circles were kept, picking them up and holding them loosely in his hands. He sucked in a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was sure would be yet another dissappointment.
Smashing the two plates together was oddly relieving, but he didn't feel waves of his frustration ebb away as it should have. Once again, he had failed to connect to the instrument.
He exhaled the breath he had been holding as he put the cymbals back in their place and walked up to Elder Julien's desk, glaring daggers at the ground.
"Orrin," The Elder began with a heavy sigh, his muddy eyes peering overtop of his rectangular spectacles, "I think...I think you may not be able to be specialized."