It all started that faithful morning. There I was, blissfully ignorant, leaning back in my wooden chair, humming to the creaking of the chair's rickety legs. The mighty ol' sun was beaming out there, little rays of light spilling into the classroom. I sat basking in a shaft of light, gazing out of the window at the dreamy building next door out of repeated fashion than absent-mindedness.
The calm before the storm? Aye.
And as I sat there, mentally absent from the room in which my physical self sat chained, my soul-self cherubically waltzing down the corridors of that fascinating building, a wall away, He strode in.
The effect would have been more dramatic had he been a foot taller with a hair padded head and dark, cold eyes and black attire. No. A more anti-villian.
He came in, snivelling in his worst green and pink striped shirt and sporting his usual half bald hair-do, complete with grey tufts of squiggly hair. His grey, watery eyes scanned the room at his immobile height of five feet. A despicable sight if I ever saw one.
He began his usual lecture. Moles, Molarity, Line Spectrum, Hunn's Basic Principle. Bizzare. Everyone stared back at, with vague expressions, half-concious. Yawning, with some even drooling or catching a quick forty winks, the room was silent as a mortuary.
Then, the girl at the front bench, turned around and asked me if I had done any more comics because she wanted to keep awake or rather alive till the next class.
I obliged. A mistake I will regret for years to come.
Before I move further into the narration of my sad, morbid tale, I must hit the pause button to take a minute to explain the 'comic' bit. You see, I DRAW comics. Not store bought. Not suscribed. HAND-DRAWN. Not very good ones though. But a harmless pasttime nonetheless.
So she sat there, reading it under her table, laughing under her breath at my funnies. Then He comes to focus; a climax approaching. And you all probably can envision what happens next.
He gestured for my comics, took it with him, yelled at the girl, threatened to take her to the principal's office and then stalked out... WITH MY COMICS!
No, don't get me wrong. It's tragic that she got yelled at. It would have stayed that way hadn't she gone back to reading Archies under her table the next day without a damn.
And me. Poor ol' me. Robbed of 6 months of comics. IT WASN'T EVEN MY FAULT!
But no amount of justifying myself or appealing to reason got me back my comics. *Sob*
They're still there; trapped, scared and flummoxed at their plight, caged in a teacher's musty drawer. And I really want them back. I created them, they belong to me, they're part of the family. They got me through Year 10 and I'm not leaving them behind. I'll get them back!
Stay Strong Samurai Peas!
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