The Lesson
Most people perceive Mondays as awful; perhaps dub it "Mundane Monday" or "Mournday". Not for me, it isn't. Monday to me is like walking through a bed of nails; Friday walking through shattered glass while the devil straddles you as he prods you and sets you ablaze.
Frankly, Fridays felt fantastic for me, predicaments with them only belonged to specific Fridays . Fridays where I attend school. Fridays where I attend French. Fridays where I attend Mr Beaumont's class. Fridays like this one.
My eyes shot open to the stampede galloping in my heart; beads of perspiration trickling down the contours of my face contributed to my already saturated pajamas. “Another pre-Friday nightmare”, I brooded.
I squirmed out of bed and headed straight …show more content…
I used to despise Mrs Lebowski’s Biology class, most renowned for classes so tedious watching paint dry felt like riding a roller coaster. However, these days I wish that the chronostasis I felt looking at the clock was real – that time had stopped. Anything to avoid Mr Beaumont’s disciplining.
RIINNGG .
Throngs of heads arose simultaneously in a concomitant manner and rushed out the door in a tumult to screeches of chairs. Perturbed, I was in no hurry and dragged my slumped figure across the hallway to Mr Beaumont’s class where I opted for the seat concealed and furthest from the monster’s line of vision.
Beaumont strutted in carrying a stack of graded test papers. In his pompous French accent, he called students one by one to return their paper. Fantastic. I couldn’t avoid him.
“August Trail, do you have a problem? Your grades have dropped recently”, Beaumont inquired, his moustache mere inches from my nose. God, did his breath stink. I shrugged.
“Meet me after class.”
My heart froze. It was inevitable. Once class had ended, he’d punish me. And he did.
“August darling,” he cooed, stroking my cheek once class ended,“is it your parents again this time,
Most people perceive Mondays as awful; perhaps dub it "Mundane Monday" or "Mournday". Not for me, it isn't. Monday to me is like walking through a bed of nails; Friday walking through shattered glass while the devil straddles you as he prods you and sets you ablaze.
Frankly, Fridays felt fantastic for me, predicaments with them only belonged to specific Fridays . Fridays where I attend school. Fridays where I attend French. Fridays where I attend Mr Beaumont's class. Fridays like this one.
My eyes shot open to the stampede galloping in my heart; beads of perspiration trickling down the contours of my face contributed to my already saturated pajamas. “Another pre-Friday nightmare”, I brooded.
I squirmed out of bed and headed straight …show more content…
I used to despise Mrs Lebowski’s Biology class, most renowned for classes so tedious watching paint dry felt like riding a roller coaster. However, these days I wish that the chronostasis I felt looking at the clock was real – that time had stopped. Anything to avoid Mr Beaumont’s disciplining.
RIINNGG .
Throngs of heads arose simultaneously in a concomitant manner and rushed out the door in a tumult to screeches of chairs. Perturbed, I was in no hurry and dragged my slumped figure across the hallway to Mr Beaumont’s class where I opted for the seat concealed and furthest from the monster’s line of vision.
Beaumont strutted in carrying a stack of graded test papers. In his pompous French accent, he called students one by one to return their paper. Fantastic. I couldn’t avoid him.
“August Trail, do you have a problem? Your grades have dropped recently”, Beaumont inquired, his moustache mere inches from my nose. God, did his breath stink. I shrugged.
“Meet me after class.”
My heart froze. It was inevitable. Once class had ended, he’d punish me. And he did.
“August darling,” he cooed, stroking my cheek once class ended,“is it your parents again this time,