The Student
By: The Bitter One
Weighed
down by misery and looking at the grey sky our hero trudges towards home to
consume the same meal that he has eaten for the last three days.
The
muscles exhausted from sleep deprivation and fingers filthy from the ash and
soot he joins the group of dreary looking students. Their shoulders are hanging
low, deeply hidden in their high collars and with grave pace they move their
cold feet, while leaving a deep trace of greyish wet snow behind.
Covered
in a cloud of steam, the school spews the students out, who, after having
served the school, will come back the next day to fulfill their mechanical
duties once more.
Irritated
and contemptuous grumbles could be heard among the students as they turned
their head away from the last bell that indicated their temporary freedom.
The day
has ended and the sun is slowly setting. The irritated grumbles turn into warm
fiddle-faddle.
The
classroom has sucked all energy out of our students and with apple-red cheeks
their teeth are dripping with saliva, ready to attack the few pieces of bread
their family can offer.
After
many years of intense labor, most students have peace with the fact that there
is no denying in the grave suppression they all have to undergo and that every step
they take to end the day, is a step closer to their grave.
This is
also true for our hero, for years of labor have robbed him from his appetite
and his desire to drink warm wine.
Other
days, when school has ended, the students speak to each other in a serious
manner.
Never
deviating from the grades and that which manifested itself the closest in their
existence: the physical labor that has to be done to the fat-stomached
schoolchiefs.
Rarely
does a smile break through their monotone mannerism of speech and when this
does happen on an unusual day, the aggression is compensated at home towards
the younger sibling or parent who dare to ask them how their day was.
And
after having lived like this for sixty-five years, they all die, knowing that
they themselves have contributed the most out of all students to society.
So too
would our hero have lived, as the most loyal worker of all.
He is
the most handsome, the strongest and the most intelligent, but also impatient
and rude towards any form of authority.
It so
happened one day, that he comes across a very moody fellow student who makes a
vile remark regarding his clothing.
Severe
and disrespectful as he is, our hero responds the surly looking young lady.
Her piercing
dark eyes look tired and she turns away from the nasty comeback our hero makes.
However,
something is still bothering him, for he has noticed that there was some truth
to her words.
There is
indeed something wrong with the way he is dressed.
And you
see, he tells himself, it’s not only me who is dressed this way, it is also the
fellow student who made the moody remark and the students walking across the
hallway.
She is
right, he claims, indeed we are all dressed horribly.
Horribly
the same.
And he
notices the students, hungry like wolves, ready to revolt against the regime. Hungrily
and impatient to feast on the corpses of their to be former schoolchiefs.
From
that moment on, our hero knows what he is ought to do.
Burning
with flames of desire, he makes a way through the thick layer of ash-grey know
and as he throws his arms into the sky he exclaims:
‘’Comrades...!’’
he has just begun his sentence or a big crowd of students gather around our
hero.
He looks
at them in aw not knowing what to expect next.
And with
grave disappointment he witnesses the most shallow act imaginable at that time
and moment when they take out their mobile cellphones to film the spectacle.
Our hero
feels at that exact moment all hope melt away and he lowers his arms in
sadness.
His
shoulders are hanging low, deeply hidden in his high collar and with grave pace
he moves his cold feet, while leaving a deep trace of greyish wet snow behind.
