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2005-09-08 16:56:14 ET You enter the hallways of a dormant highschool; they barely buzz with the sound of life. Little by little, the walls come alive with the stories of last year's anticipation and summer drama. Lifeless drones fall into line and march up the stairs, but at the same time, friendly rendevous unite in the mature hallways. Slowly, more and more bodies fill the gaps left by summers presence. Groups assemble in corners, and pairs roam the building. As more come, a strict, stern voice booms, "On to first period! You can't be here!" A tall man wearning a neatly tucked powder blue oxford shirt, kakhis with a perfectally placed pleat, golden hair slicked back just so with hints of honey poking out, and shoes still reigning glory on a department store shelf, reagins order over so many minds. Scattering, they squeeze through the doorways and into a classroom. She stands at the head of the room with a contemplative glare scanning the now occupied desks. She looks up, then down as if analyzing the pubescent; hormone driven; germy population that now occupies the once abandoned portals. She backs away ever so slightly and reaches her dusty; aged hands into an open desk draw and pulls out a piece of white powder chalk. "Mrs. E-I-S-E-N-B-E-R-G" the blackboard lurking above our heads reads. With a slap, the middle aged and worn woman retrives equally worn textbooks, and with a sinister glow, presents them to her students. Each body sits as still as a trained robot listening to it's master's orders. Without as much as a fidget, the sleepy minds stare ahead intent on making it through the day. As quickly as they retreated from the grasps of the ironed genious, thousands of students empty into the shallow crossroads and into another single boddied pods... |
