Writer's block is neither cool nor something to aspire to
Posted: Sun May 17, 2009 2:59 pm
I have no idea who Muto is talking to in this, or even if it is Muto doing the talking or some bizzare 'Mirror, Mirror' analogue. But it might be KS related, if only because I was trying to write the rest of the game and got stuck and BAM! This popped out.
Entitled "Classroom" because I am an uncreative fuck.
“The thing to remember about high school,” said in a tone that might have been mocking and might have merely been solicitous, “is that nothing that happens there really matters. Oh sure, we're told that 'this is the most important time of your life,' or 'you'll forge lasting friendships,' or my personal favorite 'this will prepare you for the real world' but this is actually one big lie. The sorts of people that were popular in high school are very rarely popular outside. The jocks? Used car salesmen. The nerds? Computer programmers, making tons of money but the same lack of social graces. Most of the theatre kids? Well, let's not talk about them. It's too depressing.”
“Actually, I was just—”
“Hang on, I think I'm on a roll here. I'll get back to whatever your problem is in a minute. The point I'm trying to make is that high school isn't going to get you anywhere in life. You know what a high school diploma does for you these days? It makes you manager material at that McDonald's, and even then the position will probably go to someone with a degree in the arts.”
“The theater kids?”
“Very good, yes! Ha! Theatre kids.”
“So I came here for—”
“I'm still not done. Look, here's the thing that I'm going to tell you right now, and either you'll take it to heart or you won't: the only thing that high school does for you that might be any good at all is to give you a chance to figure out what you actually care about. We throw all these subjects and topics at you, and you'll like some and hate others. The ones you like are the ones you should look into further in college. And trust me, even if you wind up like one of those theatre kids, you might actually have a shot at being happy, which is more than I can say for the ones who pick the responsible choice.”
“Are you...done?”
A sigh. Clearly, the kid is just not being reached. “Yeah, I'm done. What do you want?”
“I need a signature here from a teacher saying I was in study hall with you last period.”
“And where were you last period, hmm? Smoking in the bathrooms like the devil-may-care delinquent you are? You know I can't keep covering for you like this, right? People get suspicious, and the principal, well, we aren't exactly on speaking terms.”
“Actually, I was smoking behind the cafeteria. The workers don't care, and anyway I prefer being outside.”
“I was joking about the smoking thing, you know.”
“I wasn't.”
An silence that may be uncomfortable and may just be stretching its legs saunters into the classroom and hangs around for a while, wondering whether or not it would be polite to light a cigarette.
“You know I should be reporting you for that.”
“And you know that you don't care enough to do so. You're concerned with academics, not the day-to-day minutiae of running this place or enforcing its rules. So long as I am in your class and doing well—which I am—you could care less what I do. And besides,” Advancing now, with a dangerous smile, “you find it endearing, don't you?”
Heat under the collar now, coupled with feelings of guilt and a little bit of revulsion. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Takes all his self control to push her away, and even then there's this mocking voice in the back of his head telling him that he should just go for it. “You've got it wrong, kid. My interest in you goes beyond this classroom, it's true, but it doesn't go into the bedroom.”
“What a shame, here I hoped that I'd be able to seduce my way out of trouble.”
“Do that often, do you?” Fully recovered now, he flicks an imaginary mote of dust off of his coat. “Just don't try that in art class; you'll find yourself in over your head.”
Laughter echoes through the classroom then, she's so overcome by mirth that she has to lean on a desk for support. “You must really not think that much of me if you'd ever think I'd try that on the art teacher. We learned to stay away from pedophiles in my home.”
“And yet you try to seduce your science teacher.”
“Only because I trust in your ability to resist my charms.” The smile again, half-teasing, half-disappointed. Neither of these two would ever dare move past the casual friendship that has, against all logic, sprung up between them. Moral questions aside, it would feel like fucking his sister—or daughter, if he had a daughter. Still, there are days...but everybody has days like that. He hopes.
Best to change the subject. “So I'm curious,” again delivered in an ambiguous tone, “Why do you keep that speech affectation around everyone else? Why am I the only person you seem to talk to in a normal tone of voice?”
“Ah, but what if this is an affectation, and I talk to everyone except you in a normal voice? I could be putting on an act just for you.” Delivered with a lilt at the end, almost reminiscent of her usual speaking tone.
A hand rubs at a chin in desperate need of a shave. “I doubt it. And you're dodging the question anyway. Why the affectation?”
Hand on chest, the other arm making a sweeping, dramatic motion. “'All the world's a stage, and all the men merely players,' right?” Smiling wryly now. “I just happened to take it literally.”
“Quoting literature now? Why can't you pay close attention in my class?”
“Because your class is not as interesting.” A harsh statement, but for her it was the truth. Formulae and the like flew over her head and failed to keep her interest at all.
“Uninteresting to you, maybe. I'll have you know that some students find my class fascinating.” Delivered in the tone of someone trying to decide whether or not he's going to get offended. “This is, of course, exactly what I was talking about. You've figured out that science isn't your thing—probably because you're terrible at it—and so you've moved on to something else. Though with the amount of essay-writing that studying literature entails, I would have thought you'd be less than inclined to do it. I mean your penmanship is atrocious.” A joke, and a bad one at that, but he had to do something to come back from the insult to his class.
“No worries, that's what computers are for.” She grins, seeming to have allowed the comment to pass. “'course, I'll need to work on my typing speed, too...” Flexing her fingers, wiggling them experimentally in a manner that could be mistaken for either an adorable fidget or for testing one's grip on a knife.
“Hmm, I'm sure you will.” He's run out of things to say now, and he's got a class soon, so he sits down at his desk to write the note. “Here's your note. Now get moving, I've got papers to grade.”
“Thanks.” She skips forward and places a quick peck on his cheek. “Yeesh. You need to shave.”
“Hm. I'll take it into consideration.” Touched by this unusual display of both affection and gratitude, he forgets to keep the world-weary expression on his face and smiles warmly at his student. “See you in class tomorrow morning, got it? And no more of this skipping classes business, at least not for a while. Avoid suspicion, remember?”
A mock-displeased sigh from her, a “Yeah, okay,” and a wave and she's out the door, where he can already hear her striking up a conversation with someone in the hallway; lilting, bubbly voice and all.
Entitled "Classroom" because I am an uncreative fuck.
“The thing to remember about high school,” said in a tone that might have been mocking and might have merely been solicitous, “is that nothing that happens there really matters. Oh sure, we're told that 'this is the most important time of your life,' or 'you'll forge lasting friendships,' or my personal favorite 'this will prepare you for the real world' but this is actually one big lie. The sorts of people that were popular in high school are very rarely popular outside. The jocks? Used car salesmen. The nerds? Computer programmers, making tons of money but the same lack of social graces. Most of the theatre kids? Well, let's not talk about them. It's too depressing.”
“Actually, I was just—”
“Hang on, I think I'm on a roll here. I'll get back to whatever your problem is in a minute. The point I'm trying to make is that high school isn't going to get you anywhere in life. You know what a high school diploma does for you these days? It makes you manager material at that McDonald's, and even then the position will probably go to someone with a degree in the arts.”
“The theater kids?”
“Very good, yes! Ha! Theatre kids.”
“So I came here for—”
“I'm still not done. Look, here's the thing that I'm going to tell you right now, and either you'll take it to heart or you won't: the only thing that high school does for you that might be any good at all is to give you a chance to figure out what you actually care about. We throw all these subjects and topics at you, and you'll like some and hate others. The ones you like are the ones you should look into further in college. And trust me, even if you wind up like one of those theatre kids, you might actually have a shot at being happy, which is more than I can say for the ones who pick the responsible choice.”
“Are you...done?”
A sigh. Clearly, the kid is just not being reached. “Yeah, I'm done. What do you want?”
“I need a signature here from a teacher saying I was in study hall with you last period.”
“And where were you last period, hmm? Smoking in the bathrooms like the devil-may-care delinquent you are? You know I can't keep covering for you like this, right? People get suspicious, and the principal, well, we aren't exactly on speaking terms.”
“Actually, I was smoking behind the cafeteria. The workers don't care, and anyway I prefer being outside.”
“I was joking about the smoking thing, you know.”
“I wasn't.”
An silence that may be uncomfortable and may just be stretching its legs saunters into the classroom and hangs around for a while, wondering whether or not it would be polite to light a cigarette.
“You know I should be reporting you for that.”
“And you know that you don't care enough to do so. You're concerned with academics, not the day-to-day minutiae of running this place or enforcing its rules. So long as I am in your class and doing well—which I am—you could care less what I do. And besides,” Advancing now, with a dangerous smile, “you find it endearing, don't you?”
Heat under the collar now, coupled with feelings of guilt and a little bit of revulsion. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Takes all his self control to push her away, and even then there's this mocking voice in the back of his head telling him that he should just go for it. “You've got it wrong, kid. My interest in you goes beyond this classroom, it's true, but it doesn't go into the bedroom.”
“What a shame, here I hoped that I'd be able to seduce my way out of trouble.”
“Do that often, do you?” Fully recovered now, he flicks an imaginary mote of dust off of his coat. “Just don't try that in art class; you'll find yourself in over your head.”
Laughter echoes through the classroom then, she's so overcome by mirth that she has to lean on a desk for support. “You must really not think that much of me if you'd ever think I'd try that on the art teacher. We learned to stay away from pedophiles in my home.”
“And yet you try to seduce your science teacher.”
“Only because I trust in your ability to resist my charms.” The smile again, half-teasing, half-disappointed. Neither of these two would ever dare move past the casual friendship that has, against all logic, sprung up between them. Moral questions aside, it would feel like fucking his sister—or daughter, if he had a daughter. Still, there are days...but everybody has days like that. He hopes.
Best to change the subject. “So I'm curious,” again delivered in an ambiguous tone, “Why do you keep that speech affectation around everyone else? Why am I the only person you seem to talk to in a normal tone of voice?”
“Ah, but what if this is an affectation, and I talk to everyone except you in a normal voice? I could be putting on an act just for you.” Delivered with a lilt at the end, almost reminiscent of her usual speaking tone.
A hand rubs at a chin in desperate need of a shave. “I doubt it. And you're dodging the question anyway. Why the affectation?”
Hand on chest, the other arm making a sweeping, dramatic motion. “'All the world's a stage, and all the men merely players,' right?” Smiling wryly now. “I just happened to take it literally.”
“Quoting literature now? Why can't you pay close attention in my class?”
“Because your class is not as interesting.” A harsh statement, but for her it was the truth. Formulae and the like flew over her head and failed to keep her interest at all.
“Uninteresting to you, maybe. I'll have you know that some students find my class fascinating.” Delivered in the tone of someone trying to decide whether or not he's going to get offended. “This is, of course, exactly what I was talking about. You've figured out that science isn't your thing—probably because you're terrible at it—and so you've moved on to something else. Though with the amount of essay-writing that studying literature entails, I would have thought you'd be less than inclined to do it. I mean your penmanship is atrocious.” A joke, and a bad one at that, but he had to do something to come back from the insult to his class.
“No worries, that's what computers are for.” She grins, seeming to have allowed the comment to pass. “'course, I'll need to work on my typing speed, too...” Flexing her fingers, wiggling them experimentally in a manner that could be mistaken for either an adorable fidget or for testing one's grip on a knife.
“Hmm, I'm sure you will.” He's run out of things to say now, and he's got a class soon, so he sits down at his desk to write the note. “Here's your note. Now get moving, I've got papers to grade.”
“Thanks.” She skips forward and places a quick peck on his cheek. “Yeesh. You need to shave.”
“Hm. I'll take it into consideration.” Touched by this unusual display of both affection and gratitude, he forgets to keep the world-weary expression on his face and smiles warmly at his student. “See you in class tomorrow morning, got it? And no more of this skipping classes business, at least not for a while. Avoid suspicion, remember?”
A mock-displeased sigh from her, a “Yeah, okay,” and a wave and she's out the door, where he can already hear her striking up a conversation with someone in the hallway; lilting, bubbly voice and all.
