Ok, it's a long time since I've posted anything here, and it's quite different then my usual stuff. This is written for pure timepass, though its a part of my novel. The reading is also pure timepass. Hope you all like (its somewhat long)- Oh man. Oh maaaaan. Why me? WHY me? Chemistry just seems to drag on and on. And on and on. And on and- OK, I’ll stop. I stared dimly at the teacher, who was going on and on about some type of molecular- or possibly atomic, I’m really not paying much attention- structures. My eyes saw the words form and drop from those thick lips coated generously with what could very well be an entire stick of bright red lipstick. I could hear distinct noises escaping her throat, but I wasn’t game for piecing together the sounds and deciphering the meaning of the sentence- or even word, for that matter. In quick reflex action, my hand soon covered my mouth as I let out a HUGE yawn. My white shirt stuck to my back- I could feel the droplets of sweat working their way down toward my waist, and I squirmed in displeasure. I was desperate for anything, anything that could distract me from this torturous monotony. I tried looking out of the window. BIG mistake. The heat of the parched cracked playground outside and the lethargic stillness of the trees only brought further ignition to my already gowning ennui. Curse it, curse Delhi and curse the moron who discovered chemistry. I tried, this time, to invite a diversion in the form of Aakriti, my best friend, who sits next to me. Unfortunately, this turned out to be my second bad decision of the day. Aakriti was sitting in rapt attention, cocking her ears so as to not even miss a syllable of the ceaseless lecture, and moi, I was left out in the cold (a la stifling heat) again. I moved my head sideways to see if I could get a quick glimpse of Zafir. However, some random head blocked my view of the Greek god of tenth B…even the earlobe, damnit! I further sought a route of escape. My in-built radio began working at that point: a welcome distraction. You see, in scientific terms, the constant exposure to uniform oscillations (the fancy-shmancy way of saying music in physics terms, or so I believe) encourages reverberations of a similar, though hypothetical reproduction of the original uniform oscillations in one’s brain. Layman’s terms? Hear a song; it gets stuck in your head, ergo “earworm”. In my case, as of this moment, it was ‘I write sins not tragedies” by Panic! At the Disco, a recent favorite. Gently rapping my knuckles against the firm, much marred plywood of my desk, I tried to reproduce Scott- whatever-his-name-is’s beats on the table, in near-perfect symmetry to Brenton Urie’s heavenly (though hypothetical) voice. “Closing the goddamn door…” I muttered to myself. Unfortunately, the muttering was a tad too loud. “Alia! What do you think you happen to be doing?” Oops... ! Uh…OK…stay calm... “M-Ma’am?” I squeaked. Well, so much for that plan. Damn! Zafir’s looking at me. I know it, I know it, and I can see him from the corner of my eye…! Damn…OK, OK…stay calm, Alia…don’t lose you’re cool…be unruffled, caaaaaaalm. “Sorry ma’am!” issued a high pitched screech from my lips. Ook…So something else went wrong today. Bravo! I think I saw him smirk. Oh my god. Did he smirk?? * I think he DID smirk. He smirked at me! Oh well. I guess I’ve got bigger things to worry about right now. Like how I’m going to cram in the 500 word punishment essay on the American Revolution amidst my practical lab-work, math sums and Physics numericals. Oh, and yeah, my other 1000 word English essay about the changes in the life of the common man due to man’s arrival on the moon. Tenth grade is no child’s playground, kids. “Mum-php-mum” came Aditi’s voice from beside me. “Swallow,” I instructed, “Now, converse in English please.” “Look at Zafir,” she muttered, her eyes indicating towards Mr. Perfection, hanging out with his usual group. “Gladly,” I smirked, and followed her gaze, in evident pleasure. I could hear her sigh beside me. She doesn’t understand exactly WHAT I see in good ol’ Zafir: and to be frightfully honest, nor do I. Well, apart from the fact that he’s…well, hot. And the fact that he’s tall and lean, too. And his obnox- er, confident demeanor. And…I should stop, shouldn’t I? Aki’s nudging me. I focused on what exactly Zafir was doing: something which evidently did not meet Aki’s approval. And the moment it was, apparently, his overly evident…how should I say…womanizing? Yeah, Zafir was surrounded by the queen of sluts and her royal mistresses, Anjali, Aishwaria and Samyuktha, each flocking around Zafir and vying for his attention in their own flirtatious, and frankly- in the words of Simon Cowell- appalling ways. And he was flirting triple as much as any of them- enough for each one, I guess, complete with the scarily wide and deep dimple e
Thanks a ton. The actual story isn't actuallywhat it appears to be right now, a stupid highschool teen omg thing, but it somewhat starts like that. It was the writingstyle I was focussing on, mainly- so thanks a ton for the comments!