It was a nearing five in the afternoon on January. The sun then, as was common in January afternoons, was already giving off an amber hue as it was setting. Shadows grew taller and the leaves were falling outside the glass windows of the classroom. The professor stood up and cued the sound of rumbling caused by chairs being forced out from their places as the class stood up. The professor walked out the door and the class was over. People were fumbling with their papers and stacking up books in their bags, all excited for the weekend. Outside, the Friday afternoon was calling, its gentle breeze waiting to caress the skin, its promise of a good night’s sleep just like in the weekends during summer.

“Doing anything later?” the girl asked the boy.

“Maybe study,” he replied.

“Really?” the girl asked.

The boy knew what that meant. He had always suspected her of a know it all of the most irritating kind. Those kinds were hardly in short supply these days. Idiots who think they know something and only feign ignorance and unpreparedness to cover up their insecurity. Yes, this plagued the boy: only her voice could only claim to be more oppressive than her presence. He thought about it for a moment.

“Actually, no,” he laughed, “What I would really do would be to take an ice cream scooper and scoop out your eyeballs then ram the scooper down your throat until you choked, turned purple, and then fell on the floor, blinded and squirming. Then maybe I’ll study.”

She laughed and walked away.


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