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hello61real · 2 months ago

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Writing for my English assessment

Sol 3 15:15

The adolescent denizens wear blue uniforms, infantilizing them and undermining their maturity. Then again, I saw some seniors - bearded ones - playing a juvenile game of tag, so it’s possibly on par. Maybe that’s why the most well kept aspect of the school are the metal palisades, though, even that paints the wrong imagery. The palisades are the colors of space, with stars being droppings from a bird’s cloaca. The palisades arbitrarily alternate between diamond tilings and barbaric protrusions of steel. I suspect the only thing keeping the structure's integrity is the orange corrosion holding the metal, like invisible guards giving tetanus to anyone (student and staff) who wants to escape.

The siren may be the only sense of authority that has expressed the capability to teach. It’s obeyed instead of rebuked. Some denizens lay their heads down, the smarter ones stare at the clock, while the impatient fiddle with their fingers contorting their faces to calculate how long until the siren goes. When it does, Pavlov jumps in his grave as he sees the masses reflexively packing their bags echoing the same line: “I’ll do it tomorrow.” Upright with the freedom that an empty bag carries, the adolescent denizens slouch bleary eyed as they radiate towards the school canteen. By this time, a beautiful phenomenon occurs where the cattle form a sea, with heads bobbing like buoys.

The herd push, shove and duck under the metal beams that kindly suggest a straight line. At the centre, a woman with scarred hands gives them all sustenance. The adolescents feed themselves and others in a variety of ways, though none with the utensils provided. While some opt to drag the spaghetti with their digits - their orifice facing to the sun as the noodle descends into their throats - some pairs of adolescents assist each other by throwing the food into each other’s mouths.

Energized, the adolescents engage in play. The males grip their hands together, as they contract and strain, spitting as they cuss their opponents. A victory is decided by whose hand touches the rustic elevation first, by which point the surrounding crowd rejoices as one redistributes gold and silver circles from the audience. The females on the other hand participate in long breathless conversations. Accents and codewords for the opposite sex exchanged like notes in a test. As a denizen walks past they would change into cupped hands and hushed whispers, dragging their eyes with the adults gait until they are too far to hear.

It was at this point, around 12:10 an intriguing specimen engaged in a riveting discussion with me. It was a female, with brown eyes and dark skin. Her hair resembled that sour rainbow twists. Comical. We engaged in mundane “small talk.” She welcomed me to ‘her’ school, and I told her my name. She asked what I thought of the teachers and on and on and on. Until she asked me.. Nevermind.

End Log

Dear Diary

New kid is so cute and funny. I finally got around to him after eating my spaghetti bolognese. Anyways. His name is Li, and his real name is Xinqiun Li. Apparently it’s a sign of respect to address someone by their last name. He made that abundantly clear. When I asked him what he wanted to be, I nodded along and pretended my smile was polite, instead of one that’s trying not to burst out laughing. He’s quite small to be demanding respect. He’s also quite small in respect to his ambitions. Ambition. It’s only one.

He “just” wants to be an astronaut and “leave this town.” That’s what Newman does to you I guess. Just a weekend in and already you want to strap yourself to a missile and flip everyone off, he’ll get around eventually!

I don’t doubt that he’ll qualify for it. He told me he’s already learnt Russian… ‘cuz that’s a requirement apparently. He’s also really smart. Apparently the only words he knew before coming to school were “Hi,” “food,” and “help, there's a bear chasing me.” Even though he stumbles over words and leaves his sentences… . . . like that, it’s still pretty impressive.

I told him about mine soon after. The look on his face looked like I just sent him back to his country, but whatever - does he know this is how conversations work? He said that I was out of my mind! As if him being an astronaut was easier. Being a good teacher is so important, and I feel like this school could really use someone like me! It’s Newman after all. It’s a place to make yours. The bathrooms aren’t just bathrooms, it’s where John cuts hair for pocket money. The tables aren’t just wonky pieces of metal, but where Abel hosts the weekly Arm Wrestle Tournament. And the math classroom! It’s where Shae and Porti started dating through passed notes! Ms Bourgy was not happy to see that.

The point I’m trying to make is that calling Newman “just a small town” is stupid. It’s like trying to ignore six thousand people. There’s a lot to be said and done around here. And. I, Georgia Hampton, don’t care if I raise the next lawyers, doctors or engineers (though that would be nice!) only to help the next kids find who they are. Because in Newman, who you are isn’t something you’re born knowing. It’s something you find between the rusted fences and busted vending machines, in the hallways that smell like disinfectant and teenage sweat, in the friends who share their lunch when you forget yours, and the teachers who remember your name even when you’re too shy to raise your hand.

And if I can help just one kid figure out who they want to be - whether that’s an astronaut or a hairdresser or just someone who’s kind - then I think that’s worth everything.

Love, Georgia 💙

It’s Exam Day

I’ve been in this place for five hundred fucking sols. I need to stop playing with my hair and start writing. The room is too small to be doing exams. Everything in this town is too small. The table isn’t big enough for my pens. My pens aren’t big enough to last the exam week. The week is too small to do all of my exams. Focus. It’s the last exam and it’s English, it’s easier than Chinese. Why did I insist on doing ATAR English instead of an ESL? Breathe. Shake the pen and write. Shoot, that’s a Chinese idiom. It doesn’t even make sense to the teacher or my parents, only me. Quickly. Rub it out. Oh my goodness it’s in ink what’s wrong with me? “Excuse me.” No Answer? “Miss?”

“What do you need?” Georgia? Don’t talk to me, you’re going to get us in trouble.

Oh no, the teacher caught us. That's it we’re both going to fail.

“Li, you don’t look so good. What’s wrong?” I need… Why can’t I speak? Open your mouth Li far out.

“I need white out Miss. I made a mistake.”

She grabs a white out and walks. Slowly. The distance has never been this big before, right? Every step reverberates like we’re in Sandy Creek. Why is it so long? Why is my time so short? I only have twenty minutes. Two ten minutes. How is she only half way? Miss, please. Hurry up. Come on. You’re nearly there. Thank you. Li, say it.

“Thank you.” Georgia, why are you smiling?

“You know you could have crossed it out right..? Here’s my water bottle, you need it more than me.”

I stare at her. Georgia Hampton.

The girl who wants to stay.

The girl who remembers names.

The girl who crossed out my loneliness without even trying.

I drink the water. It’s warm. I am too now.

It’s enough. The room is still small, but at least I’m not the only one in it. Outside, the siren rings. I don’t flinch. This time, maybe Pavlov can rest.

Thank you Georgia.

#writing #fiction #short story

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