School; a hell within a hell, burning with demons that are more commonly known as teachers - educators - this is what was written on Ephram Brown's composition notebook. Ephram sat, staring blankly at the chalkboard directly in front of him; ebony blackness seeped into his soul. To an observer, one would say he was but one of many cows in the midst of cattle, not paying attention to the teacher's monotonous lecture; he was a teenager, so therefore he cared about nothing, but television, appalling music, and sex - to an observer.
As if the sea parted, a knock on the door sent all twenty-five heads of the students, staring at the door in wonder. Moments passed leisurely, and Ephram could see each movement as if he had pushed the slow motion button on a remote. The body that strolled in first was an ordinary vision - what followed strictly was outlandish - quite purely - odd.
She was short, endearingly petite - scarcely five foot one, adourned with a perverted shade of ruby red hair - wild, and untamed. For, what existed as two, emerald green eyes with sienna specks, which danced within the colour. So, it was her orbs that drew the most attention - the scowl that graced her countenance fit flawlessly together. Ephram's thoughts lingered on her pallid skin; flesh which would rival the moon's blush.
Fiercely, did she glower at her shoes, never looking up, she was waiting - waiting for the teacher to break the silence and tell her that it was safe to look up - look up and unearth a seat. The towering figure that had led her in to the gallows: departed quickly, as though he had something more thrilling to do.
Then, the administratour stood, he was not any more happier at her arrival than she apparently was. The full classroom now stood - unaided - with twenty-six students, ages sixteen to eighteen - with a middle-aged male teacher.
"Here is another student," he announced.
Somehow Ephram believed that the teacher's gaze connected directly onto him - he had been the last new student - was it not him that made his "small" class larger in the first place? He rolled his eyes toward the teacher, wishing that there was a way to feign spondylitis. The educator popped in a compact disc - it had become a second nature - a monotonous voice waved its way through the off-white classroom.
While the timid girl toddled through one of the rows, making her way to the table in the back. The brown, dingy table called to her - perhaps because it reminded her of herself - alone - unkempt - petrified. Suddenly, the teacher stopped the disc; a bemused, almost child-like glee entered his façade. The girl made the table her own, and just as her head was about to hit the top - the monotonous tone broke through her thoughts of serenity . . .
"Marie, is it? Where is it that you . . ."
"Ireland," she cut him off.
The student bodies turned, including Ephram - never had they heard such a voice - cavernous, yet not masculine, and then there was the accent - pure Irish. Of course there were movies and television where the drawl had been perceived, but not in the flesh. The teacher was now staring at her intently, a cat that plays with his prey - Marie glared from beneath her hair, as well as eyelashes. Briefly, she glanced over at Ephram, their orbs met - she was the first to avert her gaze - he was just another boy who wanted to see the scene that was taking place.
"Well, this is an English class, but perhaps that makes you feel uncomfortable?"
What arrogance, she thought, and then regretted having such an ill reflection. Marie had wanted to fit in - perhaps not fit in, but to be thought upon as a kind person. This lecturer, suddenly had the inclination to start a fight with her - the reason unknown to herself - she wished that she could become one with the table - translucent. She had to answer, in her mind; it was the polite thing to do.
"No, sir. English - the tangible class itself does not make me uncomfortable - only Englishmen,"
Laughter - tittering filled the room - the haughty man let out a noise of telling to be quiet,
but not in a so gracious manner. He leaned back in his reclining-swivel chair, making himself seem as
cool and collected as he possibly could - Ephram could detect from his posture that in fact, the girl
had unnerved him.
"Oh," he drawled, insane with a sneer, "it just so happens, Ms. Marie Bailey, that my Mother and
Father were English, and so were my ancestors. Do you find me offensive?"
Marie released a hushed aggravated breath - she did not know she was capable of such contempt.
She all ready had herself in his bad graces - the first class of the day - her primary day of school,
and she had made an enemy. She did not hate the English, most Irish tolerated them - but still the
jokes were amusing - every culture had another that they made fun of - good-humoredly. For, he had
made himself her nemesis, why not go the entire nine yards?
"For the most part, we Irish bear the English. Though after eight hundred years of suppression,
rape, pillaging, and thievery - I say let bygones be bygones. For, what is offending me is your
sardonic grin that is screaming your infuriating bigheadedness,"
Ephram was the first to laugh; he was the only one who understood every intelligent word she
had uttered. The others used context clue to get the meaning, then they realized that it was an insult
- sarcastic in nature, and she was dubbed smart from there forth. In turn, it took a moment that stretched
as sluggishly as possible, for the teacher to comprehend what she had said. Never had he had a student use
those terms of verbiage to him - never.
"Oh," he conceded.
Class resumed - the audio reading continued - the lecturer would pretend that it did not
happen. In truth he was embarrassed. Firstly, he had tried to make her appear the fool, simply
out of boredom, and secondly he did not have a quip to return. He deducted that since he was an
English teacher, a teacher of words, verses, and prose - he should have been able to counter without
a moment's hesitation. Unfortunately for him, too long had it been since a student possessed a
vocabulary equal to, or beyond his.
The bell cut through half an hour of silence, bodies tensed - trained from an early age to
move and go to the next class. Marie pulled her yellow legal pad off the table and delicately placed
it inside her black bag - she swung it over her shoulder. Consequently as she swept passed Ephram, he
dropped the contents of his bag.
A few pens and pencils were the first to feel Ephram Brown's wrath that day, but insignificant
papers and a textbook felt Marie's gentle touch. She grasped them firmly with her pallid hands - he
peered up from his desk and he was awe struck at how the grey mourning light outlined her diminutive
form. Momentarily, he did not take the book and papers she was offering him, shaking the inanimate
objects - Ephram shook his head and grabbed them from her.
"Ms. Bailey, can I please see you for a moment?"
Both teenagers glanced at the teacher - from uneasy frowns between them, Marie gave him a
lop-sided smile - her trademark. Ephram had to grin - she was endearing - so much different from
the shadowy girls he had known in New York, but not like the small-time girls in Everwood, either.
The deliberation came to him that she was both. She smiled grimly, and walked toward the inquirer,
leaving Ephram to gather the notebooks that had flew across the room.
"Marie, I'm terribly sorry for being such a - such a . . . "
"Egotistical bastard?"
Ephram snickered, hiding it relatively well. The teacher's face filled with astonishment -
even Marie was amazed that she had let that slip, her hand was clamped over her mouth. Ephram stared
at her, openly - not caring whether she caught him - he adored her timid blushing. His astonishment,
the lecturer found was not turning to anger, but enjoyment. Perhaps his love of teaching had gone with
the depletion of interested students. She would humour him because it seemed as if his contempt was not
just for a few bodies: of the entire world.
"Well, yes," the teacher laughed whole-heartedly, "I apologize."
Marie smiled and swept out of the door. The scent of vanilla followed intensely - the motion
of her actual walking created an air that forced the smell to Ephram's nose. Shoving the rest of the
scattered contents carelessly now, he rushed out the door. By this time most of the students had cleared
the hall, they were as drones - trained seals that fled because of the dreadful siren.
He saw her plainly - his attention was drawn directly to her form. Turning his almost
frantic outlook to a brisk walk to catch up with her quick pace, he took the time to take in her
attire. A simple black, over-sized sweater, and dark blue jeans - neither revealing, nor overly
baggy, was what she wore. As Ephram neared her, the scent of sweet, addictive vanilla roughly made
him hesitate. His mind shrieking with resentment to his heart, he tapped her shoulder.
She cowered, nervously - turning, Marie grinned as she was forced to look up at the towering
statue. It was courteousness that made Ephram chase after her - at least that is what he told himself.
He had to thank her, did he not? Was it not the right thing - the correct thing to do?
"I never got the chance to say thanks,"
Marie tilted her head; she knew she must have appeared as a dog that has been befuddled,
but his mysteriousness made her glance down. She could not bear to look him the eye - what she
had done had been idiotic on her part, she figured. Someone like him could never befriend a shy,
unattractive girl - her mindset was that on the line of girls made, she got the mold that was tossed
aside, or that had been trampled on.
"Yeah . . . " she trailed off.
Ephram could not understand it - she had been so valourous when speaking up to an administrator that
resembled a jackass. He considered the lament, that she thought - knew that his ignorance and unadorned
futility was unsurpassed by all the students in that English class. Inaudibly, she was intelligent, even
her posture spoke of muffled cleverness. But, most of all he wanted to hear words, which spoke for themselves,
enwrapped together with her accent.
"What class do you have next - I can show you if you don't know where it is,"
"Well, actually," Marie looked up and saw truthful eyes - treacherous - but they would never
lie to her, "I would enjoy that a great deal."
So, it was then that Marie met her first friend - subsequently, the first person
that had showed her kindness. Even her Father was peeved at having to move - fleeing would
most likely describe what it was that they were doing, though. Ephram waved good-bye as
Marie slipped in through the door - he offered a lop-sided grin, which gave incentive to
feel at ease - tranquility.
As if the sea parted, a knock on the door sent all twenty-five heads of the students, staring at the door in wonder. Moments passed leisurely, and Ephram could see each movement as if he had pushed the slow motion button on a remote. The body that strolled in first was an ordinary vision - what followed strictly was outlandish - quite purely - odd.
She was short, endearingly petite - scarcely five foot one, adourned with a perverted shade of ruby red hair - wild, and untamed. For, what existed as two, emerald green eyes with sienna specks, which danced within the colour. So, it was her orbs that drew the most attention - the scowl that graced her countenance fit flawlessly together. Ephram's thoughts lingered on her pallid skin; flesh which would rival the moon's blush.
Fiercely, did she glower at her shoes, never looking up, she was waiting - waiting for the teacher to break the silence and tell her that it was safe to look up - look up and unearth a seat. The towering figure that had led her in to the gallows: departed quickly, as though he had something more thrilling to do.
Then, the administratour stood, he was not any more happier at her arrival than she apparently was. The full classroom now stood - unaided - with twenty-six students, ages sixteen to eighteen - with a middle-aged male teacher.
"Here is another student," he announced.
Somehow Ephram believed that the teacher's gaze connected directly onto him - he had been the last new student - was it not him that made his "small" class larger in the first place? He rolled his eyes toward the teacher, wishing that there was a way to feign spondylitis. The educator popped in a compact disc - it had become a second nature - a monotonous voice waved its way through the off-white classroom.
While the timid girl toddled through one of the rows, making her way to the table in the back. The brown, dingy table called to her - perhaps because it reminded her of herself - alone - unkempt - petrified. Suddenly, the teacher stopped the disc; a bemused, almost child-like glee entered his façade. The girl made the table her own, and just as her head was about to hit the top - the monotonous tone broke through her thoughts of serenity . . .
"Marie, is it? Where is it that you . . ."
"Ireland," she cut him off.
The student bodies turned, including Ephram - never had they heard such a voice - cavernous, yet not masculine, and then there was the accent - pure Irish. Of course there were movies and television where the drawl had been perceived, but not in the flesh. The teacher was now staring at her intently, a cat that plays with his prey - Marie glared from beneath her hair, as well as eyelashes. Briefly, she glanced over at Ephram, their orbs met - she was the first to avert her gaze - he was just another boy who wanted to see the scene that was taking place.
"Well, this is an English class, but perhaps that makes you feel uncomfortable?"
What arrogance, she thought, and then regretted having such an ill reflection. Marie had wanted to fit in - perhaps not fit in, but to be thought upon as a kind person. This lecturer, suddenly had the inclination to start a fight with her - the reason unknown to herself - she wished that she could become one with the table - translucent. She had to answer, in her mind; it was the polite thing to do.
"No, sir. English - the tangible class itself does not make me uncomfortable - only Englishmen,"
Laughter - tittering filled the room - the haughty man let out a noise of telling to be quiet,
but not in a so gracious manner. He leaned back in his reclining-swivel chair, making himself seem as
cool and collected as he possibly could - Ephram could detect from his posture that in fact, the girl
had unnerved him.
"Oh," he drawled, insane with a sneer, "it just so happens, Ms. Marie Bailey, that my Mother and
Father were English, and so were my ancestors. Do you find me offensive?"
Marie released a hushed aggravated breath - she did not know she was capable of such contempt.
She all ready had herself in his bad graces - the first class of the day - her primary day of school,
and she had made an enemy. She did not hate the English, most Irish tolerated them - but still the
jokes were amusing - every culture had another that they made fun of - good-humoredly. For, he had
made himself her nemesis, why not go the entire nine yards?
"For the most part, we Irish bear the English. Though after eight hundred years of suppression,
rape, pillaging, and thievery - I say let bygones be bygones. For, what is offending me is your
sardonic grin that is screaming your infuriating bigheadedness,"
Ephram was the first to laugh; he was the only one who understood every intelligent word she
had uttered. The others used context clue to get the meaning, then they realized that it was an insult
- sarcastic in nature, and she was dubbed smart from there forth. In turn, it took a moment that stretched
as sluggishly as possible, for the teacher to comprehend what she had said. Never had he had a student use
those terms of verbiage to him - never.
"Oh," he conceded.
Class resumed - the audio reading continued - the lecturer would pretend that it did not
happen. In truth he was embarrassed. Firstly, he had tried to make her appear the fool, simply
out of boredom, and secondly he did not have a quip to return. He deducted that since he was an
English teacher, a teacher of words, verses, and prose - he should have been able to counter without
a moment's hesitation. Unfortunately for him, too long had it been since a student possessed a
vocabulary equal to, or beyond his.
The bell cut through half an hour of silence, bodies tensed - trained from an early age to
move and go to the next class. Marie pulled her yellow legal pad off the table and delicately placed
it inside her black bag - she swung it over her shoulder. Consequently as she swept passed Ephram, he
dropped the contents of his bag.
A few pens and pencils were the first to feel Ephram Brown's wrath that day, but insignificant
papers and a textbook felt Marie's gentle touch. She grasped them firmly with her pallid hands - he
peered up from his desk and he was awe struck at how the grey mourning light outlined her diminutive
form. Momentarily, he did not take the book and papers she was offering him, shaking the inanimate
objects - Ephram shook his head and grabbed them from her.
"Ms. Bailey, can I please see you for a moment?"
Both teenagers glanced at the teacher - from uneasy frowns between them, Marie gave him a
lop-sided smile - her trademark. Ephram had to grin - she was endearing - so much different from
the shadowy girls he had known in New York, but not like the small-time girls in Everwood, either.
The deliberation came to him that she was both. She smiled grimly, and walked toward the inquirer,
leaving Ephram to gather the notebooks that had flew across the room.
"Marie, I'm terribly sorry for being such a - such a . . . "
"Egotistical bastard?"
Ephram snickered, hiding it relatively well. The teacher's face filled with astonishment -
even Marie was amazed that she had let that slip, her hand was clamped over her mouth. Ephram stared
at her, openly - not caring whether she caught him - he adored her timid blushing. His astonishment,
the lecturer found was not turning to anger, but enjoyment. Perhaps his love of teaching had gone with
the depletion of interested students. She would humour him because it seemed as if his contempt was not
just for a few bodies: of the entire world.
"Well, yes," the teacher laughed whole-heartedly, "I apologize."
Marie smiled and swept out of the door. The scent of vanilla followed intensely - the motion
of her actual walking created an air that forced the smell to Ephram's nose. Shoving the rest of the
scattered contents carelessly now, he rushed out the door. By this time most of the students had cleared
the hall, they were as drones - trained seals that fled because of the dreadful siren.
He saw her plainly - his attention was drawn directly to her form. Turning his almost
frantic outlook to a brisk walk to catch up with her quick pace, he took the time to take in her
attire. A simple black, over-sized sweater, and dark blue jeans - neither revealing, nor overly
baggy, was what she wore. As Ephram neared her, the scent of sweet, addictive vanilla roughly made
him hesitate. His mind shrieking with resentment to his heart, he tapped her shoulder.
She cowered, nervously - turning, Marie grinned as she was forced to look up at the towering
statue. It was courteousness that made Ephram chase after her - at least that is what he told himself.
He had to thank her, did he not? Was it not the right thing - the correct thing to do?
"I never got the chance to say thanks,"
Marie tilted her head; she knew she must have appeared as a dog that has been befuddled,
but his mysteriousness made her glance down. She could not bear to look him the eye - what she
had done had been idiotic on her part, she figured. Someone like him could never befriend a shy,
unattractive girl - her mindset was that on the line of girls made, she got the mold that was tossed
aside, or that had been trampled on.
"Yeah . . . " she trailed off.
Ephram could not understand it - she had been so valourous when speaking up to an administrator that
resembled a jackass. He considered the lament, that she thought - knew that his ignorance and unadorned
futility was unsurpassed by all the students in that English class. Inaudibly, she was intelligent, even
her posture spoke of muffled cleverness. But, most of all he wanted to hear words, which spoke for themselves,
enwrapped together with her accent.
"What class do you have next - I can show you if you don't know where it is,"
"Well, actually," Marie looked up and saw truthful eyes - treacherous - but they would never
lie to her, "I would enjoy that a great deal."
So, it was then that Marie met her first friend - subsequently, the first person
that had showed her kindness. Even her Father was peeved at having to move - fleeing would
most likely describe what it was that they were doing, though. Ephram waved good-bye as
Marie slipped in through the door - he offered a lop-sided grin, which gave incentive to
feel at ease - tranquility.