The Place
Every day, I would walk down the hallways to the farthest building of my middle school. Tucked in the darkest corner of the building is my English classroom. It is the only class I have in this section of the school building. My classmates and I usually get to our class before our English teacher does. The first thirty minutes of class was spent working on morning drills in complete silence.
I chose to sit in the middle of the classroom, away from the dry walls that had cracked painting and small mouse holes. The floating dust-particles made my eyes watery, tired, and irritated. The classroom was not completely dark. The window-blinds were nearly shut, letting some light shine down to the foot-printed floors.
Once, my classmate turned on the classroom lights, and the classroom suddenly looked mustard yellow. It was difficult for me to read the brown pages of my English books under the yellow light. When the teacher came into the classroom, she turned off the lights, and the classroom was back to its dark and eerie look. After that instance, no one turned on the lights again.
The room also smelled sour and rotten. After students finished eating their snacks during class, they would stuff their trash in the desks, or drop them on the floor. The various smells of junk-food and the sour and rotten smell of the classroom made me turn green.
To break the silence, a mouse squeaks while skirmishing through everyone's feet.
Then, the teacher enters the classroom, and turns on the projector. The yellow light from the projector illuminates her wrinkly face. Without the projector lights, her face looks pale and dead, like a zombie. She speaks in a loud, dry voice.
This is the only English class I hated. My previous English teachers in the sixth grade and the seventh grade were cheerful and nice. Even my previous English classrooms were not as smelly and awful. If only I had the option to choose who my eighth grade English teacher, I would have not spent an entire year in that dreadful classroom.