The jaunty chatter of adolescents has quietened now, with
the exception of the teacher’s eager ramblings, the classroom festers in a
state of anxious taciturnity. The last lesson of the afternoon holds prisoner
those who used to be lively, young students but who now resemble only the
physique of human beings. Once electric teenagers now reduced to quiet shells
of humans lacking any characteristics of living creatures.
Deep sighs of displeasure escape the mouths of the students,
they radiate so strongly of angst that it is almost tangible. It seems to them
that with every tick of the clock, their stitches in collars tighten and they
lose a moment of what could have been freedom. Here they are, on the cusp of
another reckless weekend, being forced to scrawl endlessly as if they cared at
all for the educator’s monologue.
Her words blend so effortlessly into the scuffles of shoes
and scratching of pens. The sentences of the teacher, that would have been
fairly easily understood an hour ago, are now cryptic. It is the last lesson of
the afternoon during which nail beds are far too intriguing and easily
overpower the students’ weak will to learn and work on menial class activities.
Attempts to concentrate are futile.
If you look closely, you will find me in the sea of blue uniforms.
I sit at the back desk and watch in silence. The follies of youth are so
apparent here, I see cartoons being etched into desks and eyes wandering around
the room in a desperate attempt to escape from the drab life of a scholar.
If I am patient enough, I watch for a while the
absent-minded glare of the girl beside me. I can see her distance herself from
the room and retreat to a place of blank calm. There her thoughts rush freely
in circles, round and round and round. I see her soak up the serenity of the
daydream like a moth is attracted to flame until, like the bitter ending of the
moth’s journey, reality finally strikes her. She blinks and returns to her
scribbles, unaware of the papers the teacher has handed us so smugly.
Another girl exhales deeply, expressing her discontent. The
husky breath travels around the room and dances upon each student’s shoulder,
one by one. A sigh like that does not just wither away, during the last lesson
of the afternoon, a sigh is a messenger. It perches on every shoulder and
whispers in every ear the forlorn thoughts of its creator.
As the lesson draws on, the paint on the walls fades to a
melancholy grey and a hazy veil is dropped before my eyes. A lackadaisical mood
overwhelms me as the corners and sharp features in the room soften and the
fuzzy appearance of the world brings with it a pleasant fatigue.
The longer I stare ahead, the weaker I become. My conscience
begs me to stay and listen for a while longer, just a while. But the lethargy
is too powerful, coaxing me to give up the noble fight. Perhaps to close my
eyes just a moment…
My eyes are drooping; the dark fog closes in until only the
centre of the wall before me is visible. My head slowly sinks to rest on my
arms and nothing seems more delightful now than a moment’s rest. I have drifted
off again, as I always do in the last minute of the last lesson of the
afternoon.
