Syllogisms (Working title, a
work in progress)
A brilliant whirling zephyr of young
females burs out of the rickety door, scattering the seeds and leaves
with each gust of feet pounding onto the ground in turbulent motion.
The jilting storm swirls in cyclonic rushes, showing the full
destructive nature of it's fierce winds. The feisty breeze shows
little indication of calm, if any at all. The storm ensues, traveling
all around the buildings, soon tearing apart the innocent pupils with
each hard breeze of gossip and each strong wind of heightened
emotion. No one is safe. The boys watch in futility. The storm cannot
be stopped once set in motion. They may only watch timidly as the
ongoing zephyr traverse the once scenic and peaceful walkways of the
learning institution. The young males, strangely, are more silent
than the gender counterparts. The rough tough reprimands has
succeeded in silencing their sneers and volatile vicious violence. It
seems that the lions of the jungles that are the wild fields of
soccer and rugby and the tough habitat of the basketball courts have
been caged. Their ferocious primal roars have been worn down into
meek, measly screams comparable to that of punitive mice, and their
once strong gestures of muscular strength are nothing but low
shoulders and heads being dropped straight to the ground in shame.
All with their asses in the air.
The boys eyes glittered with
restrained, held back tears, and watered at the prospect of being
detained in fear. They crawl, now released from their cage. Their
golden mane has faded into a dirty brown and slowly molts away. Each
strands fall and dissipates in the tall thatch like grass of the
rough and rugged floor of hot savannah that is the classroom. Their
sharp fangs and acute canines, once sharpened so crisp and distinct
are now shattered; their empty gums barely able cut through the air
they breathe. The trail of wilted mane and broken teeth is soon blown
away by the wind of passing feet and laughter. The news of the boys'
defeat has spread with the same gusts that once blew on their
shoulders and gave them encouragement. Only one boy remains in the
classroom free of shame. Only he remains in the classroom. His bags
are heavy, his arms are small. His mane is short, his teeth are
smooth. His eyes are bleek , his legs thin.
He gives a gesture of thanks to the
teacher, and walks out into the dreary sun. It's bright misery shines
upon him. The melancholic rays tingle his skin. He looks up expecting
a smile. He receive no such wretchedness, and continues to walk, for
the day holds more for him than the annoyances of the sun.
