Me Trying to Write I

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.