I’ll skip telling you about my morning routine, because, I doubt you care about which brand of toothpaste I use. Okay, you sly fox, it’s Colgate. Anyways, let me proceed to the examination.
I was in my classroom taking an exam. Looking down at the test, I had absolutely no idea what the answer to any question was. Our professor, Mrs. Marks, she’s a real looker, straight blonde hair, white blouse tucked into her grey skirt, form-fitting around her lovely ass. Anyways, the whole class is full of goons, so I decided to pack up and abort.
I left the classroom without permission and went upstairs. There is a desk there in the hallway, in our dormitory. Even though my desk is rather in the way for travelers to and from the staircase, I keep it rather tidy. All my pens are on the right, because I’m right handed and despise reaching.
The reason I left the class was to quietly finish the exam. I do not like when the room is too quiet, I can’t concentrate, I just end up staring at people.
Now in private, my textbook is ignored. I open my laptop instead and hit iTunes; KiD CuDi comes on. After scanning the three-page long paper, I fill in only two answers. I decide to go downstairs.
The cafeteria is downstairs. I do not desire to eat alone in this grandiose feeding arena. I became flustered and walked into a metal obstruction. I banged my hip into it, to have a reason to limp away. I made a too-loud noise, I could feel the heat contemplating entering my face and so I made a preemptive strike. I grabbed a pre-made turkey sandwich on a Bulkie roll and hastily departed.
I walked around the green campus for a half hour, eating my sandwich. I watched the pretty girls sunbathe and the pretty boys throw objects into the air, only to catch them later. I decided to sit and watch the flowers.
I reentered the classroom, only now the class was not the same. The pretty Mrs. Marks had left, she slow strutted and sauntered away to sun bathe with the others.
We are now learning about Social Issues. It is a Sociology class. It is held in my bedroom. The class is only made up of seven kids, including myself, we all lay on my bed to learn, except the male teacher, he stands.
I’m wearing my favorite Calvin Klein black beanie atop my dome and am sprawled across the end of the bed, like a Siberian Husky. My best friend is situated to my right. The hot twins are on my left.
It was to no avail; no luck I had, he told me “Sorry man. I already passed it in.” I poked him hard in the eye with my finger. He only whimpered once, Rob is the toughest sunova bitch I know.
Due to the glorious weather, we left the bedroom bed, and took our classroom outside. It was a pleasant day, people were sunbathing.
The attractive twins remained to my left, even outside, and Rob stayed true and remained my right-hand man, blood running down his cheek.
The professor spoke, “Let’s say you are a housewife, and you have two daughters. Your husband comes home and beats your children every night, but he never hits you. Do you stay, in order to keep your family intact and whole, or do you leave with your kids, to protect them?”
I became boisterous and did not even raise my hand before shouting, “You get your kids and protect them!”
We are back in the bedroom. The class is quiet and unresponsive after my proclamation. I looked around the mattress from face to face, searching for validation of my correct answer. I received none. I dropped some more wisdom on my colleagues, “Fighting parents should divorce so the kids don’t have to see it. It’s better to be happy and separate, then together and miserable!”
A moment goes by, and one of the twins starts crying. It is the twin with the larger ass, the one who is almost as attractive as her sister. Both twins get up and leave the bedroom.
I decide to take off my hat and sprawl out on the bed, given the extra room. After my cat stretch, I notice a Vicodin has fallen out of my pants pocket, but I do not pick it up, I have to let it linger.
Instead, I snatch my backpack to remove my textbook from it; I want to finish the damn exam I’ve carried around all afternoon. Only my textbook is not there! I remember it is in the next bedroom over. I get up, place my beanie back on top my head, down low, hiding my brown locks. I leave my Vicodin tablet and the smelly mess I made on the bed with the rest of the students who remain.
I walk over to the next bedroom and hear sobbing, it is the fat assed twin. Our teacher is in the room with them, consoling. I cannot retrieve my textbook. I bang on the door with my fist and scream for them to, “Give me my book!” But they do not open up, and so I return to my classmates, defeated.
The three of them return and an explanation ensues. “We were both beaten as children, but you obviously did not know that, so there are no hard feelings,” said the pretty twin. I feel relieved.
Class resumes as normal. Our teacher asks, “What is everyone’s stance on sexual intercourse between teacher and student? Please raise your hands if you are in favor.”
The twins' hands shoot up rapidly. One by one, the other four students raise their hands, Rob Pure included. I raise mine as well.
The teacher unzips his pants and crawls into bed with us.
© Daniel N. Flanagan
Bio: Daniel N. Flanagan is a Worcester, MA native. He is the author of the short story "Daddy's Girl," published in The Commonline Journal, and fourteen poems, featured in Aberration Labyrinth, Three Line Poetry, The Camel Saloon and more. He has five stories and six poems scheduled for publication by various journals, including Stone Path Review. Check him out at www.DanFlanagan.webs.com and follow him @DanielNFlanagan.