Refined edges
He stood next to the stained white porceline with pen and ink in hand. The bathroom was emtpy eccept for Rickie in the middle stall who scrawled cleaver remarks on the wall. In a craze he had replied to every comment, every snere, and captioned each bored doodle with senecism and wit. He was still writing though. He kept pace with his tapping foot.
Someone came in, rushing to take a piss before the final bell wrung. Rickie could hear his own heart and the trickle of urine that could have been a tiny water fall in some zen garden. But it wasn't, and the following flush came to prove that. The door open and shut without a whisper. The boy hadn't washed his hands. Rickie moved his hands up and down the side of his pant legs thinking about all the object the two of them might both touch. Rickie's eyes gained focus again. The stall wall suddenly seemed uncomfortably close.
Rickie backed up feeling vernerable to his enviroment. He was wearing short sleves and his arms felt somehow exposed to something. Yearning for a lack of awareness his eyes pegged the wall ahead of him, and the worlds he'd just exposed himself to the world with. His comment lacked the clever appeal it was writen with. He couldn't reattach himself with the reason he had written it. It didn't even seem like he had done it any longer, only that he was now in the crossfire.
The bell rang.
Rickie turned on his feet, his scrawl was everywhere. It was too much. It was a cry he couldn't make claim too. It was all distastfull. He could feel his shame and doubt regurgitate itself to the surface again and again.
The bell stopped. He hadn't noticed when it began, but the sudden silence make him aware that he was late for class. In desperiety Rickie took the felt tip pen two erase all his flaws. He made quick work of all of his replies and rehtoric, but made carefull notice to leave everyone elses comment unbothered. Rickie worked furiously, but when finished couldn't excape the feeling that he had been none the less defeated.
Someone came in, rushing to take a piss before the final bell wrung. Rickie could hear his own heart and the trickle of urine that could have been a tiny water fall in some zen garden. But it wasn't, and the following flush came to prove that. The door open and shut without a whisper. The boy hadn't washed his hands. Rickie moved his hands up and down the side of his pant legs thinking about all the object the two of them might both touch. Rickie's eyes gained focus again. The stall wall suddenly seemed uncomfortably close.
Rickie backed up feeling vernerable to his enviroment. He was wearing short sleves and his arms felt somehow exposed to something. Yearning for a lack of awareness his eyes pegged the wall ahead of him, and the worlds he'd just exposed himself to the world with. His comment lacked the clever appeal it was writen with. He couldn't reattach himself with the reason he had written it. It didn't even seem like he had done it any longer, only that he was now in the crossfire.
The bell rang.
Rickie turned on his feet, his scrawl was everywhere. It was too much. It was a cry he couldn't make claim too. It was all distastfull. He could feel his shame and doubt regurgitate itself to the surface again and again.
The bell stopped. He hadn't noticed when it began, but the sudden silence make him aware that he was late for class. In desperiety Rickie took the felt tip pen two erase all his flaws. He made quick work of all of his replies and rehtoric, but made carefull notice to leave everyone elses comment unbothered. Rickie worked furiously, but when finished couldn't excape the feeling that he had been none the less defeated.