The classroom was strewn in disarray of copies of Lord of the Flies, newspapers (Castle felt a pang of guilt at destroying as much literature as they had for the project, but he calmed himself with the reminder that the bookshelf refilled often and handily), and the sticky substance best used to create paper-mache. It was, as far as he was
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Every once in a while, he cast a look upwards to make sure no one was experiencing any difficulty -- but also to make sure that the classic art of paper-macheing remained pure.
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"Fake blood? You sure you don't want that for when we start on Dracula?" It was slightly cliche, but then if she knew anything it was 'gallows humor', but the idea of such a project left her a little unnerved-it wasn't as though she hadn't seen enough 'real blood' to last a life time: hell, some of the signs (and warnings) involved with pregnancy also included blood.
The last thing she felt like doing was attempting to create a fake batch for a liturature class.
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Sonya had read the book before-she'd done a lot of reading on the trips when they were moving from base to base.
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For the past two years, the fact that I'd managed to get through two school terms without being expelled was novelty enough, but Castle's class took things to a new level. I mean, there were similarities to that new age school where the teachers thought that the best way to teach "Lord of the Flies" was re-enacting it. And I mean, really realistically re-enacting it, but Castle was attentive. His methods were unorthodox, but they were methods.
Methods that included paper mache. And learning how to make fake blood, which was kind of cool.
After I formed the nose, I wiped off my hands and wrote on the cue card, "Jack Merridew" and the traits, "Selfishness."
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I shook this thought from my head. "He had a lot of power," I said. "He knew how to get the Island behind him, but he didn't use that power to help people. That makes him selfish. I guess... from a literary standpoint... it makes him interesting because he makes things happen. He makes bad things happen that the good guys have to deal with." As if they didn't have enough to deal with already.
"It makes him human," I said, a little bitterly. "But less perfect? Whose perfect?" If not the Gods, then who?
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None of the assignments feature books he'd have picked to read himself, especially not the monster books, but the projects look interesting. Some of them even look fun.
It's weird. It's weird, and Dean feels weird doing it, but he makes a paper-mache head when he's asked, and he fashions it in the form of Jack. Up to his elbows in sticky glue, Dean grunts. That little kid was such an asshole.
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A grunt nearby has Beckett looking up from her eerily convincing batch of fake blood. It's an assignment she wants to perfect later on, and as far as she's concerned, she's got lots of experience to base it on. "How's it going?" she asks, smiling politely.
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"I picked Jack. What about you?"
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"I always felt bad for the others. Especially Piggy."
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He would just have to remind himself it was fiction.
So after some careful deliberation - mostly between Jack and Ralph, admittedly - when he settled on Jack as his choice. He knew the type, and knew how dangerous they could be even in smaller groups. Now, all he'd have to do is make the project.
Which would be the true test, as it turned out. He had signed up to learn, though, and he was certainly learning a new skill.
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"Should I make the mix a little thicker?" he asked, showing him the bowl of the gunk he's working with. It's a little too watery even to Alistair's eye, but given it's the first time he's done it, he didn't want to over do things and waste the materials used to create what he'd be dipping the paper into.
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After that, school seemed kind of pointless to worry about when he spent his time fighting wars and saving people every other week.
The book and the whole papier-mache thing takes him back to grade school, and he's does his best to make it look like an actual head. In the end it's creepy looking and he's got some glue and a strip of newspaper stuck to his cheek, but Billy proudly writes down Roger on his little card and underneath it, 'Evil.'
Sometimes, things are just as black and white as the newspaper he's working with.
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