The Window

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I stare out my classroom window, reviewing all the thoughts that swirl and whirl inside my head as chattering voices of “little monkeys” fill my ears. I see dark red lockers that look like they have been dipped in thick blood. The only difference between the lockers and the blood is the cool metal surface that calms me when I rest my hand on it, on a smothering hot day. Screwed into these lockers are thin mini number plack's which tell which locker is which. Re- adjusting my vision in the slightest bit my bright blue eye catch the reflection of the window. I see behind me four rows of desks along with two kids one who is sitting staring off into space in his own world. The other kid is drumming his hands on the desk until, annoyed, I whip my head around my hair flailing with me and give him a stare that abruptly stops those hands and sends blood rushing to his cheeks in embarrassment as if he had just been caught doing something bad. I turn back to my window for one last glimpse of reality, then to writing class, where I feel at home, my fantasy world.





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