Unadorned

The bic twists in anticipation. The silent clicking of its prisoner led is more than enough sound to drone out the monotony tiptoeing from the eyes of the professor. The others do their best to avoid the crying illness floating around the classroom but I don’t. I let the stale nothingness consume my every emotion and thought. I let myself conform to its numb, solemn grasp. The overcast cloud of boredom rests and I realize, the winds wont change. I lay my pencil down.

Following its lead, I lose myself in the maze of wooden swirls laid before me. Lifting up from the new setting is a forest of trees, too proud for leaves. The path the woods show me is bold and seamless. My conscious scats at the ideas of any betrayal from its course. The trees are embedded with ornate designs, as if perfectly crafted by hand, and they stand proud showing their elaborate shades of brown. As I walk, every tree throws its limbs out to me, desperately begging for my thought. Unknown to them, their unique identity only blends in with their similarly unique peers, creating a dull and useless hue of brown. Unimpressed, I turn around. But not without glancing back and noticing each tree’s pairs of eyes, as hollow and cold as the professor’s; and each pair of eyes glaring at the body in which they're instilled.

The clock plays with my mind. Its pure consistency entertains my time, or more literally its time, for a while. The disease of boredom has spread through the entire room now and has even infected the teacher. His slur and inability to show any signs of life are the clear indicators. The only intercourse present in the room is a shoe with the floor. The shoe is mine and it taps once per second: on the second. The tempo engulfs my body. The beating force accountable for my time begins to interlock with the clock’s. Soon my entire body is performing a melodic duet with its perfect partner.

I look down at my drumming foot and notice a bed of dead grass on which it taps. Again the trees are standing tall, and again looking for a sign of approval. I give them none and instead ask what else can be found in this enchanted brown-colored world. Scanning my attire, an interesting thought begins to unravel itself in my psyche. “Oh, how I must stand out in such an unadorned place” I think proudly. “The trees must crave for my colors.” I glance towards the sky, searching for the eyes of a tree that will notice me. Instead, I see only the ignorant pride of the trees: for they can look at nothing but themselves.

Grown weary of waiting for the trees, I shift my attention towards myself again. I watch in horror as my entire body begins turning into shades of brown. The sight is grotesque at first. But like the floating nothingness, I let it consume me, and I even begin to accept it. I look around at my classroom full of peers, but no one notices me. I pick up my pencil, and I leave. I walk down the stairs and allow the nothingness to sweep me through the double doors and carry me away; I see many trees on this new ride but look at none: too intrigued by my new shade of brown.