the heart that is // yearning — finn&kit blitz
Jan 5, 2020 3:44:47 GMT -5
Post by fox on Jan 5, 2020 3:44:47 GMT -5
k i t
Half past four, there's the feeling of my heart beating to the sound of lockers, metal on metal, shoes on linoleum, the sound of students pouring out of Jefferson muffled by the closed door.
"Christopher, will you read what the board says?"
I think there's a vein bulging there, and I think there's a possibility that I could die today if I accidentally breathe wrong.
Maybe Hazel will think I'm cool now.
The chalk words come out one by one, a feeling of a small death stuck somewhere in the back of my throat. "School is an institution for learning. I am here today because I have failed to uphold the privilege of knowledge the Capitol has granted me."
Mr. Benson sits down at the front desk, crosses his hands together and – "Three hundred lines."
Thirty minutes go by before he falls asleep grading papers. My hands already sore, the side of it smudged with ink in a way that makes it look bruised. Our old maid used to say it was a curse to be left-handed. She'd hit my knuckles the same colour when I was younger, to cure me or something, until Poppy told her to leave me alone, but the words she used weren't quite so conversational.
Finn's still writing two desks away.
I used to always do stuff like this to my sisters but that's different, and I don't know why I did what I did, and he hasn't looked at me this whole time, and ah h.
I take a page from my notebook, write slowly, fold it into eighths. Mr. Benson is still asleep, head nearly falling out of his hand.
Okay, okay, okay.
I take a deep breathe, oh god, and throw it on Finn’s desk.
"Christopher, will you read what the board says?"
I think there's a vein bulging there, and I think there's a possibility that I could die today if I accidentally breathe wrong.
Maybe Hazel will think I'm cool now.
The chalk words come out one by one, a feeling of a small death stuck somewhere in the back of my throat. "School is an institution for learning. I am here today because I have failed to uphold the privilege of knowledge the Capitol has granted me."
Mr. Benson sits down at the front desk, crosses his hands together and – "Three hundred lines."
Thirty minutes go by before he falls asleep grading papers. My hands already sore, the side of it smudged with ink in a way that makes it look bruised. Our old maid used to say it was a curse to be left-handed. She'd hit my knuckles the same colour when I was younger, to cure me or something, until Poppy told her to leave me alone, but the words she used weren't quite so conversational.
Finn's still writing two desks away.
I used to always do stuff like this to my sisters but that's different, and I don't know why I did what I did, and he hasn't looked at me this whole time, and ah h.
I take a page from my notebook, write slowly, fold it into eighths. Mr. Benson is still asleep, head nearly falling out of his hand.
Okay, okay, okay.
I take a deep breathe, oh god, and throw it on Finn’s desk.
