Will He Really Give Me a Minus?

Asking myself has been my favorite thing to do since I gained the ability to think straight and do everything myself.

‘Have I done it right?’

‘Will I disappoint anyone?’

After years living with questions inside my head, I ask them almost automatically whenever I do something.

“Why did you get a B on Geography? Are you a fool?” I asked myself when I received my school report, seeing Geography was the only subject where I got a B instead of an A+. Then, I looked at my own reflection in the mirror and said, “No, you’re not. You’re a total loser.”

“Why are you doing all the work alone? Where are your teammates?” I asked myself as I was working on a team project by myself. That time, my reflection in the mirror said, “Because you’re the only one who can do it perfectly. Your friends are useless.”

Why are you not hanging out with people?” I asked myself as I was spending holidays alone in my room. My reflection rolled her eyes then said, “Because they’re all dumb. You don’t waste your time with dumbs.”

I didn’t ask questions because I felt like I’d just done something wrong—no, I’d always done everything right. I ask questions just to make sure.

Yeah, just to make sure.

However, these days, I’d been totally unsure. A scene of myself having an argument with a teacher five days ago was still bothering me up till now.

“Why are you sleeping in my class?” he asked. His eyes fierce and his jaw stiff. “Did you pay attention to what I just explained?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, as my mind started asking questions.

‘Is he mad?’

‘He definitely is.’

“Don’t say it that way!” he shouted, pointing his finger at me—which startled not only me, but also the rest of the class. “Have some respect!”

Is he embarrassing me in front of my classmates?’

‘Why is he doing so?’

‘It wasn’t such a big deal, right?’

“I apologized!” I shouted right back at him, “That’s what I’m supposed to do when I’ve done something wrong, right?”

“That’s not how you speak to your teacher!”

“That’s not how you speak to your student!”

He was shocked, I could tell. I’m usually a very quiet kid—I don’t talk during classes (sometimes I sleep, though, but at least I’d always proved them—the teachers—I understand what they were blabbering about).

He has no reason to be this mad, right?

Right?

“You know what,” he said, after a short pause that felt like a thousand years. I stared back at him bravely, because I did nothing wrong I hadn’t apologized for. “You’re not getting away with that attitude, no matter what your brain is made of.”

“My brain is made of neurons.”

“Exactly that—” he pointed closer to my forehead. His voice sounded furious. “—is the attitude I’m talking about.”

I didn’t say anything. I only looked at him with the ‘so-what’ look before he finally put his finger down.

“There’s a score you get for your attitude and such,” he said coldly, “It’s called the affective score. I can give you a minus on that if I want to.”

With that, he left.

I was sitting there as if I’d just been struck by a lightning.

The affective score?

Was he serious?

Will I really get a minus?

Will I have to let go of my rank because of that?

No, I don’t want that to happen.

As I walked home, I kept thinking about the fight I had with my teacher and how I was supposed to act if I knew there were such a score.

Why did nobody tell me?

Do they want to see me fail?

Everyone was so mean—no, he was. He didn’t even have to come to me in the first place. It’s a common thing for me to sleep during classes. It was unusual for him to think I was violating the rules—in fact, it wasn’t even in the rules. You can sleep during classes. You’re allowed to.

Will he really give me a minus?

The question had bothered me day and night. I couldn’t sleep, nor could I study properly. I couldn’t stand the thought that my Math score could be the one that would send me falling down. I had always got perfect scores on Math that it disturbed me so much.

I can’t just live in depression, I finally thought, I have to do something about it.

So here I am, standing in the teacher’s room at night. Nobody was there. The lights were off. Everything was so quiet I almost heard the sound of the wind.

I looked down at my right palm that was getting paler in the cold night. The knife I was holding felt stiff as I took out my handkerchief using my left hand that was trembling—I wasn’t sure if that was because of the coldness, though.

Lying down in front of me was a corpse. Its color paler than my right palm—except for the stomach, from where a flood of red liquid was flowing out. Its eyes wide open, as if it had been dead startled. The pair of eyes made it look alive, but I knew better. It didn’t move.

It was dead.

So dead.

Will he really give me a minus?

The question repeated itself inside my head. I looked up, staring at a big mirror in front of me that almost showed nothing because of the darkness surrounding.

But I could see it.

My reflection was grinning with satisfaction as it said, “No, he won’t.”

***

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

,

,

OK SO FINALLY I DECIDED TO MAKE A SHORT STORY.

Sorry, I haven’t managed to finish ITSTBC so I thought damn what have I done

That’s why I made a quick short story just to make myself post something. I’m sorry if it’s not good–cz, ya kno, quick and all. But at least I made something.

That being said, I got the idea from my own experience–although, nah, I don’t kill teachers. But well…

That’s it lah. Bye!

Advertisements

Tell Me Whatever You're Thinking Right Now

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s