Quote:
Welcome, my little minds for molding.
... There's a distinct stench to the air of warm soda pop and worn bubble gum. It's foul, yet at the same time sweet and curious, in its own secretive way. Not a bottle of drink lay out on a desk, nor a package of gum, but the smell remains lingering evidently.
At the front end of the room resides a solitary potium, lonely in the shadow of the monsterous dry-erase board situated carefully on the wall. At its feet, the a carpet of red tint relaxes, its designing intricate and hypnotic if one were to gawk at it long enough to realize the stitchings. Directly across from the podium resides a duet of desks, so commonly refered to as the "trouble maker" or the "dunce" desks. They're side by side, as if to allow each other a bit of amusement in their isolations. Just behind the frightening desks of classroom punishment towers the stands, tall and mystifying in their professionality. They rise up and down, at least five rows, and consist of two seperate stands on the left and right sides of the room, behind the two command-punishment desks, flanks to their apparentness.
A single bookshelf cowers against the wall whilst observing the extravegantry and the somberness of the room, joined by the door carefully barring a view of the outside from anyone contained within the room. Despite the stark feel, the raving sensastion of too adult, too high a decor, a childish light shines dazzlingly. Written on the dry erase board in black marker and the most sloppy, cartoonish of handwriting, is a name and a statement. Mr. York. History 101. Such fluid writing, jagged and violent, yet kiddy and comical. Certainly, the room did not represent the teacher...
... There's a distinct stench to the air of warm soda pop and worn bubble gum. It's foul, yet at the same time sweet and curious, in its own secretive way. Not a bottle of drink lay out on a desk, nor a package of gum, but the smell remains lingering evidently.
At the front end of the room resides a solitary potium, lonely in the shadow of the monsterous dry-erase board situated carefully on the wall. At its feet, the a carpet of red tint relaxes, its designing intricate and hypnotic if one were to gawk at it long enough to realize the stitchings. Directly across from the podium resides a duet of desks, so commonly refered to as the "trouble maker" or the "dunce" desks. They're side by side, as if to allow each other a bit of amusement in their isolations. Just behind the frightening desks of classroom punishment towers the stands, tall and mystifying in their professionality. They rise up and down, at least five rows, and consist of two seperate stands on the left and right sides of the room, behind the two command-punishment desks, flanks to their apparentness.
A single bookshelf cowers against the wall whilst observing the extravegantry and the somberness of the room, joined by the door carefully barring a view of the outside from anyone contained within the room. Despite the stark feel, the raving sensastion of too adult, too high a decor, a childish light shines dazzlingly. Written on the dry erase board in black marker and the most sloppy, cartoonish of handwriting, is a name and a statement. Mr. York. History 101. Such fluid writing, jagged and violent, yet kiddy and comical. Certainly, the room did not represent the teacher...
