THE WINDOW SEAT

The window seat is the best thing that has happened to me in highschool. From my vantage point in Four Beta, I have almost the entire Camp Laz in my view. The sunrise, the big juicy passing arses, the fountain one floor down, and best of all, the sunset; all within my view. I’m that guy in class who gets to decide when or not to open or shut the window. In this winter, I can decide to ruin a whole class’ morning power nap. [Assuming you get the whole idea of how important a power nap is to a highschooler.] I don’t do such though. I’ve got a reputation to keep.

Nonetheless, the window seat gives me some sort of unexplainable dominion. It is another heaven for me; apart from winter of course. I love winter.

So today I am at this spot, minding my own fucking business. Its 4 p.m. I’m a loner. There’s nobody to give me the damn closure or mollification that I’m in so hot pursuit of. Trial One exam is doing shit on me. I’m doing Chemistry tomorrow but look, here I am, writing some damn journal as if there’s no massacre bound to happen tomorrow. [FYI Chem is a terror at Camp Laz.] I feel like giving up. I want to call a conference and play that pandana song by ethic and howl to the authorities how I hate the new administration. No, how I miss the order and tension. I feel like doing crap but then I can’t. This is Camp Laz; and in here, only the big guys call the shots. They decide who’s to do what, when, where and how.

Apparently, power, just ike my window seat, gives them dominion-only that it’s intense. The kind that makes one mutate to an unreasonable being. So as such, I’ve got to tow the line. I’m too dispensable to take risks.

My eyes have wandered away to the field outside. Guys are all hooked into their business just as I am. They look happy. Quite happy I should say. Some are just standing in cliques of as large as ten probably mesmerizing at how Messi scored an exquisite freekick thirty-five yards from the goal mouth. Honestly speaking though, that dude[Messi] is a football wizard. The dexterity of his feet with a ball is just inexplicably amazing. No contention there.

Other guys are juggling balls amid shouts of joy. Sounds of whistles and more whistles dominate as the soccer guys are being trained by their coach. It is that hefty training that prompted me to quit football. I had a quite promising future with football but then the training, hell no! Probably I could finish high school and sign up with Gor straight away. Then cash would be flowing into my account like shit. But anyway...si ni life. Dear future wife, I’m sincerely sorry for this. You’ll have to cope with this lumpy body of mine. I really wanted to be a John Cena for you,but then It hit me that working out is not quite my vibe.

For a moment, I feel envious. Why should these guys get the fleshy and leaner part of life while the bony one is discriminatively served to me? Don’t they have issues to keep them anxious or stressed? Maybe the exam, or their chicks or even being axed from the football squad.
I mean, it’s just not fair that they are living a life like that of Mr Bean’s and the rest of us are incarnated in the self of John Wick.

Recently, I entered a clandestine deal with one of the big guys. We resolved to overhaul the bigger guys and leave Camp Laz better than we found it. The damned guy chickened out and reneged unceremoniously. I felt betrayed; real bad at that. Disloyalty is more or less treason to me. Now I hate the guy with all the possible ire that can be humanly harnessed. Was I to wield a rifle, he definitely would have been my prime target.

We vowed to give bread to the people; for it is bread that they demanded. What we have on the plate however is a vicious serpent. Maybe when I’m gone, this guilt will quit haunting me.

                               @oiraqaleb esq