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Life of an Inanimate Object: Part VIII: Dawn of a Higher Education

posted Mar 24, 2017, 6:14 AM by Jeffrey Wolf   [ updated Mar 29, 2017, 4:53 AM ]

By: Megan Cichon, Entertainment Editor

Posted March 24th, 2017


Part VIII: Dawn of a Higher Education

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

That noise was the single most annoying thing I’d ever heard in my life. I had no idea how Galen could sleep through this.

BEEP. BEEP. BE--

Galen slammed his hand down on the top of the noise-making device and groaned.

“It’s too early for this garbage,” he muttered, his words running together.

He dragged himself out of bed and almost fell flat on his face on his way to the lightswitch. He flicked the lightswitch, and his room was flooded with light. He stumbled like a drunk over to his dresser and proceeded to dress himself. I glanced at the clock.

“Who wakes up at six in the morning on their own free will?” I muttered, “How stupid.”

I sighed and closed my eyes, feeling sleepy yet. Suddenly, Galen was picking me up, and I was floating through the air. I opened my eyes in annoyance, and glanced at the clock as Galen tucked me behind his ear.

“Where are we going at six-thirty in the morning?” I groaned.

Galen frantically raced down the steps and into the kitchen. His mother was already there, drinking a black, bitter-smelling liquid from a white mug.

“No breakfast again?” She asked, taking a sip.

“I never eat breakfast,” Galen muttered, yanking a backpack off the bench and swinging it over his shoulders, “No time.”

“Suit yourself,” his mother sang, sipping the liquid again.

Galen raced out of the kitchen and across the living room. He quickly approached the front door, opened it, and stepped outside. It was rather cold outside, and the sky looked gray and very angry. The ground was wet, the trees were bare, and no birds were singing. It was quite depressing.

HONK!

Galen raced down the driveway, towards a long yellow tube with little black circles on it. On the side, it read “SCHOOL DISTRICT OF SKYSTEAD”. Some doors opened up, and Galen raced through them, up a few steps, and slid into a seat in the middle of the tube. He plopped his backpack on the seat and yanked out the notebook he wrote in. He pulled me from behind his ear and was about to start writing, when suddenly:
“Hey, look,” a snobby voice remarked, “It’s the weird kid.”

Galen held me still, barely above the paper. I think he thought maybe they couldn’t see him, if he held still.

“Where ya been, freak?” Another kid snarled, “Dissecting squirrels in the woods?”

“It’s been a long weekend,” another voice chided, “He probably dissected an entire grizzly bear, and then hid its body parts under six different trees.”

Galen’s lips tightened, and he slouched further into the seat. I wondered why he wasn’t responding to the other kids.

“Whatcha writing about now?” A kid snapped, “A murderer’s handbook?”

Galen didn’t reply, and a kid waved their hand in front of his face. Galen said nothing.

“He probably can’t see you waving,” another kid said with false sympathy, “What with his vision problems and all...”

The tube was filled with a loud squealing sound, and the kids started filing off.

“See you in class, loser,” a kid laughed, walking past.

Galen grabbed his backpack and stuffed the notebook back into it. He tucked me behind his ear and followed the last kid off the tube. The first thing I saw when he stepped outside: a large, brick building, that looked similar to a prison. A sign outside read: “SKYSTEAD HIGH SCHOOL”.


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