Thursday, August 7, 2014

Bed of Sin

                I come home from class, slouching under the weight of my backpack, and waddle into my room. The light blinds me for a moment as I enter, and then, as I slide off the bulk from my back, I pause and stare at my stripped and open bed.

                 It’s simply sitting there, calmly, as if it was truly as innocent as its quiet state implies. But I know better. It’s been waiting for me, and now that I’ve arrived, it’s pulling no punches. It wants me, and I want it. There’s no hiding the truth; we can both feel the pull.

                I try to turn away from the three layers of blankets piled atop another, each lush and warm and soft, but the curves of the pillows and the eager stillness of the askew bedding already have me salivating. Carefully, I take a hard swallow, and allow myself a long look down at its sheets. It doesn’t say a word, but I can feel it calling for me. I can’t, I mustn’t, but still I hesitantly reach out and stroke my open hand down the microfibers of its pink blanket.

                A sudden ache fills my bones, and my joints creak and cry until I moving towards my bed, helpless to its siren’s call. I give in. I lay on it, wrap myself in it, and we are together once more in sinful bliss.

                A gasp jolts through my body. I wrench upwards, and suddenly, I’m fully upright in the middle of class.

                No one glances my way; they’ve gotten used to this wired behavior. Slowly, I wipe the corner of my mouth free from a light coating of drool and squint hard at the white board at the front of the class. It’s littered with conjunctions, semicolons, and sentence examples. No beds, blankets, or pillows.

                It’s study time.

                It’s always study time.

                I use my pencil to prop my head up and try not to let my brain melt out my ear.
                Somebody help me.

***Say yes to sleep, guys. It’s a beautiful thing. But utilize your nights for that sole purpose, and say nay to sleeping in class. It’s rude. And if you were a teacher, you would put shaving cream on you if you were sleeping too.

I am a future crazy English teacher (with shaving cream and onions at the ready) and despite being a hypocrite, I approve this message.  

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