The Classroom

Classroom: Hazy Illustration

That man wrote something on the blackboard. It was hazy, but it looked like ‘Pragmatism’’. Then he smashed the chalk. He had a rogue smile. His eyes were still focused on her neckline. She charily looked around. She suddenly saw a forklift dropping down to cage her forever. She hastily moved her leg from the bench-leg. She heard sound…a scissors sound. She felt that somebody was cutting her dress pretty cursorily. She growled hard, "Hey!" and started slapping those hands continuously to get rid off. She could finally see the classroom’s closed beige louvered door. She opened that door with a strong pull. She heard loud laughter and taunts. She ran...faster. She couldn’t speak but could see signs as if she were losing everything. She was panting and whispering, "How do I get out of this place?"

She was tired. She heard those voices. Again, she moved for a maniacal run. She heard sound...running sound. The boot sound was taking her ears off.  It’s prominent. It’s closer. She saw some hands. Those hands were coming from every direction... towards her chest. She shouted, “Nooooo...”

She sat straight on her bed. Her face was red, and her eyes were drooping with sweat.

"I don’t wanna go”, she said.

Her mother rubbed her hands. Her eyes welled up. She sniffled, and before her mother said anything, she stammered, "But I know I have tests... Where’s my wrist watch?"

Her mom softly said, "It wasn’t reality. Now cheer up."

She nodded, hesitantly.

It was an autumn morning, but it felt like a hoarse summer afternoon.

The metro ran like a freakish horse. At one moment, it was furious, and at the other, it was tired and lazy. She got a seat after two stations’ scratchy announcements. She squinted and looked down at her phone. She searched ’Pragmatism’, her most infamous word of the day. She saw the literal meaning and then some articles. She knew the basics but was still confused about some points. She thought, "Why did pragmatism come in that horrible dream?"

She typed "pragmatism and dreams". But then she hit backspace.

She murmured, "Isn’t this contrary?"

She was about to type something, but the recorder of the metro spoke up, "Next station, Central; Platform is on the..."

She locked her phone and stood up.

She entered the classroom. Her classmates looked unbothered. Everybody had something else to do. She placed her bag on the first bench and as usual walked towards the big windows. Her vision was vacant. She saw a raven hit itself on a big branch. But it also looked unbothered after the sudden drop. It managed to sit on the edge of a long green leaf. It stared at her. She also stared at the raven. But then she was startled.

"Hey listen..." one of her classmates gave a long shout and then said, "Today we are getting a new professor...his name hmmm....I guess it starts with K...Well, I forgot. He’s coming."

Everybody again looked unbothered. The new professor entered the classroom with some other students. She came back to the bench. The professor placed his belongings on the table and looked at everyone. They all smiled. Then he sat down with some papers. He introduced himself and asked a few basic things like names, interests, etc. Then he said, "I will be discussing a story."

Then he gave a smug laugh and said, "Of course, it’s a literature class."

After one hour, it was evident that the story was barbaric. He mentioned abuse culture and he talked more on sexual abuse. The discussion went on. He started mentioning the practical steps of assault. He mentioned something with hand gestures as if he were teaching some steps to reach someone’s chest. She thought, "It’s going towards vulgarity."

She opened the book. She flipped the pages and realized that those things weren’t mentioned there. She thought, "Why is he going into those details?"

She looked at him suddenly. That man had an awkward stare. He stared at her neckline. He saw her glance, and looked away immediately. Then he went toward the blackboard. He started writing some points and said, "It will be a long class, guys. This story is now going for a transition. Now I’ll be discussing..."

He wrote ’Pragmatism’. Her heart was trembling. She felt dizzy. She bit her lips. Her palms were sweating. She felt as if she would never be able to leave this classroom. She gave a thud on the bench with the book and then confidently stood up. He had a bitter expression on his face. He asked her quite irascibly, "What?"

She said, "I’m leaving… Sir."