Indeed, the day had thus far proven to be unpleasant--and I still had one more class to endure. It was not too great of an obstacle, however; I had survived its meanderings before and there was no reason why I would not be able to do so again.

On the way from my locker there is a corner that I must pass to enter the hall that directs me to my fourth-period destination. Usually, the traffic of the hall is similar to that of the road--that is, one direction flows on the right side of the hall, while the other flows on the left. Initially, as I began my journey to class, I was on the right. I was forced by a group of chattering girls to make my way to the left, however, so as to pass them. Unfortunately, this occurred right at the point where I was to turn left, in order to enter the hall--compelling me to make this turn at the corner. This put both myself and whoever was to make the turn around the corner in the opposite direction at risk of colliding with one another.

To my dismay, this very action occurred, and with much energy, although I had slowed with caution. I seemed to slam against a wall. I fell onto my back and felt my breath escape, convoluted with the sound of a crack, upon impact with the ground. I heard an odd sound emanating from my throat and realized that I was attempting to draw breath back into my lungs. The sound of laughter and scurrying feet seemed to attack my crowded head and blurred vision. I could not see straight.

After a few moments, my vision realigned itself. I felt the need to shake my head and was about to undertake the action when my eyes focused on a blue image that stood over me.

I found myself staring into one of those sets of eyes.

I suddenly became paralyzed with emotion--a whole melange of emotion that resulted inevitably in confusion. This increased as I observed the other boy stepping up from behind the first. He was also dressed entirely in blue.

The stance of the two boys was not what terrified me; their posture was exactly alike and not the least bit threatening. Even their arms hung loosely at their sides.

Their eyes, however, were penetrating. They were afire. I could not swallow, despite my gasps for oxygen.

I expected them to speak to me within those moments of visual contact (which I spent with my eyes in a frenzy, as they darted back and forth from one blue boy to the other). I expected them to move a muscle, to swing their arms a bit or even proceed to spew saliva upon my prostrate body--at the very least, I expected them to blink. They did not fulfill the least bit of any expectation I had surmised, however. Their eyes remained intent upon mine and that was all.

Meanwhile, I soaked in my own scentless sweat. It was interesting to note the absence of any distinctive odor from my perspiration. In fact, it was then I realized that no matter how copious the amounts of moisture I released over the course of any exhilarating circumstance were, I was not ever left with anything even slightly resembling a rank stench. On the other hand, I was never left emitting a sweet fragrance. Indeed, I simply did not smell. It was peculiar.

Without a sound, the blue boy standing at my feet broke the contact and made his way past me; the other followed suit. Both averted their eyes so as not to trip over my outstretched arms before making one last glance at me. I met both with the corners of my eyes. I could not help but continue gasping and once they had passed, I slowly rolled the focus of my vision to the ceiling. The hall was empty, with the exception of myself.

I laid there for what seemed like hours.

Their eyes had indeed penetrated me. I still could not catch my breath and my stomach felt vacant. It was as if I was still looking directly at their eyes. It seemed that everywhere I looked, I was met with their gaze. On the ceiling they appeared especially enormous. As hard as I tried, I could not shut my eyes. Contrary to what I have experienced after a good run, the lack of oxygen did not allow me to break visual contact with reality and, thus, my focus remained solely on the square patterns overhead. I had little doubt that to count every single one of those squares would drive one mad. I desperately tried to shut my eyes, to no avail.

Soon the late bell rang--loudly. It was positioned directly above my head, and as it announced its message, I humored the possibility that my eardrums might explode. They did not, however.

Eventually, I was able to prop myself up onto my elbows. The rate of my breathing slowly became easier. The ability to focus on something other than the ceiling slowly became more natural. I was soon on my feet and using the wall to help prevent myself from tumbling into the floor. As I walked along, I was able to clear the perspiration that coalesced with portions of my skin. I was now able to open and shut my eyelids, bringing relief to the dry orbs they had been created to protect.

If I hurried, I would only be a few minutes late to class.

My head was clear--incredibly so. I had never smelled such sweet air in my entire life.

The window at my elbow was open to its very brink and it took effort to keep my eyes upon my dinner plate. A cool breeze grazed my skin. The evening sky was a most interesting--nearly enlivening--pink. I felt fortunate to be within such a rare circumstance.

Seemingly in admiration, the birds on the other side of the screen accommodated the colorful clouds overhead with their melody. What it must be like, I wonder, to be able to live that life, to only sing, and moreover--fly! They truly appreciate their situation. That much can be ascertained in the rapturous sounds they produce.

I turned my attention back to my dinner plate for a moment. I picked away at my meal, separating all that I figured had originated from some a being that had once lived similarly as I do--in breath, blood, bones, and movement, at the very least. My mother had prepared the contents of the plate, and, while I did not regret her doing so, I felt vexed to see that I was given such food again. I could not appropriately sustain myself on some of it. As usual, I collected the pieces I found objectionable into my napkin, which I would later empty into a field that is often visited by stray animals. That was my contribution.

Once the task was completed--and the sky had lessened its vibrancy--I arose from my chair, washed my plate and glass, and made my way to my bedroom.

The evening soon became dusk, but I did not notice when the conversion became consummate. I did, however, notice that the cool air eventually became chilling. Without ceremony, I closed the window.

I laid down upon my bed. In the darkness, I was not too interested. I turned on the light that hung above my head, but was hard-pressed to find relief in any of the surrounding objects that I subjected to intense scrutiny. I turned my attention to the ceiling. It was very white, with a few cob-webs clinging in locations not readily accessible to any potential cleaning tool. The light played about its surface in a peculiar manner and I soon found myself speculating what the two silent, expressionless boys had meant by the intensity of their eyes. I could only determine that they did not think well of me. Indeed, they seemed intent on terrorizing me. I was puzzled over the reason why they forced their eyes upon mine, soundlessly and completely. I had never seen them before--yet, their eyes seemed to know something about me that even I had yet to discover within myself. Truly, I could not determine their disposition.

Eventually, I drifted off to sleep. I awoke in the morning feeling my usual self, much to my surprise. The light was still on. I turned it off.

My routine went smoother than usual, which again surprised me. Still, I went about the tasks without further thought and soon found myself at school once again. The sun was outstanding and the air was pleasant.

I felt hopeful.

I arrived safely to class before first period even began.

The teacher stood near the door, hands placed behind the back. I took note of the presence but kept my eyes averted as I passed. A salutation was called out, but I did not look to confirm whether or not it was directed toward me. I sat down in my usual desk and closed my eyes tightly.

The bell rang shortly and the students filed in contrary to usual--with quickness rather than reluctance. I was surprised to note that many seemed to exhibit an air of anticipation. I noticed that many of them were glancing around at one another fervently. They were all acting quite giddy. The tapping of their feet began to wear upon my nerves. I soon discontinued my observation and instead shifted my gaze to the window. The rays of natural light that entered through the portal brought me a degree of repose. Even the passing automobiles could do little to dissuade my appreciation, although they did help to drown out the sound of terribly timed tapping feet upon the floor.

The back of the teacher suddenly blocked the light. The sound of tapping feet quickly filled my senses as the man quietly closed the window. I felt my eyebrows drop below their usual point as he stepped from my gaze. The light had decreased its intensity.

The throat of the teacher was cleared, emitting a meek sound that many of the students responded to with a chuckle. The class was addressed, following a hard swallow.

"Now, students, if you all recall correctly, we were in the midst of a discussion when we last met. If you would care to continue, please voice your opinion at this moment," it was said, with obvious deliberation.

The response was interesting. A cacophony exploded, seemingly all at once. Several of the students began clapping. A few whistled loudly. Others pounded their desk and a few stomped their feet upon the floor. The room had suddenly become quite boisterous again and over the articulations, a roar of laughter was discernible amongst the students. I had to cover my ears, so as to prevent my eardrums from exploding, as they surely would have.

The teacher eventually restored order to the class. My hands remained where they were, however, for I knew that they would eventually be forced to return to my ears once again. It was of no real consequence that I kept them there, anyhow--I could hear the teacher perfectly.

"Do you all recall the question, 'what would it be like to suddenly find yourself completely ignored by society?' which was discussed the last time we met?" the teacher reiterated for the students. "Several of you said that to be completely ignored by society is impossible, that no one person is ever truly alone within our social collective of human beings. To live as we do requires contact with someone, or else we do not survive. We all must buy our groceries from a grocery store, and work for the money to buy such items, et cetera. Over the course of such tasks, it is inevitable that we interact with other people. Is this an accurate recital?"

Several of the students nodded their heads in confirmation. The teacher continued, the volume of the words increasing at a delicate subtlety.

"In response to what emotions you would encounter, many of you voiced how disappointed, resentful, hateful, vengeful, and angry you would feel. Is this also accurate?"

There were nods from all.

"Furthermore, the questions that you believe you would voice were the following: 'What have I done to deserve this treatment?' 'Why do you not accept me?' 'How am I so different?'" the teacher said, practically shouting.

The next question allowed my eyebrows to rise above their formerly low position.

"'How can I become accepted once again?'"

The students all nodded eagerly. It was interesting. Some even had smiles upon their faces.

"Now, I raise this question to you, one which acts as an accompaniment to the first one," it was said and then whispered, "What if you had not grown up within our social structure?"

The class suddenly became still. I could not hear the sound of breathing from any one student within the room. All appeared frozen in their seats. I could not detect a single blink of an eye. It was amusing, though not enough to merit a smile.

The teacher cleared his throat and began walking among the desks, his brow furrowed in thought as he examined each individual pair of eyes he encountered. Many students shifted in their seats, still suffering from the sudden bout of tension. All kept their gaze from meeting that of the teacher. I, on the other hand, continued to observe the man and his subjects.

Suddenly, the eyes of the teacher fell upon mine. I froze in unexplained terror.

"Mr. Smith," it was said, as the features of the teacher seemed to brighten up a bit, as if some hope was found in my name, "you have been relatively quiet on the topic. Do you have any input?"

I could not speak. I could hardly find the nerves to control my eyelids--it took great effort to blink. The teacher saw my difficulty and pretended to assume that I was merely at a loss for words. The relief I experienced as eye contact was broken was nearly as violent as the initial engagement.

I was met with looks from the surrounding students once I had fully recovered. All immediately broke their stare upon realizing my consciousness. In the wake of my effort to blink, I was nearly exhausted. Thus, I was quite vexed at the attention that had been brought to me. I experienced a moment of that which I knew was only natural for me to feel toward any one or thing that had been the cause of such irritation.

For a brief moment, I hated those students.

Before I could realize what a distraction I was causing, I jumped from my seat and shouted at my teacher--who was only just beginning to speak--to be silent. All eyes quickly fell upon me. A few students began to snicker but were stifled by a shout that I could not help but discharge. Within a few moments, I had the entire class silent and wide-eyed.

I expounded my theory. I did so in a manner that left the students virtually razed for the day. Their expressions of horror indicated thus, at least.

I informed them all of their petty condition, how bereft of meaning their lives were. I explained to them how meaningless everyone who had ever lived truly was, as well as how meaningless their entire situation could not help but be. I illustrated my theory to them. I did so at the top of my lungs, and I showered many of the students thoroughly with my saliva. My arms waved without rhythm. I jumped wildly into the air. My face throbbed painfully.

For those few moments, I was in a fury.

Why? What had caused my sudden articulation? I did not stay behind and risk finding out. As soon as I had finished, I gathered my belongings and--despite the obligatory protest from the teacher--departed.

My foot-steps sounded unusually loud.

I spent several minutes tumbling about outside. The fields of grass on the outskirts of the school-grounds were saturated with moisture, which made it difficult to maintain a solid footing; my pant legs were soaked from the knees down, the result of several stumbles. My hands were quite cold from constantly plunging into puddles of water; I had to constantly apply them to the heat of my mouth. Still, I was outside and beneath a canopy of blue that seemed to fill my chest with a sense of relief. This relief appeared to put everything else clearly into perspective. I began to skip along the grass, inevitably cantering through puddles, and sending the collected water in all directions. The park was straight ahead and nothing else attracted me more--save, perhaps, the bright glow from above that warmed my bare head and illuminated the emerald vegetation that surrounded me.

The city park was a dull place. Its landscape was thoughtless. It seems as if those who had been involved in its inception were too troubled by other matters to give any consequence to the aesthetics or maintenance of the scenery. There were a few patches of decrepit flowers here and there, a few swing-sets and see-saws, and a field that could be utilized only by the most enthusiastic--and imaginative--children. The latter always struck me as ridiculous because one cannot help but be disappointed at the size of the grounds--the high school gymnasium was large by comparison.

The grass, however, was incredibly well-kept. The weather was undoubtedly responsible for the preservation of its full color and size. As I skipped upon the grass of the park, I felt curiously light, as if I were suddenly existing on some other world--perhaps upon the moon, or some other planetary object spinning with precision but without any great measure of oppressive pull.

My thoughts eventually turned to the scene that I had made within the classroom. The more I reflected upon my outburst, the greater my confusion grew at the fact that I had acted so outrageously in the first place. I stopped skipping. I endeavored to contrive a solution to the mystery and eventually grew quite determined as I walked along the grass, hands clenched within my pockets.

In order to establish a definitive grasp on the emotion I had experienced as I had verbally confronted my class-mates, I did the one thing I felt a rational individual should have done: I conducted an experiment.

I postulated that--in order to truly determine which emotion I had encountered as I had delivered my withering denunciation to my dumb-founded class-mates--I would have to compare emotions that I have experienced in the past with the one that had most recently been produced and concur the two--or three--or however many emotions it had been a combination of.

This proved fruitless, however. In reflection, I found that every memory I called upon could be observed dispassionately. For instance, I recalled a time when my mother and father had engaged in an argument at the dinner table. I can remember the confrontation ending with various parts of the meal strewn across the table and in the hair and clothes of my parents. My sister had cried, as had my father. The food and broken dishes had made the entire scene appear to be an enormously grisly melee and I can remember observing the scene with fright--but I cannot recall what that particular emotion felt like. While I can still see my mother shaking uncontrollably, a terribly penetrating scowl aimed directly at her broken dinner plate, I am helpless to conjure the emotion I had experienced at that time.

I stopped walking and sat down upon the grass.

I began to move my eyes about from one downy cloud to another, noting carefully the curious shapes that appeared to manifest as they wafted across the ostensible sea overhead. Their voyage brought to mind an incident that occurred during my childhood, regarding a comment that a class-mate of mine had made. It had been during one of our numerous recess breaks in elementary school. A girl--one I have never been particularly fond of--had said aloud how adorable the animals that appeared in the sky were. Several others indicated their agreement, while others argued that they were not animals at all. To those in disagreement, the clouds were incarnations of various automobiles, cartoon characters, and scenes from popular story-books--among other things. I remember finding myself perplexed by the commentary. I never could derive any particular image from any one of the clouds.

Suddenly, my eyes were diverted from overhead and compelled to re-focus upon a curious scene that played out underneath the shade of the trees. Two squirrels were engaged in an animated confrontation.

The two creatures sped across the grass, sending twigs and broken pieces of bark into the air, and dashed from one tree to another, filling the air with their peculiar, shrill chattering and squealing. It was interesting how incredibly quickly and gracefully they were able to latch onto the branch of one tree and then hurl themselves a considerable distance onto another one, without losing either their sense of direction or purpose; even after several minutes, one was still determined to pursue, while the other was still determined to not be caught.

A curious sensation began to grow within my stomach as I observed the squirrels. At first, I was inclined to consider the feeling something akin to mirth--as if I was simply enjoying being a witness to the innocent nature of two simple creatures. After watching them for several minutes, however, the inclination to consider the emotion translated into something entirely different and I suddenly--and quite unexpectedly--found myself on my feet and in eager pursuit of the squirrels. I was running as fast as I possibly could.

The two creatures became aware of my presence as soon as the pounding of my foot-steps became conspicuous. Both froze in their places for a moment. With what appeared to be confusion, and perhaps interest, they tilted their heads toward the image of my impending frame--a frame exhibiting a most peculiar yelping--and their eyes and mouths opened wide. Once the situation registered within their tiny heads, however, they quickly resumed their flight--only this time, both were the objects of a chase.

The two scrambled into the nearby forest with an unexpected passion. To my dismay, I found that I could only take so much dodging and ducking tree-limbs before I lost all ability to maintain such a pace. Thus, it did not take long for the squirrels to distance themselves from me. In defeat, I slowed to a lethargic stumble and headed back to the park. Upon arriving, I slumped to the ground, chest heaving and eyes watering from the exertion. Remarkably, I was still able to hear the creatures chattering off in the distance--even the sound of their scurrying feet snapping strewn pockets of twigs was audible over my laboring heaves for oxygen.

As I laid there breathing and listening to the snaps fading away, a strange thought came into my head. Perhaps its inception was caused by my spontaneous pursuit of the squirrels, or perhaps it was the result of some other dialectic occurrence of events. In any case, the thought was formed and I seemed to have no choice but to confront it.

To my great surprise, everything appeared to come together within my mind as I considered the peculiar possibility that to pursue the two squirrels brought me an unfamiliar sensation. Indeed, it seemed to have brought me what I could only determine as being that of pleasure. I had only been made aware of such a sensation recently through various rumors and quiet discussions held by individuals of all ages. I could not be certain, but my mind seemed intent on convincing me of my conclusion.

It was as if two separate parts of my brain were at odds with one another. Ultimately, the time came when one side of the battle vanquished the other after a violent, sanguine struggle. It was, as is often said, then that the realization fully registered. I halted my breath and felt the temperature of my perspiration lower considerably. I could not restrain myself from shuddering due to both the shock of the sudden cold and the shock of my realization. I was chilled with fright and could not think straight.

I attempted to change the subject within my mind. I focused on the clouds, but was disappointed to see that they were growing darker and threatening to conceal the sun. I rolled onto my side and looked around for a bird or some other small animal frolicking about in its natural environment. The park, however, was empty. I sat up and placed my hands onto the ground, behind my back. I tried desperately to find some sort of diversion, something that would extinguish the increasing apprehension that was growing rapidly. I was unable to. Inevitably, my thoughts turned back to the realization.

I heard a peculiar noise and looked about in mild confusion. The noise became audible once more and it was not until the third articulation that I realized the sound emanated from within the hollow pit of my stomach. Grateful for the distraction, I lunged to my feet and began to run once again, beneath a darkening collection of moisture, although at a more sustainable pace this time around. Fortunately, at such a rate, I could not think of anything at all--with the exception of my hunger.

I directed myself back to the school and, upon arriving, spent the remainder of the day consuming food, avoiding individuals, and following the falling rain drops with open, albeit tired, eyes.