Walking to school along the hated path with an empty head, no thoughts surface as all that provokes curiosity or interest is but too painfully familiar by now. The same buildings, the same people, the same road, the same cars, the same grass, the same dirt, and even the same fucking trash lying around. All that passes through my head is the mediocrity and normality of this day; a day like any other.

After a few steps, I’ll willingly, if such a word is applicable here, pass through an iron gate to my own momentary, yet consistent imprisonment, with people I’m completely different from.

I sluggishly look around, spending a few brief seconds to take in the faces of my “peers” walking by me, they are all far too similar; the same indifferent expression, thin lifeless smile, and mannequin-like movements; it’s as if someone made multiple copies of the same useless robotic doll with limited movements, but only I’m different.

I make my way to class passing by more dolls in the process, looking down at the ground in an attempt to shield my eyes from their hideousness, and stand with a familiar group of them near the classroom waiting for an older model to lead the herd in, and then teach them something disgustingly common. Repeat the process and you’ll get your generic school day.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

I sit at the back of the classroom to enjoy the view of mannequins copying people like me, people with free will and free thinking, a stroke of sunlight leaks from the window overlooking the outside to annoy me and only me, but at the very least it seems the world recognizes the special ones.

‘… What’s the answer to question seven?’

“The teacher” asks the class a question, the few dolls with good memory raise their hands in a uniformed manner to hijack a pitiful excuse for limelight, but “The teacher” selects me to answer.

“…”

I open my mouth but no answer comes out. I really don’t know why I should trouble myself with something the masses ought to know.

“I really don’t know, sorry sir.”

I choose to humbly explain myself, and the mannequins open and close their mouth to let these disgusting noises out, but “The teacher” model seems to have some awareness of what’s above him, and silences the class before facing the blackboard and resuming his duty.

I really don’t know why I, someone so utterly different, should deal with these common “people”.