Friday, February 23rd, 2029

JOHN

After that kind of cliffhanger I was expecting some sort of mind blowing lecture about something super interesting or something that would provide some of the answers for life. Of course, I was very disappointed when we were learning about beta and gamma radiation. Mr. Conte drones through the period and it is too much even for me. Chemistry may be my weak spot, but he seems like he’s trying really hard to be that teacher.

Jimmy Foss on the other side of the room raised his hand and asked how that kind of stuff would affect a human. This was kind of interesting, and thankfully it transitioned the lecture more onto DNA. Apparently we’re all extremely similar genetically and it’s only in the minute differences that things like hair color and height are determined. Those tiny little chromosomes determine if someone is a ginger or if they have cancer—it’s quite a large spectrum.

“You know, we’ve determined the exact methods of mutation for a lot of our biggest genetic problems in the past thirty years,” Mr. Conte says. “Who knows, maybe in the next few decades we’ll have all of them cured.”

I’m not sure if I really dug the way he said that. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love there to be a cure for cancer, and I hope we discover it soon—that’s not what I’m talking about. But genetic problem is a bit too vague a term for my liking. I feel that encompasses too much that people deal with that aren’t actually curable because it becomes so entwined with their personality.

I don’t know, and my mind loses track of the thought as the bell rings. I’m out of my seat almost by habit now as I pass through the door into the hallway.

Art is up next. My teacher, Mr. Dabney is this really old guy. It’s like he took some of the years from Mr. Conte to compensate. Don’t let him catch you thinking he’s a geezer or some such—he’s got more energy than I do in these early mornings. He’s very expressive in how he teaches. The few white hairs that haven’t receded from the top of his head try to blanket the bald scalp in a vain effort to cover it up.

I set my books down once again on the table beside me and the rest of the students start pouring in. In walks Steve Brondo, Ethan and Nate Summers. They’re the stars of the football team. I’m not here to tell you that they shove me into my locker daily or I get pushed around by them in the halls. They’re actually really nice guys. I’m a bit too shy to talk to them regularly, but they have good senses of humor—and the few times I do speak I usually go for a good natured joke to not seem so awkward.

Steve is broad-chested and has short dirty blonde hair. Ethan and Nate are identical twins with similar builds, with short black. The only way I can ever tell the different between them is that Nate has blue eyes while Ethan has green.

After them comes Kyle Hassle and Stephanie Lafarre. They’ve been going out since the beginning of time. I’m pretty sure there doesn’t exist a point in time before their relationship. Kyle isn’t really in this class, he’s just Stephanie’s escort as if she couldn’t walk herself to class.

After them walks in Gary Sheffield and Lance Nader, Gary is the teacher’s pet of this art class and I’m honestly surprised that he wasn’t here a little earlier. Lance looks like he took a few hits before school and they’ve already begun to dull his senses. Not even his long curly hair can hide the redness of his eyes.

Last but not least is Iris McCallum. She walks into the room and tosses her satchel onto one of the nearby tables. She sighs loudly and takes a seat. Her red hair is tied up in a ponytail. I can hear Ethan and Nate whispering to the side of me.

“What do you think it’ll take to just get a little of that ass?” Ethan whispers. “Two, maybe three dimes?”

Nate laughs.

Well, they’re nice to me.

“Okay, okay boys. That’s enough of your laughing if we want to get started,” Mr. Dabney called from the front of the room. “Chatting can be done after class if you’re so inclined.

The class passes. The day passes. I don't really mind. Nothing really grabs out at me. I pick my head up and begin walking out of the room. Routine, everything happening as it should, day after day. That’s the best word for a day like today, routine. The rest of the school day parades on as it always has and how it always will. Trigonometry is filled with near impossible questions, History is filled with facts about what we used to be like as a country, et cetera.

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The final bell rings and I stand up to leave English, tales of this Australian serial killer still roam through my mind. Apparently there was this dude went on a massacre of a bunch of school kids in the 1940s because he was jealous of their youth or something like that. Nobody’s been able to find him—he’s probably dead now, but his case was never fully solved. I hope for the good of those families that he was put to death.

I’m walking down the second floor hallway as I pass Iris in the hall. My head seems to turn unconsciously as I look over to her and she seems to do the same to me. Time seems to slow and I catch a glimpse of her brown eyes. I see the light in them again, and I can hear the voice from my dream, but this time more faint.

“Down shall fall the cursed arch,

three days past the ides of march.

Once, the world was born of fire,

shall it perish, a doom's desire.”

Ides of March, that's the fifteenth, right?

Other students pass by me, some forcefully and others not. I pay them no mind. I stand there in the hallway for another few seconds before turning, more eager now to leave this place for the day than ever.

I jog down the stairs back to the first floor and take my first right into the auditorium lobby. I find it easier to head out through the exit that leads to the student parking lot even if I don’t have a car.

I keep my pace and push open the doors. I jump off of the stairs and land, bending my knees and transitioning back to my jogging pace feeling the wind start to pick up underneath my feet. My watch shows it’s ten below. My bag slams against my back and I remember I didn’t stop by my locker before leaving. I got distracted. I look back for a second and shake my head. It isn’t worth the effort, I might as well drop them by the house. The clouds in the sky overhang like primordial gods keeping score of our human affairs. I stare up at them for a few seconds before crossing the street. A good half an hour later I cross onto my street and I’m almost sprinting as sleet and hail pelt me from above, somewhat like those very same cloud gods playing a practical joke.

I pass by the West’s house and then the Galfrey’s and finally the Hansons' to turn sharply into my front lawn. The snow banks nearly catch my leg as I jump over them, but I recover and continue running. I look up at I cut the corner and leap onto the front porch. My house has this really ugly color scheme—the outside’s a brownish color and the porch with the awning above it is this really dark hunter green. It’s so dark and it practically screams “TREES IN THE FOREST”, which really doesn’t fit the suburban lifestyle at all. The porch itself is made out of this really weird cobblestone-like stuff and it is raised up a few feet from the ground and when I land on it I have to wave my arms out to try and balance myself so I don’t fall over.

I walk up to the creaky wooden door and grab a hold of the handle. Locked. I look to my right and notice that the family car is parked in the driveway and then the realization hits that my father is home from the bar early. This...isn’t good. My father is really persistent on keeping the front door locked. It’s mainly because of Minnie next door. The lock is the only thing that can keep the pooch out is for him to lock it near compulsively.

I reach into my pocket and dig out my spare key. The door swings open easily enough and the first thing I can see is my father passed out in the recliner, facing me, but his head off to the side. I can see that the television set is on, but droning on with the volume turned down. I can also see drool hanging off the edge of his lip.

I make my way in and I close the door silently behind me. I sneak by soundlessly as I pass by and make it to the staircase. My mother is nowhere in sight, but she’s probably still at work. She works with elderly people in this one large nursing home across town.

I make it up to my room and toss my wallet onto my end table. I jump onto my bed and stare up at my ceiling. It’s completely bare and the same color of white that my walls are. I stare at it until my eyes begin to droop and finally shut. Normally I like to read a bit before I do anything else, but there’s this overbearing weight on my shoulders that begs me to sleep. Blackness takes me in until I feel nothing.

I hear a scream and sit up quickly. I look down to my watch and notice that I’ve fallen asleep for about an hour—it’s four thirty-nine. I hop off of my bed and throw open my door.

“Dad? What is it? Hello?” I’m calling as I’m running down the stairs. I make it down to the living room to see my dad flailing in his chair while Minnie is standing on her hind paws licking his face. Her golden brown fur is matted with black spots and her bright blue eyes are full of joy. My father is the exact opposite. He stands out of his chair quickly and nearly throws Minnie off of him. Her body nearly flies against the wall. She stands up and bolts out of the house leaving the door wide open.

“Why the hell was that mutt in here?” My father roars, focusing directly on me.

“I don’t know, sir,” I say.

He looks to the open door and then back to me, “Why is the door unlocked?”

I look to the door and put my head down, “I’m sorry, sir.” The hair on the back of my neck stands on end and I instantly know what is about to happen. I cringe slightly, but then I feel a cold balled-up fist slam against my head. My eyes seem to spin around a few times before I can see straight and then I see that I’m staring up at the ceiling.

“Get out of my sight,” my father says and I can see he is trembling. I get up soundlessly and run up to my room, not caring for the tears obstructing my vision. Keep it in. Keep it in. I repeat my mantra over and over until I throw open my door and slam it shut. I throw myself onto my bed and just lie there for what seems like hours until sleep finally takes me in.