Tedious and tiring. Arrayed before me like a king’s court, books open, but eyes on me. ******* on the **** of my wisdom, absorbing little. A lazy October sun peeks through the windows, highlighting the auburn hair of the girl in the front row...the one who sits, legs slyly parted, hoping I will notice her lace ******* and...
But no, I am sated and cannot rise to interest for her. Silly thing, thinking her ****** and obvious try at seduction will rouse me. Yes, she is a pretty specimen, but I have a garden of such flowers. Wilted roses that give me no more pleasure.
Soon the bell will ring and these pathetic creatures will pour out the door and I will wait for the next herd, bored by their very existence. I feel like a cowherd readying to lead the bored and boring cattle to sentient awareness, dim though it may be.
I do not bother to look up. There is no need - they are all the same. I begin to lecture when there is an interruption. Can these creatures not get to class on time?
Hoping to berate the latecomer, to vent my squirming spleen and make the day less cloying... She is there...this new student. This rose who must be in my garden of perfection. Breath leaves my lungs and I am struck dumb. I, who am strong and stalwart...a prime alpha male am rendered a stuttering child.
Her name - Rose McClellan. My Rose. She hands me her class card and chooses a desk far in the back. My heart is beating loudly, my hands have a sheen of sweat. Nothing about this day is ordinary now.
Something written and forgotten