Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ More Annoying That You Could Imagine ❯ Well, It's About Time; Meeting the History Class ( Chapter 4 )

^^^^The chapter in Bakura's POV…begins^^^

I knock on the door, I mean, what else? There is no immediate answer, but the drowning monotone in the background stops. It starts again shortly in a command and I hear someone arising and heading towards the door, which by the way, is soon opened.

This short boy with brown hair and really big brown irises is staring at me through the doorway. His eyes are on my hair in a very critical glaze. So what if my locks happen to be white, long, and um… rather messy? It's not like I'm unaware of the fact. Why do people look at me like they think I don't know this? I do. I don't CARE. I sure as hell don't need them to worry about it either. They always take it upon themselves to do so anyway. Annoying, really…

"Well, who is it? Hurry up and come in. I don't have the authority to air condition the whole school you know," the boring voice sang out in its stressful monotone.

I quickly rush in so as not to anger the man behind the teacher's desk. He wasn't very old for his deep boring drawl. But he also didn't look pleased with anything at the moment. Man, he had one deep furrow.

So, when you walk into a new classroom, your instinct is to find the nearest empty desk and become invisible, right? No? Well, that's what I try to do anyway…

I was led to the front of the classroom on my quest to find a place to sit. The brown haired door opener had already returned to his. I look at the teacher so he could point out a desk for my own use. He is looking at his absentees; trying to find my name most likely.

"Are you Abby Grety?" he asked.

I choked. I AM not a girl! Why do people try to think else whys?

"No, no sir…I'm…my name's Bakura." I am stuttering in unfiltered shock.

"Oh…" the man mutters looking down the list, "I see `Ryou, Bakura'."

He looks at my hair again and again before he turns to the students. Oh Bob, he's going to introduce me to the whole bloody class. I turn my face expressionless as I am forced to face my new second period.

"Class, welcome your new classmate, Bakura," he says to the group all of which just nod their heads in unison and recite some rehearsed proper greeting phrases. I have decided I'll just tilt my head in acknowledgment of their salutations quietly with no feeling to match this emotionless hello.

The teacher directs me to a seat. It's in the back, left side of the room, in the second row. I am situated between two freaks [there's this thing called a mirror I should see; I know]. The kid to the left has weirdly colored hair [point?]. See, his hair is black. His hair is red, too. There's even some yellow [uh, blonde] in the mix. One question, since it's obviously fake: Why? Guess it's to compensate for his hilarious high disadvantage.

I know, being the long, messy, white mane creature I was made to exist as, I shouldn't be criticizing other folks hair, but really. I didn't choose my style to be so absurd like Rhino Boy to my right [oh yeah, I was just born with my long mulick…sure…let me tell you about it -_-U]. How could people do that to themselves? This insane child has spiked his normally brown hair into a straight point! Gods, beware the self-mutilation freaks!

Behind me, praise be to Bob, there is no one but my soon to be closest friend, the wall. [Hey! Don't start raising your eyebrows at ME…] No joke; once those jocks get to finally snag me when no one's looking, the Wall and I will start becoming a lot better acquainted. It goes for the floor as well. "Hello pale white ground tiles with gray skid marks…" [How does a History classroom get skid streaks?]

Now in front of me is the whole class. Right in the desk before me is, well, some very polite air. It doesn't talk to me, which is nice. It doesn't tap out annoying timeless symphonies with its broken pencil ends. It would never summon the little strength needed to successfully land a paper airplane into my apparently uncombed hair. Nor would it hack up a load of spit to wet a tiny piece of paper being shot through a straw at my pale forehead. Air is swell [Okay, I think we got it covered that the seat in front of me is entirely void of life; EMPTY].

I'll listen to the teacher now. Fun… Know what we're learning? Egyptian History for the next five weeks.

^^^^The Chapter in Bakura's POV…ends^^^^