What Are Your Plans?

Tick, tick, tick. It’s been one hour. Detention. I am still here in this cold classroom. Tick, tick, tick. Silence except for the Tick of the clock. It’s the only thing that disturbs it. Except for the mechanics of my breathing. Lull of blood in ear. Sitting at the front, near the door. Staring at this sheet. WHAT ARE YOUR PLANS? There it is, glaring at me. Big bold letters. I looked up at the suspended dust particles. The ray of light that has not shifted. A small classroom. Smallest in the building, not a place you would notice. I do. I am in it every day.  It has one window. There’s a seating plan. I am never near that window.

Looking out. Couple of clouds drift soundlessly across the muted cool blue. Apart from that, sky is clear. One lone bird cuts across, stroke after stroke. I imagine myself just like that bird. Stroke after stroke.

A deep cool blue swimming pool beaming up at me and enticing me to leap in. I plunge into the waters feeling the freshness on my face, my own little world. I cut deeper in to the water, gliding past every marking meter. Spreading my arms, twirling, moving up and out, playing, making patterns with my fingers, feeling the water caress me, floating like a leaf, my hair dancing around me. I open my eyes and I can feel a smile jump across my face as I look at what’s in front of me. 

Nothing. Only two of us in the room. The quiet boy and me. Assistant hasn’t turned up yet. The boy is fiddling with a globe. I can hear it creaking against the table. Round and round it goes. His finger traveling along the axis. Paper airplane next to him.

“Please make your way to gate seven if you are boarding flight 293”, a cheery voice from the speakers. I get up, hand in my ticket and find my seat. I am near the end of my tour, travelling across the world is an exciting experience, moving from one place to another, tasting and trying new things, out of 195 countries I have so far visited 180. Sitting here in Business Class I look out of my window, the sky is a tapestry of autumn colours reflecting my travels. I relax back into the roomy seat, protected by the leather folds, it feels like falling back on piles and piles of duck feathers. Falling and falling. I stretch out my legs and fling my head back into the welcoming chair, inhale the clean air, full of chatter and bouncing particles. Fresh air fills me and blooms. China, Korea, Thailand, Japan, Taiwan, India, Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore, Uzbekistan, Vietnam, Sri Lanka, Tajikistan, Philippines, Pakistan. My tour of Asia, so rich in culture and effervescent lives. 

Suddenly my drink is out of my hand. We surge from one side to another like beings in a pod that someone is shaking. Turbulence.

The assistant shuffling past my desk. Almost knocking my belongings on the floor. “Ooh, sorry” she apologizes. She has her hands full. 

She sits at the big table, sorting through some paper work. Everything about her is beige. Clothes, shoes, hair, glasses. Beige. Blending into the beige world of the classroom.  In with the tables. Chairs standing to attention. Everything in perfect lines. Like soldiers.

“Attention” orders the red faced General. One arm by our sides, everyone in a perfect line, saluting the General.  The whistling of the bomb as it explodes before my eyes, leading us to all crash to the ground, we are under attack. The ferocious flames aggressively jump and leap to catch anyone near.  There’s ringing in my ears, then I am back with the bratatat of the guns as we all move to action, sand flying up around me, obscuring my view as the enemy swarms towards us. 

I look down at that paper. I am still here in this cold classroom. Gazing around the room. Nothing moves, nothing changes. Tick. The classroom is getting smaller somehow. Feeling cramped. Thick silence stifling me. I grip the pen as I attempt to write down my whole future. Why can’t I write? Why can’t I move my hands? WHAT ARE YOUR PLANS?