“I know, I know,
you want to learn
more,” he said, more
sure of himself than
usual, even. The
speaker detected
an eyeroll or four
as his gut sank to
the floor. He
nevertheless carried
on. And on and on
and on. Saying
everything and
nothing. His words
were there, of this
anyone in the room
would have been sure,
whether or not they
were paying attention.
But what of the content
of all of those words?
“What did the substance
equal?” wondered Charlotte,
who had come here from
her algebra class. “I’m so
sleepy,” thought Ted, who
in all manner of definition,
was asleep. “Make this
class be over,” heralded
the man in Harold’s head.
And just like that the
clock struck the hour,
the bell rang while
the man the students
knew nothing of, yet
heard his words in
endless repeat during
recurring nightmares
each had ongoing,
kept on as if the
bell had not been
rung for at least a
full minute before
finally seeming to
realize class was over,
and the professor
had gently book
marked his place,
said goodbye to the
students (none of
them heard this,
most were already
out the door) and
sat down to open his
desk drawer and
select a book for
his next class,
which would begin
in about ten minutes.
By then Harold
the Warlock was
already home,
really quite
pleased with
himself, and
the world that
he had so
swiftly and
hilariously
created.
said goodbye to the
students (none of
them heard this,
most were already
out the door) and
sat down to open his
desk drawer and
select a book for
his next class,
which would begin
in about ten minutes.
By then Harold
the Warlock was
already home,
really quite
pleased with
himself, and
the world that
he had so
swiftly and
hilariously
created.
