“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 sunk 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,” thought 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, and 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
seeming to realize
that class was over.
He then had the
wherewithal to
bookmark is place,
say goodbye to the
students (none of
them heard this,
most were already
out the door), and
sat down to open
the drawer to pick
out the book for
the next class,
which would begin
in about ten minutes.
By this time Harold
the Warlock was
already home,
really quite
please with
himself, and
the world that
he had so
swiftly and
hilariously
created.
