School: BHS Class: 12s3 by Batool Hasan

Let me make one thing clear: I’m not a big fan of the human race.

 

So Picture this: I’m sitting quietly, minding my own business when a paper ball lands on my desk.

The gossip list.

I pick it up, not even bothering to read it and pass it on to my nearest classmate.

Her eyes widen with excitement as she opens it noisily, her eyes scanning every line.

The math teacher continues explaining the lesson.

“Ambaii… …did…with………” my classmate loudly whispers to her friend.

You’ve told so many toxic lies I bet you’re the main cause of air pollution.

“Its says…took…… on-“

Oops. Another tear in the ozone layer.

The bell rings and my classmates decide to move to a different classroom in hopes of studying in more livable conditions, since the MOE can’t be bothered with fixing anything in this dump.

 

“Ambaaaiiii reee7at 9baaiii!!! Wanasa! let’s stay here all day” one of my

intellectual classmates says.

9bai? Not even rayal? Are you that sexually frustrated?

And right at that moment my physics teacher walks in, angrily throwing her books on the table.

She then jumps into an excruciatingly boring lesson about electrons and nuclear reactors. After a few short naps with my consciousness drifting between plans of world domination and the puzzles on the board, the teacher suddenly throws the board marker on the table.

“Did you do your homework? The one I asked for you to apply the law we just took on all the periodic table’s elements? And the exercises from page 65 to 80?” she asks.

A wave of silence knocks the life out of the room.

She walks by each desk, shooting a look of pure disgust at each student.

“Silence is the sign of satisfaction, is it not?” she says while passing my desk.

Piss off.

I never truly understood what it meant to say that you couldn’t “swallow” someone, until I met my physics teacher.

“Umm abla did you finish correcting our quiz? The one we took three weeks ago?” a classmate says in an attempt to turn the tables.

“No, and if you ask me again about it I’ll throw you out of class.” The teacher spits the words at the student.

Why? Too busy tutoring Satan after school?

30 minutes later….

“Fee ebroblym?”

Yes, my ears are bleeding.

“…the mass of the electron will stay the same, as long as he doesn’t go on a diet ha-ha….”

Maybe if I stab my liver with this pencil I’ll die.

Ding Ding Ding…

SALVATION AT LAST.

My classmates race out of the classroom, the sound of chimpanzees mating already filling the halls.

I head towards the art labs, which were at the other side of the school.

I’m so short I look like a tiny mushroom among the human palm trees walking around me. I shuffle and squeeze between the human masses moving haphazardly in every direction.

“… ambai wai3 la2 wayha chna zagat yahel….”

Habibti, no one is wai3 ‘3airich.

“……..banaaat ebleeeez ed3oooli anjaaa7”

Does “Allah Ya5thich” count?

“….she smells like an Eyptian ehehehehehe…..”

If I hear one more racist comment, then I will commit genocide.

“….agool chnha Hindia ray7a Lulu market……”

Sunny city.

Cold people.

To say that I hate high school would be an understatement.

As I was about to walk into the art labs hallway, the giant masses of human flesh block my way. Screaming and yelling seem to emerge from within the circle they’re gathered around.

“…. You stupid donkey! You broke my Cartier watch!!!” an orange-blond creature says while wiping invisible tears from her eyes.

Well boo-hoo you whore.

I squeeze between the human palm trees, and emerge from the other side to walk into the lab, grab the art project I was supposed to hand over 2 weeks ago and try to finish it.

I continue working on it until the bell rings, signaling the return of sheep back into their barns.

I return to class, followed by my English teacher.

“Seedawn  ebleez and oban your werkbok to bage 65. Read silantly and ans-war the queschans.”

Get out of the womb, they said

It will be fun, they said.

You’ll like life, they said.

15 minutes into Arabic class….

“Ablaaaaaaaah why do you take so long to talk? Let’s finish already!!” a classmate says.

“I’m breathing! What am I? A machine?!” my teacher says while waving her hands upwards, her neck doing a cobra-like dance.

“Eeee ablaaah but you take too long to breathe!” the student talks back.

“I what? 3ama eb 3ain-‘’

My teacher closed her mouth faster than lightening.

The class erupts in laughter.

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