The stars span in the night sky, a never-ending carousal above his head. The wind whipped his face mercilessly, but he didn’t notice.
His eyes were firmly locked on the lights below, a mocking duplication of the spectacle overhead. The only stars that moved here were twin sets of headlights, winding their way through the streets.
A smile wavered across his face, thin and bitter. Stretching his hand then slowly closing it into a fist, he turned away from the cliff, and its panoramic view of his hometown. There was a car waiting, humming nearby. He did not look back.
----
Steven chewed his lip and groaned. His teacher looked up with a disapproving glare. “Silence, Steven. You are under test conditions.”
And don’t I know it. He stared blankly at the paper in front of him. Glancing around, he saw his classmates scribbling furiously, some glancing at the clock with anxious faces, even though they had only just started. He should have studied, he knew, but he had got caught up. Surely, these teachers remembered what it was like to be fifteen?
He caught the eye of another student, a tan-skinned boy with dark hair, who grinned at him and gave the thumbs-up. Steven rolled his eyes, and looked down at his paper. Slowly and deliberately, he wrote his name on the top of the paper.
Steven Stark.
Steven frowned, and grabbed his eraser. He wrote it again, adding more dramatic crosses on his ‘t’s. Grinning with satisfaction, he turned his attention to the part he was dreading. The first question.
Explain, in your own words, how the author presented the idea of dehumanization in The Lord of the Flies.
Stephan chewed on his pencil, and sighed. He let his pencil drop to the paper, and gave the first answer that came to mind.
He presented his ideas in novel form. He may have written the story on paper, I have no way of knowing- but then it got printed into a book.
He frowned, his answer filled only two of the thirty-odd lines provided to answer. Shrugging, he turned to the next question.
Do you agree with the ideas of the author? Explain your answer.
Underneath, Steven printed neatly his next answer.
Yes. After all, that is how the story goes. There are no other ideas to agree with instead. There is no alternative ending, like I have on some of my DVDs. I suppose it was too much work to write half the story all over again.
Again, there was still almost a page left blank. Finding only two questions, he sighed slightly. He wasn’t stupid- he knew full well that his answers weren’t what the teacher was looking for. She was expecting full essays, but Steven couldn’t remember a single detail of the book he had forced himself to stay up and read a few nights before. Might as well give someone a laugh. Steven smiled slightly- he liked his form teacher. Most of the teachers went to him to complain about his lack of effort, but Mr. Greyson took it all in his good-natured stride. He would find the humour in Steven’s answers, even if his English teacher did not.
He spent the rest of the period decorating the outside edge of his paper with the word ‘doom’ over and over again.
“Time. Hand your papers to the front of the classroom, and talk quietly until the bell releases you from class. You will receive your grades next class”
Steven handed the paper in with a grimace. Even though they were merely mock-up tests, Miss Moore was still young to the job and always took every paper seriously. She caught his eye and frowned as if she knew what was coming. Steven tried to look as if he didn’t notice.
The bell rang, quickly drowned out by the groan of chair legs on wood. Students scrambled to pick up runaway pens, loose scraps of paper, and errant books. Steven followed their example, stretching his long legs, and sliding an escaped lock of hair back into place. His long, russet hair was the laughing stock of the guys, and secretly envied by the girls. He usually wore it tied up, out of his face, but refused to cut it. He wasn’t even sure why himself, the idea of losing his shoulder-length hair just somehow felt wrong.
He was about to leave, when a voice piped out from the front. “Steven, come here please.”
Steven sighed. “Yes, miss.” He reluctantly dropped his books back on his desk, he already knew he was going to be here a while. There was no point in lugging around his stuff. Miss Moore looked up at him from under arched eyebrows as he approached her desk. “What do you call this, Steven?” She tapped his paper with a long, manicured fingernail. So she couldn’t wait until I left to check up on it, I see.
Steven made a big show of looking at his test, then looked up at his teacher warily. “I call it paper with ink on it, Miss. Are you alright?”
“Enough with the smart mouth, Steven. I want to talk about your answers.”
Steven stayed silent, staring down at his teacher. She pursed her lips. “Well?”
“I was waiting for you, Miss. You said you wanted to talk about my answers. That doesn’t call for a reply from me.”
“Steven!” Her voice was exasperated. “Please! Take this seriously for once. If you spent as much effort in your schoolwork as you do being a smart-mouthed kid then you would be acing every class!”
“I don’t mean to, Miss.”
Miss Moore sighed, and her expression softened. “I know you’re a smart kid, Steven, and you’re having a hard time at home, but please try and take class seriously. It’s your future on the line.”
Steven nodded. “I’ll try.”
“Good. Now get out of here before I kick you.”
Steven smiled, and grabbed his books on the way out the door. She can never stay mad at me. No-one seems to be able to.
