Young Writers Society

A/N: this is going to be another odd one. If you don't get name dropped, then that sucks, I guess. I still love you <333

The letters sit on top of an unnecessarily huge stone slab; YWSSOHK. Big blue and white letters visible from nine miles away, this signals the most notorious writing school in the whole world. Pitchfork gave it a 9.7 BNM, Rolling Stones gave it five stars, and numerous Internet blogs rave about it. "Oh, I want to go to the YWS school" and "YWS School or bust" is all you see when you look at the reviews.

Let me tell you, as a student, it's not that bad.

The Young Writers Society School of Hard Knocks (tedious title, the GMs thought it would be "cool") is located on Pee Shermang 24 Wallooby Weight, and was founded by Nathan "Bruce Lee" Caldwell in hopes of creating a new totalitarian society. Once that failed, he thought that the school would be great for writing, so he went with that.

He started assigning General Moderators, who are basically teachers, and they would teach the classes. The GMs would start assigning Junior Moderators, the teachers pets of the school. Classes started circulating around many writing activities, such as Storybooks and Novelwriting, so soon anybody could enjoy it. Then again, how could anyone enjoy Storybooks? I sure couldn't. That was one dark day.

I joined as a short story writer, then eventually went into satirical writing, because I secretly hate myself enjoy Vonnegut, though I could barely get through Slaughterhouse Five. However, Breakfast of Champions is where it's at. Anyways, that class is relatively small. And by relatively small, I mean it's just DrFeelGood and I playing craps and talking about politics, with occasional appearances from MargoSeuss and TheSilverFox, but that's about it.

Trying to get into regular poetry is extremely hard, considering there's about ninety kids each period writing about feelings and nature. I actually was in there once, but I got kicked out about forty five minutes in because I got in an argument about what classifies as humor.

"Twerking is not funny at all, Stranger!"

"It's a lot more clever than describing the sky the color of her eyes."

"It's true!"

"The sky isn't hazel, Falconer! It's blue!"

Fun times. Not to mention I also fist fought the teacher, PenguinAttack, over simple techniques. She beat my butt, but that's another story for another time. 

There's classrooms for everything, even for YWS Chat, which usually consists of members talking about how their cat died or how much they hate school. Believe it or not, I often frequent this classroom because some of my friends never leave there. Yes, never. They bring sleeping bags and sleep in the maintenance closet.

Right now it's lunch time, and the cafeteria is as crazy as ever. I brought sacked lunch due to me having high standards and the fact that I want to avoid the lunch line. I duck under everybody and head to a table in the middle, where Hattable is chowing down on a peanut butter sandwich.

"Why don't you have jelly on that sandwich? It's just peanut butter bread." I set my backpack down and sit across him.

"My mom wouldn't let me use a knife." He replied.

"Makes sense. Hey, what would you say is the oddest thing you've done on the site?"

"I, honestly don't know. How about you?"

"I've done a lot. Made a YWS fanfic, created my own fan club, dirty knees cloudy skies, my alt dedicated to Randy Savage concept poetry, there's quite a bit. Anyways, you want to top all of that?"

"Sure!" His enthusiasm is extreme. I wave down Hiraeth and ask her to come over. When she reaches the table, I take out a package of powdered donuts.

"What, Will?"

"Hey Hierarchy, want to see something cool?" I ask, she could probably tell what I was up to.

Before she could respond, I smash the donuts and powder goes everywhere. Johnny's jaw drops, similar reactions are all around our table. I get up from the table looking like Tony Montana and continue my horrible plan.

"Jeez, Hiraeth, why did you do this? Why did you also call Pompadour ugly?!" I scream the latter part. The whole cafeteria goes silent, and Pompadour's eyes shoot over. There is immense anger in them, and she dashes across the whole cafeteria. I prepare for her to lay a smack down on somebody at the table.

"He's lying." Hiraeth says.

Well, she is going to lay a smack down.

An upper cut lifts me off my feet and I smack the ground head first. Pomp gets on top and continuously punches my head. There is a puddle of blood that I'm resting in and it continues to grow until it nearly drowns me. Once the barrage of fists stop, I take a deep breath, but then a sharp heel stomps on my skull.

"Name drop more people, Stranger!" She screams.

I look up and see a crowd of people, most notably AdrianMoon, Blues, Arkhaion, ScarlettFire, CandyWizard, Flemzo, hyperview, Pamplemousse, tigeraye, Tommy Sneak, Amareth, bluewaterlily, Deanie, dragonfphoenix, Elysium, Gravity, HostofHorus, Iggy, lostthought, Skins, Birkhoff, Pan, GuyFieri, PretzelStick,Zolen, Verser, racket, Nightcrawler, ShadowVyper, VereensomethingVS, DeeDemesne, Gringoamericano, Skywalker, Tortwag, AstralHunter, Caesar, Lylas, Atsmai, Messenger, Sunshine1113, Morrigan, Lumi, Craz, ChocolateCello, clevercogs, Lau2001, Nate, ForgottenMemories, Jonathan, Rydia, LadySpark, AriaAdams, freakforchrist, Deskro, Escaskye, Artemis28, Sweater, TriSARAHTops, Blackwood, all them.

The bell rings and everybody disperses. I bring my bloody and powdery self up with the little power remaining in my arms and limp to class. Everybody laughs at me, but I shrug that all off. I head to room 223, a notoriously small room, and sit down. There, DrFeelGood throws a pack of cards at me and smiles.

"What's up, bud?"

"Nothing much, just living life."

"That's cool. Want to play a game of Speed?" He gets the deck ready.

"Sure, but I'm not an SNL cast member."

"That's...nice? I don't quite get-"

"Get the cards ready."