The Perfidy of Umzinto Secondary

“…anybody caught talking during assembly will be brought up to the podium to tell everyone what they were saying. Security guards are amongst you, if you are caught they will escort you to the stand.
In regard to late coming…”
Mr. Bagrathee’s voice travelled down from the first floor, boring us, the barely-listening learner body, his targeted audience.
I stood at the very back of my class’ line, being amused by the guy standing in front of me (‘Hey, welcome to 12A’).
Marcus stood in front of the alien. We were engaged in riveting conversation. Actually, we were just making fun of Mr. Bagrathee.
“Look, you can just see his head over the podium,” Marcus started.
Mr. Bagrathee’s voice drifted back into the scene.
“10% of the school came late, and stood outside for the first and second period, while the principal recorded their names for the department-”
“That’s so stupid!” I told Marcus. “Don’t they have anything better-”
Quite unexpectedly, mainly because Mr. Bagrathee’s words are usually just empty threats, I was being hauled to the podium by the Indian security guard (he’s not important enough to be known by name).
All eyes were on me. Luckily, on that day, I combed my hair. Sort of. So, I felt confident.
Almost at the stairs, I passed Mr. Quarsingh. He had this smug, satisfied look on his face.
I couldn’t help but shoot daggers at him. I kept muttering commands under my breath (‘Burst into flames. Trip on your shoelace. Walk into the wall. Slap yourself. Step on Bagrathee. Swallow a fly. Jeez! Bite your tongue for Pete’s sake!’) hoping that they would magically be fulfilled. But alas, he was too strong for my fake mind-control.
Much to my despise, I now stood behind the platform, facing what was supposed to be the entire school body.
Mr. Bagrathee was trying to hand me the mic.
“Cenéa, tell the school what you were saying.”
I stood there, barely believing the magnificent opportunity I had before me. I stared out at the crowd below. Seeing the amusement, pity and even disbelief on their faces; pride, purpose and courage rose within me like magma.
I drew myself up, looking Bags straight in the face.
“I would rather not touch that, Sir. I can literally see the saliva on it. Tissue? Thanks.”
It was too late to go back now. I had dug my grave, and I was about to somersault down into it, take a bottle of tequila and host a party down there while I’m at it…

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One response to “The Perfidy of Umzinto Secondary

  1. Pingback: You Have Failed This Suburban Area! | Chained to a Dead Hooker·

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