BTW. Not "by the way" for you Internet junkies. Not Barbara T. Walters for you news junkies. Not to mention I'm not actually sure if her middle name states with "T", but who's to say it doesn't, besides her? It's not Barnaby the whale for you just plain junkies. No, contrary to popular belief, BTW is a disease. Don't worry; it's not fatal, at least no usually. You've all had it; you've all survived it; the doctor won't prescribe anything for it, and you've probably never heard of it. It goes by many names, but BTW is my given name for it. It is an acronym for its three horrible symptoms; bored, tired, and waiting for lunch/school to end.
Alas, I ramble. Back to the situation at hand, I had take ill with the aforementioned disease and the short hand threatened to point directly at the 12 while its longer constituent was closing the gap between them directing his attention to the fifty-eighth mark on the clock. Meanwhile, the slender red runaway had been caught between the 6 and 7 guards, who, as a result of being the lowest in their class, excluding 5, were easily evaded by the crimson convict.
But, once again, I ramble. I decided to direct my interest towards my fellow sufferers. About two seats away from me sat Allysia Curuthers, your typical Type-A class clown. I could have sworn there was a tear in her eye, but it was more likely a result of laughter than sadness. Farther away resided Cris Lamina. I could see his pencil moving vigorously from my position, but chances were he was working on reaching an artist goal rather a historic one. He was one of those people who isn't as lost to the world as the world is lost to him. Finally my eyes rest upon Chloe Atkins. Ahh.Chloe. The beauty of a rose and the personality of the bush beneath it. I fell into a rose bush once. It hurt. A lot.
Wow, I cannot stay on track. If I had a train, it would have already gone off track, down a road, hit a car, and exploded. I now turned to the sounds around me. The sounds you don't hear unless you're listening for them. The sounds you can't hear unless you're listening for them. Besides the dull of buzz of historical knowledge being wasted on the deaf, faint, joyous exclamations echoed from the younger children enjoying their seldom given freedom and a haughty bird who boasted his liberty and original tune. But I laughed at the bird for I would live longer than he, if I survived this, that it. Also, intertwined in the natural instrumental was a clumsy breeze whose race against itself was only documented by its incessant collisions with the trees in its course.
My eyes returned to the clock, which the slender rouge rogue had proven his skill and was up against his final and most difficult opponent, 12. Our scarlet scamp had evaded eight, knocked out nine, twisted around ten, and eluded eleven. His stockier companions looked on in awe; the longer, who was nearing the end of his own journey to the fifty-ninth mark, cheered for his chum, whereas the shorter, who was also planning o take on the 12, aided his ally. I silently applauded the tiny track star while those around me seemed ignorant of the epic power struggle taking place right in front of them. The final confrontation, the short sidekick stopped just.well.short. He had made it to 12 and.success. That's when everything changed.