...by rah, who'd much rather be taking a nap right now.

1 — Elie Leaves Early


That was the sound of something almost penetrating the heavy bass of Holic through her studio headphones.


"...Elie! Wake up!" Curses. Well, she could at least pretend not to hear him...

Most of the class sat enraptured as their teacher stormed down her row, stopping in front of the miscreant with pink hair and oversized clothing. "Look...she's drooling!" one blonde-from-a-bottle whispered to her equally bleached friend. Indeed, a long thread of saliva connected the corner of her slack mouth to the floor. Well, that was kinda gross, but if she moved, he'd know she was actually awake...

"Elie!" Mr. Ray loomed over her chair, angry veins protruding from his shining bald head. Oh, not cool.

"...nrgh." Her eyes didn't seem to be open...but then again, when did Elie's eyes ever open? To her, the difference between 'awake' and 'asleep' wasn't a state of consciousness—it was a few letters.

"This is the fifth time this week I've caught you sleeping in my class!" he raged, shouting with all his might into her blank face. She sniffed, pulling a tissue out from her desk and wiping her mouth with it. At least his breath was minty fresh...

Then her teacher noticed something he never had before, and pointed incredulously at her ears. "...Are those headphones?!" he sputtered. Well, duh, buddy. Most people's ears weren't bright blue and blaring techno. But she wasn't the type to sass her teachers—more effort than it was worth, you see.

"Um, if I say 'yeah', will it get me in trouble?" She tugged on the cord leading from headphones to front pocket, cloth-covered hands instinctively needing to busy themselves with something. "'Cause then, no, they're not."

Too frustrated to be angry anymore, Mr Ray wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and pointed to the door. "Elie, get out of my class."

"Errh?" She was often full of strange noises like that—'intellectually lazy', the doctor had said. Too lazy to speak, so she just makes noise, he'd said. (Our author has a similar affliction, but this is beside the point.) After she realized that he hadn't quite understood her, she added, "Where'm I supposed to go? My next class doesn't start for like fifteen minutes!"

"I don't know," replied the elderly man. This girl would put him in an early grave, he swore it. "Go to the principal's office, go stand in the hall, go home, if you must. Just get out of my classroom!"

She grinned, either completely oblivious to the fact that this meant she was in trouble, or completely apathetic toward it. "Hey, sweet! Thanks, Mr. Ray! You have no idea how much more comfy my bed is than my desk." And with that, she hopped out of her chair and gaily strode to the door. Not that it would have bothered her anyway, but the music drowned out her classmates' laughter.


Her name was Elie Wisteria Scott, for those who must know. She wore dresses with sleeves that fell far past her fingers, and pants that flared out to swallow her shoes. Rather than use a headband, one of twelve pairs of headphones held back unruly pink spikes.

She was one of the most eccentric—and one of the most intelligent—eighth-graders in her school. Oh, she was 'gifted' alright, but something so overhyped as Stanford-Binet wasn't the reason. See, Elie had a report card full of straight D's. She sat in the back row and listened to music. Her classmates giggled; her teachers were infuriated; but Elie wouldn't stop for anything, and her parents didn't see the point in making her.

The wankers from college admissions would never know of her indiscretions. Middle school transcripts only served the ignoble purpose of killing trees. So why bother? Her lack of effort was often rewarded with half-days, extra sleep, and (today in particular) beautiful blue skies that always seemed to disappear by the time school let out.

Those poor kids at their desks didn't know what they were missing.

TS-10 -Bullet Handed Mix-. She hit the pause button and unlocked her door. To celebrate such a great song, and such a great day...an afternoon nap was in order.

She would realize that there was one problem with this plan after making it upstairs to her room.

There was someone already in her bed.


notes: This is short. I know this. I got lazy. And that's what this story is about; laziness. Not to mention that cliffhangers are shiny! :D

Elie is technically pronounced 'ee-lee', but if anyone gets it wrong, neither she nor I are really going to care.

Yes, I was diagnosed as 'intellectually lazy' by a psychiatrist when I was about eighteen months old. Legend has it that I'd just make random grunts and whatnot in an attempt to get my point across—when my concerned parents took me to doctor to see what the problem might be, he and I had a nice little conversation. Not only was I fine, he said, I was eloquent. XD

I still think it was because my parents didn't make interesting conversational partners. They still don't, to this day. And I'm probably still intellectually lazy. But this is, again, beside the point.

— rah, a.k.a sleepy college student.