Chapter 8 - twilight zone
Submitted February 7, 2008 Updated March 3, 2008 Status Incomplete | This is my vile english teacher's form of torture through writing!!
Category:
Miscellaneous |
Chapter 8 - twilight zone
Chapter 8 - twilight zone
Imagine you came to school and all your friends, classmates and teachers were speaking a different language. What would you do? How would you adapt your life?
If I were to come to school, and all my friends, classmates and teachers were speaking a different language, I would pace myself back and forth, rocking ever so lightly. I would murmur creepy lullaby’s to sooth myself, and eventually absorb this new language by osmosis.
I would sit back and listen, being the foreign like kid of whom can’t speak a normal word. Subsequently, after listening to this language long enough, I will comprehend its complexity.
Then, when the day comes, the day when I can understand every word of its oppositeness, I will decide to put everyone down in the language they call their own. I will call them names so vulgar, their ears will bleed ever so profusely, and then, in their state of depression and vulnerability, I will enslave them, teaching them to speak proper English.
Little by little, their words will be “Esya asterma, ourya ishwa sia yma ommandca,” to “Yes master, your wish is my command.”
So, in conclusion, if this scenario were to happen, although it won’t, I would sit back in a dark corner and listen.
If I were to come to school, and all my friends, classmates and teachers were speaking a different language, I would pace myself back and forth, rocking ever so lightly. I would murmur creepy lullaby’s to sooth myself, and eventually absorb this new language by osmosis.
I would sit back and listen, being the foreign like kid of whom can’t speak a normal word. Subsequently, after listening to this language long enough, I will comprehend its complexity.
Then, when the day comes, the day when I can understand every word of its oppositeness, I will decide to put everyone down in the language they call their own. I will call them names so vulgar, their ears will bleed ever so profusely, and then, in their state of depression and vulnerability, I will enslave them, teaching them to speak proper English.
Little by little, their words will be “Esya asterma, ourya ishwa sia yma ommandca,” to “Yes master, your wish is my command.”
So, in conclusion, if this scenario were to happen, although it won’t, I would sit back in a dark corner and listen.
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