YMIDEN 62, 723
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The air smelled fresh- there was a woodsy pulp that lingered like a memory of a time spent sitting under a tree during the spring with a new book. Kotton touched the wall and let his fingertips glide across the bumpy surface. There were little nodules, the texture reminding him of the popcorn ceiling of his childhood bedroom. The beige paint that coated the bumps was smooth though, and it felt nice against his skin.
He walked through the hallway, admiring the many rooms. Every entryway into a room was guarded by a thick wooden door. Oak? He wondered. He didn’t know what certain types of wood looked like, just their names. Pine, cedar, birch. They all had very interesting and unique names. He imagined calling his next pet one of these names.
His fingertips eventually met a roadblock- a door of reddish hue. Was it maple? Was that a red wood? Sequoia? Or was he simply talking out of his ass? Regardless, he read the room number and nodded his head softly. This was the room he needed. He casually strode under the lintel, feeling the wooden surface against his palm as he pushed the door open.
There were already several students sitting at the tables in the back. The tables were positioned in no particular order around the room and gave Kotton a unease at the disorganisation. At least, he thought, they were all facing the front where the professor was supposed to stand.
Kotton had been worried about taking this class. Whilst he loved writing, he was afraid not about whether he would excel, but whether he could see the teachers’ lips as they instructed the class. If they ever were to turn around whilst speaking, to write on the black board behind them Kotton would lose out on very important information. He didn't want that. He knew of the accommodations that were given to certain individuals, but he despised resorting to admitting to his learning difficulties.
He grabbed at his lapel with his thumb and forefinger and pulled. Nervousness spawned quickly in his veins. A thin sheet of perspiration adorned his forehead at the thought of failure. He felt like his shirt was either choking him, or the lump of anxiety had entangled itself within his throat. He hefted his journal and associated pencil onto the nearest empty table and took a seat. It was only a few moments before class would begin. He was punctual like that.
The professor walked in only a few minutes later, right on time. She was a tall woman with golden hair that shimmered like a waterfall that caught the glint of the sun’s light. Her eyes were a marvelous brown, like honey, fiery embers, and chocolate all at the same time. The tone of her skin was dark, creamy, and appeared oh so soft. Kotton was taken aback by her beauty. He even felt his cheeks warm just by looking at her.
“Alright, class,” she announced with an accent that held a twang. “It’s time to get started.”
There were no last minute interrupters. Everyone who was meant to be in the class was there. Kotton scooted his chair closer to his table before reaching for his pencil. He watched intently at the woman’s lips as she introduced herself.
“My name is Sesori Denota, but you all can call me Ses. This class is going to be really simple-” Sesori set the books she had been holding on top of the desk at the front of the room. Her desk, Kotton assumed. “I am going to teach you some writing curves, some tips and tricks, some interesting details about how to become a better author, and you’re going to learn them. This is an intermediate class, so I will not be going over the basics with you. I hope everyone has a decent understanding of sentence structure, grammar- the whole nine yards-because I won’t be dwelling on any of the elementary parts.”
Kotton’s eyes were large like the dinner plates at his house. Each and every syllable that left the woman’s lips were forcibly ingrained in his mind. There was a special compartment in his brain for writing, and that’s where he stored her words- each and every one. The vowels she pronounced would interlock themselves in the corners of his psyche and he would thrive off them like they were necessary to his survival.
“Now then, I presume each of you have a notebook and writing utensil?”
There was a groggy response from several students. It sounded like the low buzz of a few bumblebees. Kotton wouldn't have known, though. Not only could he not hear them, he was far too focused on Sesori's plump lips. The professor appeared not to notice the lack of enthusiasm. Instead she continued, “Great. I have prepared each session with a new topic. Today’s topic is going to be limericks. Has anyone heard of what a limerick is?”
Almost immediately a hand shot into the air- Kotton felt the whoosh of air. It belonged to a short woman with brown hair tied into pigtails. Her eyes were a ridiculous crystal blue, her smile a little too wide for her small, heart shaped face. Honestly, if you were to ask Kotton, it bordered on the line of creepy.
“A limerick is a form of poetry. It’s usually humorous and is usually rude. I believe it's in five line metric footing.” Her grin was so radiant, it burned Kotton’s eyes. So there was a brown-noser amongst the class. That was good to know. Kotton turned back to the teacher.
“That’s a wonderful definition. There is a certain pattern to a limerick. It is a stanza, or verse, of five lines. The first, second, and fifth lines rhyme. The much shorter third and fourth lines also rhyme with one another but have fewer syllables.”
Kotton’s gratitude was unmatched. His instructor had said everything with her face towards him. She had yet to turn to the blackboard to illustrate an example, and he thanked whatever gods or goddesses were responsible.
“The third and fourth lines are usually anapestic-" she went on.
The same girl who had raised her hand so eagerly before was raising it again. Kotton's neck snapped to watch her. “What is the definition of anapestic?” she asked with an overly loud voice.
Sesori blinked several times, obviously recoiling from having been interrupted. But apart from that, she gave an answer with the immediacy of a flash of lightning. “An anapestic is a metrical foot that consists of two short syllables followed by one long syllable. The following syllable is usually stressed more than the first two.”
Kotton’s eyes danced across Sesori’s face. She had a small dimple on her left cheek that presented itself whenever she pronounced a certain letter; there were three small freckles on her nose that were so…
The short girl that had asked the question nodded her head frantically and began to scribble down all the information she had just received. Kotton gave a side eye in her direction . He felt the blood rush in his ears; his heart rate quickened, pounding erratically. Shit, he should be writing this down too. He fumbled to grasp his pencil and jotted down what he hoped was most of what was said. His chicken scratch was barely legible, but he prayed penmanship wasn’t super important when it came to passing this class.
His instructor continued after answering pig-tail girl's interrupting question. “The first line usually introduces a person, or even a place. The place, if introduced, tends to appear later at the end of the first line and establishes the rhyme scene for both the second and fifth line.”
This was where things started getting tricky. Sesori turned to the black board and promptly picked up a piece of chalk. Then she began to write an example of what she was trying to describe. Whether she was speaking or not, Kotton would never know. She didn’t look like she was speaking, but her lips were hard enough to read as it was, much less the up and down movement of the side of her jaw.
She began to write,
‘The limerick packs laugh anatomical
Into space that is quite economical.
But the good ones I've seen
So seldom are clean
And the clean ones so seldom are comical.’*
Dropping the piece of chalk onto the sill of the black board, she returned her attention to the class. Kotton hoped he hadn’t missed any pertinent information.
“In early limericks, the last line was usually a needed repeat of the first line. This was tradition. However, as time went by, this tradition lost its necessity and became no longer customary.”
Kotton’s hand started to cramp as he scrawled in his notebook. Why did she have to talk so damn fast? It was difficult enough to have to spend time reading her lips- it was another to remember what she said so he could transfer it onto paper. He grew frustrated, but tried to calm himself. This was just another fun challenge to his life- yeah, that was it.
Finally, Kotton set his pencil down and returned his attention to the front of the classroom.
“Now,” Sesori announced. “I want each of you to create your own limerick using the example I have provided as a reference.”
The pressure was on. Kotton aimed to create a decent limerick, but the truth was he was still slightly confused about what was expected of him. Did he really understand what a limerick was? His professor had said earlier that this was not an elementary class. Kotton felt he was still kind of new to the whole thing. Was he really ends meet in this level with such basic comprehension?
He tried anyway, referring to his notes and the example made antecedent on the board.
‘This life I exist in is vast and sublime
A revelation that is quite hilarious
But the days are long
And the path so boring
That I often wish for more than just this.’
He counted on his fingers the syllables he used, but got distracted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl with pig-tails writing with such ferocity that it scared him. Just watching her made shivers run up the back of his neck. She seemed to be a little too invested in this. Or was Kotton the one who was lacking?
After a few minutes Sesori stopped the class by clearing her throat. She punctuated her finger into the air, popping the silent bubble that had enveloped everyone in the room. Thank goodness she did that and Kotton saw because that clearing of the throat would have gone unnoticed.
After gaining the attention of her students, she made her rounds. She walked up to each and every table, giving quiet criticism or praise depending on what she read. Once she had reached Kotton’s table, he found his flesh had already grown clammy. Her eyes flickered across his work, reading each and every word with such focus that it made his stomach flip with unease. He followed every flick of her eyes.
She clicked her tongue off the roof of her mouth and gave him an expression that said, ‘it’s okay’. She told him that the syllables were a little off and that the verse was not very funny, if at all.
Kotton internally rolled his eyes at his own folly. He would have to practice this if he were to impress. After she had left, he let out a deep sigh he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Remaining optimistic, he decided that the first day of class wasn’t a complete disaster!
He walked through the hallway, admiring the many rooms. Every entryway into a room was guarded by a thick wooden door. Oak? He wondered. He didn’t know what certain types of wood looked like, just their names. Pine, cedar, birch. They all had very interesting and unique names. He imagined calling his next pet one of these names.
His fingertips eventually met a roadblock- a door of reddish hue. Was it maple? Was that a red wood? Sequoia? Or was he simply talking out of his ass? Regardless, he read the room number and nodded his head softly. This was the room he needed. He casually strode under the lintel, feeling the wooden surface against his palm as he pushed the door open.
There were already several students sitting at the tables in the back. The tables were positioned in no particular order around the room and gave Kotton a unease at the disorganisation. At least, he thought, they were all facing the front where the professor was supposed to stand.
Kotton had been worried about taking this class. Whilst he loved writing, he was afraid not about whether he would excel, but whether he could see the teachers’ lips as they instructed the class. If they ever were to turn around whilst speaking, to write on the black board behind them Kotton would lose out on very important information. He didn't want that. He knew of the accommodations that were given to certain individuals, but he despised resorting to admitting to his learning difficulties.
He grabbed at his lapel with his thumb and forefinger and pulled. Nervousness spawned quickly in his veins. A thin sheet of perspiration adorned his forehead at the thought of failure. He felt like his shirt was either choking him, or the lump of anxiety had entangled itself within his throat. He hefted his journal and associated pencil onto the nearest empty table and took a seat. It was only a few moments before class would begin. He was punctual like that.
The professor walked in only a few minutes later, right on time. She was a tall woman with golden hair that shimmered like a waterfall that caught the glint of the sun’s light. Her eyes were a marvelous brown, like honey, fiery embers, and chocolate all at the same time. The tone of her skin was dark, creamy, and appeared oh so soft. Kotton was taken aback by her beauty. He even felt his cheeks warm just by looking at her.
“Alright, class,” she announced with an accent that held a twang. “It’s time to get started.”
There were no last minute interrupters. Everyone who was meant to be in the class was there. Kotton scooted his chair closer to his table before reaching for his pencil. He watched intently at the woman’s lips as she introduced herself.
“My name is Sesori Denota, but you all can call me Ses. This class is going to be really simple-” Sesori set the books she had been holding on top of the desk at the front of the room. Her desk, Kotton assumed. “I am going to teach you some writing curves, some tips and tricks, some interesting details about how to become a better author, and you’re going to learn them. This is an intermediate class, so I will not be going over the basics with you. I hope everyone has a decent understanding of sentence structure, grammar- the whole nine yards-because I won’t be dwelling on any of the elementary parts.”
Kotton’s eyes were large like the dinner plates at his house. Each and every syllable that left the woman’s lips were forcibly ingrained in his mind. There was a special compartment in his brain for writing, and that’s where he stored her words- each and every one. The vowels she pronounced would interlock themselves in the corners of his psyche and he would thrive off them like they were necessary to his survival.
“Now then, I presume each of you have a notebook and writing utensil?”
There was a groggy response from several students. It sounded like the low buzz of a few bumblebees. Kotton wouldn't have known, though. Not only could he not hear them, he was far too focused on Sesori's plump lips. The professor appeared not to notice the lack of enthusiasm. Instead she continued, “Great. I have prepared each session with a new topic. Today’s topic is going to be limericks. Has anyone heard of what a limerick is?”
Almost immediately a hand shot into the air- Kotton felt the whoosh of air. It belonged to a short woman with brown hair tied into pigtails. Her eyes were a ridiculous crystal blue, her smile a little too wide for her small, heart shaped face. Honestly, if you were to ask Kotton, it bordered on the line of creepy.
“A limerick is a form of poetry. It’s usually humorous and is usually rude. I believe it's in five line metric footing.” Her grin was so radiant, it burned Kotton’s eyes. So there was a brown-noser amongst the class. That was good to know. Kotton turned back to the teacher.
“That’s a wonderful definition. There is a certain pattern to a limerick. It is a stanza, or verse, of five lines. The first, second, and fifth lines rhyme. The much shorter third and fourth lines also rhyme with one another but have fewer syllables.”
Kotton’s gratitude was unmatched. His instructor had said everything with her face towards him. She had yet to turn to the blackboard to illustrate an example, and he thanked whatever gods or goddesses were responsible.
“The third and fourth lines are usually anapestic-" she went on.
The same girl who had raised her hand so eagerly before was raising it again. Kotton's neck snapped to watch her. “What is the definition of anapestic?” she asked with an overly loud voice.
Sesori blinked several times, obviously recoiling from having been interrupted. But apart from that, she gave an answer with the immediacy of a flash of lightning. “An anapestic is a metrical foot that consists of two short syllables followed by one long syllable. The following syllable is usually stressed more than the first two.”
Kotton’s eyes danced across Sesori’s face. She had a small dimple on her left cheek that presented itself whenever she pronounced a certain letter; there were three small freckles on her nose that were so…
The short girl that had asked the question nodded her head frantically and began to scribble down all the information she had just received. Kotton gave a side eye in her direction . He felt the blood rush in his ears; his heart rate quickened, pounding erratically. Shit, he should be writing this down too. He fumbled to grasp his pencil and jotted down what he hoped was most of what was said. His chicken scratch was barely legible, but he prayed penmanship wasn’t super important when it came to passing this class.
His instructor continued after answering pig-tail girl's interrupting question. “The first line usually introduces a person, or even a place. The place, if introduced, tends to appear later at the end of the first line and establishes the rhyme scene for both the second and fifth line.”
This was where things started getting tricky. Sesori turned to the black board and promptly picked up a piece of chalk. Then she began to write an example of what she was trying to describe. Whether she was speaking or not, Kotton would never know. She didn’t look like she was speaking, but her lips were hard enough to read as it was, much less the up and down movement of the side of her jaw.
She began to write,
‘The limerick packs laugh anatomical
Into space that is quite economical.
But the good ones I've seen
So seldom are clean
And the clean ones so seldom are comical.’*
Dropping the piece of chalk onto the sill of the black board, she returned her attention to the class. Kotton hoped he hadn’t missed any pertinent information.
“In early limericks, the last line was usually a needed repeat of the first line. This was tradition. However, as time went by, this tradition lost its necessity and became no longer customary.”
Kotton’s hand started to cramp as he scrawled in his notebook. Why did she have to talk so damn fast? It was difficult enough to have to spend time reading her lips- it was another to remember what she said so he could transfer it onto paper. He grew frustrated, but tried to calm himself. This was just another fun challenge to his life- yeah, that was it.
Finally, Kotton set his pencil down and returned his attention to the front of the classroom.
“Now,” Sesori announced. “I want each of you to create your own limerick using the example I have provided as a reference.”
The pressure was on. Kotton aimed to create a decent limerick, but the truth was he was still slightly confused about what was expected of him. Did he really understand what a limerick was? His professor had said earlier that this was not an elementary class. Kotton felt he was still kind of new to the whole thing. Was he really ends meet in this level with such basic comprehension?
He tried anyway, referring to his notes and the example made antecedent on the board.
‘This life I exist in is vast and sublime
A revelation that is quite hilarious
But the days are long
And the path so boring
That I often wish for more than just this.’
He counted on his fingers the syllables he used, but got distracted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl with pig-tails writing with such ferocity that it scared him. Just watching her made shivers run up the back of his neck. She seemed to be a little too invested in this. Or was Kotton the one who was lacking?
After a few minutes Sesori stopped the class by clearing her throat. She punctuated her finger into the air, popping the silent bubble that had enveloped everyone in the room. Thank goodness she did that and Kotton saw because that clearing of the throat would have gone unnoticed.
After gaining the attention of her students, she made her rounds. She walked up to each and every table, giving quiet criticism or praise depending on what she read. Once she had reached Kotton’s table, he found his flesh had already grown clammy. Her eyes flickered across his work, reading each and every word with such focus that it made his stomach flip with unease. He followed every flick of her eyes.
She clicked her tongue off the roof of her mouth and gave him an expression that said, ‘it’s okay’. She told him that the syllables were a little off and that the verse was not very funny, if at all.
Kotton internally rolled his eyes at his own folly. He would have to practice this if he were to impress. After she had left, he let out a deep sigh he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Remaining optimistic, he decided that the first day of class wasn’t a complete disaster!
