A White Boy and His Problems

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Yusef shokry
A white Boy and His problems.
The familiar melody of the finale school bell rings over the newly refurbished speakers, that have been perfectly manicured in to the titanium Wight tiled ceiling. A sigh of relief is savored universally through a sparsely populated eighth grade “mater and energy” laboratory. My entire class arises in unison and darts for the only exit at the opposite end of the room, they could not have evacuated that room faster if there had been Kodiak bear threatening the integrity of their limbs. Keeping true to every previous day they all grew confused and irritated when they grasped the concept that an average and generic door, with average and generic dimensions, could not fit the combined mass of eleven teenagers. Today however, as I watched from the rear of the class, accompanied by ageing science teacher who had long ago lost the amusement gathered by watching the daily spectacle; there was something different brooding inside me. I was aggravated today. I had woken up today with an ominous prediction that today was going to be one to forget. One eight hour day and seven periods later logic would assume that all my teachers had received the same command to ruin my day. Waiting until the bloodiest battle since the day before subsided at the opening of the class I began taking my rout through the school to the twenty foot high barbed gateway that separated ICS (International community school) from the rest of Ethiopia. On my rout my mind frenzied over all the things that had gone wrong to me that day. As my feet shuffled through the faultlessly cut grass, I thought of what a cruel miser Mrs.Asiet was for assigning such a time consuming project right after we had just traversed his latest sadistic concoction of the mind. While passing our evidently well-funded and well stoked library I thought of what a Bitch Wynona had been today for making that snide remark about my pubescent and volcanic blemishes. Finally as I approached...
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