Colour Pencils

I’m like that fly you think is dead just as you swat it, but really isn’t. Yeah. Anyway, this is something written for school – apparently, according to the teachers, I have a great sense of humour.

And for those who attend the school – you probably know who the main characters are.

Teachers in Hippieville

This story begins with two English Teachers going to Hippieville. Of course, it wasn’t literally Hippieville, as it was Daylesford, but there were enough hippies there. There was a wide range of hippies: caravan hippies, spa hippies, smoking hippies, high hippies, stoned hippies and other kinds for the hippie-conscious buyer.

There were even fortune telling hippies, and that is where we find our two teachers. In a hippie house, having a hawk at the habits of the hip hippies. There was a sign outside the house, beckoning all those who wanted to know their future. Who’d want to know, though? Would you want to know that you’d get knocked down by a car in three weeks, and that you can’t do anything? Or would you like a fake prophetess with that coffee?

Anyway. They went in, and saw a huge purple veil. It was wearing a be-bangled hippie fortune teller. She had bangles everywhere, hanging off her arms and legs, and don’t get me started on the necklaces. It was amazing that she didn’t fall through the floor, with how much metal she was wearing. Maybe she was setting off security airport gates one hour and thirty minutes drive away.

She had cards. Tarot cards, to be precise. Technically, cards like these are more suited for games and it is the English who divine, but never mind this tangent. She draws the cards: a queen with a sunflower and a staff, four angels looking upon a wheel, a lady in a chariot with two sphinxes.

You will be the principal person, it is said. Or was it principle? The latter made sense.

One of the teachers, the one with the glasses (but both of them have glasses, and many people have glasses, myself included, and I rather enjoy wine glasses) was rather happy. Almost too happy to be true. In teenage parlance, she might almost be high.

Oh dear.

When people are drunk, or high, or drugged, or in that really-happy-I-can-just-scream mood, they often speak nonsense. That was what the teacher did. She expounded upon just how she would become the principal of the school. As the other teacher frowned and shook her head and blamed the hippies’ food, the teacher talked about the new science building and swansongs.

Because, apparently, before they go (both in that way and the literal sense), principals often build a new building on the school grounds. And name it after themselves. Of course, everyone is a bit hubristic, but you would think that if this practice is true, there would be more buildings in our school than what we need! Just imagine, we could have one English building, one Maths building… but I digress.

And then… what happened? I’m supposed to recount what happens next, but nothing really happened, not really. They drove homewards, with a ton of hippie goods in the back. One of the teachers had a sneaking suspicion that the really beautiful cakes had just a tiny bit of something extra – not to offend those nice hippies, mind you, wonderful folk, yes. They did taste great.

The science building is still unnamed, the headmistress is still there and the teacher still is obviously a principled person because she hasn’t done anything yet. Except tell her story to a bunch of young teenagers, who aren’t really young anymore. It was a good story, though quite a few teens did groan a bit at having to continue it. Myself included.

She’s got principles, I grant you that – and maybe principals, too. Both teachers.

In other news, Imma thinking I will change the theme and the name of this blog.  I’ve also updated the Stories page to include the FourFiction stories.