"A first sentence is all it takes to get the story going. Just start writing and see where it goes," suggested Mrs. Mowry as she handed out the composition notebooks. Some of her students eagerly grasped them, while others reluctantly dropped it on their desk. With a shuffle they each pulled out their pencil cases, although Charlie already had his half-chewed pencil in hand.
The classroom was especially cheerfully decorated, from the colored pin boards hanging on the walls to the beanbags in the reading corner. Even the chairs the children sat on were varying shades of blue. Some of the students were shifting in them, mostly out of anxiety or excitement.
"Mrs. Mowry, do we need to write in pencil?" asked one of the younger girls, Alicia. Her utensils of choice were falling out of their case in a myriad of colors.
"So long as I can read it you can use whatever you want." The teacher smiled as the girl excitedly picked up a bright blue pen, and then a green one. "But I do recommend one color at a time."
My part!
Alicia let out a girlish grin.
Mrs. Mowry somehow understood, she knew her to be happy always whenever on the verge of learning new things. Alicia is one of her brightest in the classroom. Many times, Mrs. Mowry would buy her presents to commend her proactiveness as she proved very effective when it comes to getting things done. Now, her head was buried in the notebook, scribbling hard with the bright blue pen, she only stopped to look up at Mrs. Mowry once in a while.
She looked up again, but this time she stared hard. She seemed to have forgotten her “burying head in book” routine as she ruminate on the million dollar idea in her head. She had the perfect idea on whom to make the composition about. What better way to express how she felt about the teacher who’s always treated her like a biological daughter? Maybe it’s because Mrs. Mowry’s children are all male and she was like the daughter she never had, or maybe it’s because of her intelligent persona.
She knew what she had to do now, hence, she didn’t waste any time switching to the green ink. She’s always made sure to bring all her coloured pen with her to the classroom. Each one she chooses to write with has a significance only she could explain. In this case, the blue were her errors, her mistakes in the course of exploring beautiful ideas, and the best of which she writes in green ink.
“How’re you doing, Alicia?”
“Almost done?”
Mrs. Mowry need not have asked, but because she seemed surprised that Alicia isn’t submitting early as she’s grown accustomed to.
“No, Mrs. Mowry!”
Her response was very short, another thing she wouldn’t do if she were her normal self. When Mrs. Mowry was beginning to think she knew Alicia like she knew a favourite dress, some things just manage to pop up to prove her wrong.
“Alicia would never do that,” she mused within.
Alicia isn’t the type to end her speech with a three worded sentence. Even though she’s no psychology expert at reading people, but she could still sense when things aren’t what they used to be. She couldn’t presume her to be unwell because she was full of smile just before the start of the composition writing.
“Why the new act?!”
She asked herself, already punishing herself than she needed to. She somehow in many ways felt responsible. She turned a hundred and eighty degree towards the unsuspecting Alicia deeply engrossed in her auspicious act. However, in that minute of never ending stare, Alicia caught her off-guard, she immediately paused writing. She could see the bother written over Mrs. Mowry’s face.
She thought to herself, “did I do anything wrong?”
That would be the first seeing Mrs. Mowry in that state of mind. She rushed the composition she made about her teacher without leaving out any detail. Every other students in her class had submitted about ten minutes before, she was the last and she hadn’t noticed until that very moment. She thrust forward, deliberately unhappy even though she knew she had written one of her best piece thus far. She submitted to Mrs. Mowry, she was surprised when she found out that the whole composition was about her and her motherly attribute. She drew Alicia close to give her a hug.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
Alicia nodded.
That was when she realized she’s gotten herself really worked up, over nothing in particular. She planted a kiss on her forehead, then whispered to her ear a _“Thank you!”_
Alicia couldn’t yet understand why the teacher became suddenly emotional. This was perhaps one of the more advanced phenomena than what her intelligent brain could process.
[They maintained a tight hug posture while the stage light dims until everywhere was infested by darkness]
The End!