Some thing's in life are like a smore...
A boy walked up the steps to a school, head low in thought.
A smore can be great sometimes, a crisp, golden grained cracker with white and gooey marshmallow, topped with a melted Hershey square.
The boy lamely slunk his way to the polished glass door, grasping for the weathering silver toned handle.
But other times, a smore can be a pain to deal with. It's quite fragile, sticky, and if you forget your holding it, the black and white goo drips into your lap.
The boy shoves the door open, revealing his future peers, and making the door hit the wall and bounce back, hitting him in his face. They were all smiles, animated and social. Weird, it vaguely reminded him of a peace cult, somehow. The boy assumed that, if a cult, they were a sterotypical kind, the kind that praised some god based on some frivolous emotion; Or a flamingo, a lot of the surrounding neighborhoods had plastic flamingos stuck into every well watered lawn. The boy skulked onwards, past a painted mural of an unrecognizable country, probably France or something. He passed through the mass of loitering students, heading to the principals office as the letter instructed. He tried to keep his head down even further, as the students turned and stared at him, smiling even wider.
(Yeah, I'm Jack Spades. Incase you were dropped on your head as a child and haven't realize it yet, I'm the boy your reading about. Now, you may ask me 'Jack! What was that stuff about the smores? DO YOU HAVE SMORES!?' If that's the case, sheesh; Keep your pants on, I'm getting to that. First off, that was an... Idiom? Mammogram? Massachusiattes? ...That was a couple a sentences I was using to compare to myself. 'Cept the part about greatness and stuff. I also don't go around dripping black and white goo into people's laps. Or any kind of goo for that matter... That doesn't make me feel as good as I thought it would.
Anyway, enough about me and my sticky white and black goo. I'm already at the principal's office.)
Jack decided to stop talking to himself, and entered the office. And as usual, Jack had to muster enough immense effort to grasp for the door handle, that it would be nothing short of a travesty if we chose not to mention the gargantuan feat of strength. This one's painted gold, by the way. -I knew you were just dying for those particular details, I had to indulge.
The inside was a glaringly bright ivory painted office. Dotting the walls were posters of uncolored little cartoon horses doing schoolwork, recess and other such activities. To the left and right were shelves made of fake wood, with stapled papers, books, and plushies of, again, small horses. There were a few errant trays and bins on the floor, filled to the top with drawings and homemade cards. The trend repeated itself, as a large majority of them seemed focused on the kinds of stuff you'd find in a beloved teachers room, if that teacher were also a small child. In the middle of the room stood erect an oak desk. There were the usual necessities, a computer, mouse pad, an electric pencil sharpener, a cup full of no. 2 pencils and ballpoint pens, an eraser, and- uhh, well, a gigantic white horse plushie, with wings, a horn and a plastic tiara. A woman in a plain, nondescript looking work dress was fiddling with the oversized toy, smiling like the Satan worshipping students out front.
'Or satin! What with that plushie, and the few some kids had in the hall... That's a stupid god, and a stupid material representation for any God, might as well just start making Jesus action figures'.
How to describe her... She seems pretty stupid as a person overall, and has stupidly tanned skin. Jack felt put off by her, for some reason. Maybe she's stupid.
The woman peeked an eye past the plaything (yet somehow keeping the other eye locked on the plushie), jumping when she noticed Jack. 'Just how a stupid person would react! IT ALL MAKES SENSE!'
"Oh!" Her voice sounded, echoing, like two people talking at the same time. 'Is this a front for hell? Cause I'm pretty sure that can't be a hallucination from the 'intimidation' factor here. Then again, nothing says harm's a comin' quite like a grown adult that behaves like a child'
"You must be Jack! Welcome to Merriam L. Pratt's high school for the... Erm, where are your parents?
Jack shuffled his feet. "They couldnt make it, they're in Chipiweezats, on vacation."
The principal gave Jack an odd look. You know, eyebrows crinkled, head tilted. Honestly, do we have to spoon feed you?
The principal narrowed her eyes. "Alright," Said someone. Guess who said it. Guess right, you get a nickel. Guess wrong, you get a recommendation of expulsion, and/or a slap to the face. These are high stakes here, choose wisely.
"Ok. Well, that's fine then.
Anyways, my name is Ms. Cecilia, and as you might've already guessed, I'm the principal."
'No shit Sherlock. There's a plaque right on the door... And this is obviously a principals office, as I doubt a boss would let an employee ruin their personal office like this.' Wow, isn't he a charmer? Please say yes. he has horrible self esteem.
"Cecilia? Shouldn't I call you by your last name?" Jack asked. Of course, for all Jack knew, that is her last name, and he's just making an ass out of you and me both. And I'm the narrator, I technically don't exist. I CAN'T exist Which means if you criticize me, You'll just be criticizing the air. Please do that, it'll look hilarious.
Cecilia cleared her throught. "Oh, no. I believe that the students should try to think of the staff as their friends, and so as calling someone by their last name is too formal, I told to the staff that we encourage the students by our first names." Jack shifted uncomfortably. Not because of the principal, just a no-reason-boner. What? I thought you love details.
"Anyways," miss Cecilia started, sliding some papers over. "All I need you to do is sign these papers, and you can go to your first class of the day."
Jack sat down, and started filling it out. Though he did do it cooler than anybody else could. Just saying.
'Why are these papers pink? Do official documents usually come in pink? Probably doesn't matter...'
Some of the questions were very questionable (funny man, aren't I?); like 'Who's your favorite pony?' And 'What kind of pony would you be?' I just answered whatever, cause I'm obviously having a trippy dream, if the plethora of overly happy school kids currently infesting the halls like pests are any indication.
When Jack was done, he passed the papers over to miss Cecilia. I'm sorry, I mean he passed the papers over to MS. Cecilia. My skills as a narrator are really going down the drain.
"Alright, thank you. Your homeroom class is Mr. Shacklers." She passed Jack a schedule, locker number and combination, and this month's rarely looked at event/lunch calender.
As I turned to leave, Cecilia spoke up. "And don't forget, every Thursday afternoon we head outside and wait for the silvermen."
Jack nodded his head and walked halfway out the door, before clumsily whipping around to face her. "Wait, what? Silvermen?"
Cecilia looked up at me, confused. Then she made a face of realization. "Oh! You must not have met them yet.". She smiled and continued before Jack could interrupt her. "Don't worry, it doesn't matter right now. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some work to do." She went back to fiddling with her plushie. Stupidly. Wow, I really hate this lady.
Jack looked at her for a bit, before he shook his head, turned, and went out the door, closing it behind him.
He walked through the hallways, trying to find his locker.
219, 220, 221!
'I walked up to the locker, looking to all the world like a guy walking up to his locker. And, I guess in some way, I was.
Perfectly innocent! Amirite?
Which is why I don't understand why this hipster lookin' guy comes up to me smiling like he's gonna molest me. It's a good thing I have a 4 step program to deal with sexual predators.
1. Make steps 2-3
2. To be decided
3. To be decided
4. Eat all the cheezits. All of them.'
Keep this in mind, boys and girls. The first three steps will keep you safe, and the fourth step will make you happy.
The guy opened his mouth, and...
First real story attempt. The MLP factor will be more apparent later, but in my twisted way of doing this all. This isn't going to... Eh, surprises are best. I'll probably be as aloof as this chapter from now on, bit I might edit this later. (just did!) Anyways, This is almost like a prologue of sorts, but not really. See ya all whenever!