I keep coming up with random shitty drabbles. I don't know why. o.O

And none of them have names, either. XD

I wasn't high when I wrote this, so it's not as good as my last. Oh well, sorry to disappoint. =P

People/names in this may or may not be based on real people... >.>

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“Anus.”

“What?”

“He just wrote ‘anus’ on the board.”

I squinted.

“… it says ‘annulus’, you idiot.”

“Oh.” Pause. “I was wondering why he wrote ‘anus’.”

Bernie always made Maths classes interesting.

There was a short silence as we copied down the notes on geometry that Mason was printing meticulously on the whiteboard.

Block letters. Straight lines. Perfect diagrams. If I were a handwriting analyst, my conclusion would be that he had absolutely no personality whatsoever – and even without the professional qualifications necessary, I knew I’d be right. Mason’s classes were extremely dull, and the current weather was not making the ordeal any less tedious.

It was one of those days – you know, the ones where you can’t stay hydrated no matter how much water you gulp down and the fact that the humidity in the air’s thick enough to choke on. There’s supposed to be something really poetic about hot summer days – the type where your clothes are sticking to you and the slow, heavy heat latches itself to your body with the persistence of many-fanged leeches. Almost every artist has tapped into the idea – I suppose it has something to do with the whole ‘suffering equals beauty’ thing.

Unfortunately, to be blunt, I really don’t see it.

The air was heavy and still, the two o’clock sun beginning to throw sweltering puddles of light onto the desks of those who’d chosen their seats carelessly. The heat made it hard to focus - my concentration wavered. I was paying attention to everything but the board... my eyes followed a bead of sweat from the nape of Eric Sanders’ neck until it disappeared beneath his collar. I watched Chelsea and Tiffany pass notes under the table, and the dangerous wobble of the lazily rotating fan blades. I listened to the scratching of pens on paper. The squeak of the whiteboard marker. The sporadic coughing.

Occasionally, Mason would interrupt the silence with another one of his spiels.

“Now, if I could draw your attention to the circle for a moment, there are one or two things I would like to point out. The width of a circle, as you know, can be measured by…”

Standard monotone, coupled with the fact that there was nothing new. Not that that really surprised me. There never was anything particularly remarkable to keep my attention from wandering… I tuned out (as per usual) and began to watch Eric Sanders pick his nose, three rows in front.

Fascinating enterprise, this Maths class thing.

It really should be a crime to teach Maths in summer. I mused, somewhat apathetically. I’m surprised there aren’t more people with their brains melting out their ears.

Eric struck gold and flicked it at the back of Christina Zaki’s head.

Case in point.

“Hey.” Bernie’s face suddenly appeared right next to my ear. “I’ve got it. Superpowers.”

“What?” I seemed to be saying that a bit recently.

“Mason has superpowers.” She clarified, like it was the most logical conclusion in the world.

I snorted.

“Yeah right. And the Pope has sex appeal.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. You should see Sunday Mass at the Vatican. Rawr.”

“No, I mean it. Come on, look at the gu-”

I smirked. “So you have been checking him out.”

She rolled her eyes, exasperated, and more than slightly annoyed with me. “I’ve got better taste than that. No, seriously. Look at him. He’s gotta be… what, twenty-eight at most?”

“And that makes him Spiderman now, does it?”

“Lemme finish. He’s twenty-eight, okay. He dresses like a geek. He has a dorky haircut that even the nerds didn’t consider stylish in the 50’s and glasses so thick that I bet if you fired a bullet at them they wouldn’t even crack.” She paused. “He’s a Maths teacher-”

“I’ve noticed.”

She ignored me.

“-he’s boring, and he’s buff.”

“He’s buff.” I echoed, somewhat disbelieving.

“Yeah.”

I took a closer look at Mason. Blue shirt, paired with a plain blue tie. Grey pants. Black shoes. More grease in his hair than the lunches served in the canteen… and surprising muscle definition.

She’s got a point…

“Did you ever consider that maybe - just maybe - he goes to the gym?”

“He’s a Maths teacher.”

“That doesn’t mean he can’t go to the gym.”

“Maths teachers don’t go to gyms.” She pointed out. “Maths teachers sit there solving equations for fun.”

“… okay, fair point. Wouldn’t put that past him… but still, Bernie.”

“Yes?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Hey.” She protested, hurt. “I like my theory.”

Christina Zaki chose this precise moment to discover Eric’s gift.

She shrieked.

Eric, evidently thinking this was hilarious, let out a snorting guffaw not unlike a caffeinated donkey. Several other students jerked awake enough to wipe the drool from their notes.

Mason frowned.

“Mr. Sanders, do you find something amusing about the concept of the radius?”

Snort. “No sir.”

“Then would you please kindly desist from interjecting in such a preposterous manner whilst I endeavour to educate you?”

“Heh. Interject.”

Mason, knowing a lost cause when he saw one, turned back to the board and pretended not to hear him.

I shot a sceptical glance at Bernie. “And superheroes talk like that?”

“It’s part of his secret identity.”

“Oh god.”

“No, hear me out.”

“You’re telling me that he wears his underwear on the outside and rescues kitties from trees in his spare time?”

“I don’t know. Superhero stuff, yeah. Like… you know. Flying into burning buildings. Lifting cars off babies. Dating beautiful women.”

Mason pulled a hanky out of his pocket and blew his nose with a sound like a farting walrus.

I raised my eyebrow at Bernie.

“His secret identity,” she protested. “Trust me. He can’t be all… cool and stuff in his day-to-day life or the press would be all over him!! People would want him for everything if they knew where to find him! He’d never have a quiet day again!!”

Mason folded the handkerchief into a neat triangle, smoothed out the edges and stowed it back into this pocket. He paused, before adjusting its position twice so that it poked out at a perfect ninety-degree angle.

“Bernie, I’m pretty sure there’s a limit to the ‘uncool’. Besides - how exactly do you propose we find out if he’s a superhero anyways?”

“I dunno…” she trailed off, thinking for a second. “We could follow him.”

“…”

She took my silence as a sign to keep going. “You know, see where he goes. What he does.”

“Yeah, sure, cos he’s totally going to nip off to the staff room at lunchtime and boil the water for his coffee with the laserbeams he shoots from his eyes.”

She shot me a wounded look. “Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of stealing his suitcase and seeing if his costume’s in there.”

“I thought superheroes were supposed to wear their costumes under their regular clothes?”

“Okay, maybe we steal his shirt-”

“While he’s still wearing it?” I raised an eyebrow at her again.

“I dunno… maybe…”

“Bernie, this is stupid. Superheroes don’t exist.”

“Still doesn’t explain why he’s so buff for a Maths teacher.” she retorted, refusing to be shot down.

“Check and see if he has gym membership.”

“Lesson’s nearly over, anyways.”

“Thank God.” I muttered.

She grinned at me. “Ah well, at least it was a way to be entertained.”

True. I couldn’t disagree, so I grinned back at her, and began to pack my things.

A couple of people were beginning to stretch and peel themselves off from the backs of their seats. The atmosphere became animated again; necks cracking, a few yawns. The lethargic hum of a fly somewhere near the window regaining consciousness.

Mason started talking about homework. In a monotone, naturally.

“Tonight, I want you all to attempt Question Three-C on the practical applications of geometry in the workplace. I will address any queries in the subsequent lesson. Class dismissed.”

There was a chorus of scraping chairs and idle chatter as the class drifted out the door, Bernie and I amongst them.

“I’ll catch up with you later.” I said. “Toilets.”

“Sure. See you in History.”

Arm full of books, I began to walk away.

“Hey Christina!”

“OhmyGod, did you see what Eric did to my hair?!”

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Locked in a cubicle, I sat on the lid of the toilet and closed my eyes, pressing my fingers to my temples.

… high speed car chase on the Monash Freeway, police currently in pursuit… attacked by a masked man armed with a semi-automatic, shot at twice… QZJK3#2, over… body in an alley on Douglass Street… tortoiseshell, answers to the name of ‘Mittens’… oh God, the building’s on fire! My wife’s in there!!...

I calculated five minutes, tops. Bailey wouldn’t notice if I walked in five minutes late…

It took all of three seconds before I was speeding through the sky, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Underwear on the outside and cape flapping behind, I scanned the area.

The acrid smell of smoke stung my nostrils. Flames licked greedily at the sky. Heat and wind. Splintering glass, and the howling sirens of the arriving fire department. A woman’s screams.

That’s all I needed to know.

Diving steeply, I punched my way through a wall, using my x-ray vision to locate and scoop up the shaking woman. I lifted her from the building just as the ceiling collapsed behind us, dodging the hissing jets of water that began to batter the collapsing building with ease. The last thing I heard was the sobs of the relieved husband as I returned his wife to his arms, and then I was off – leaves whipped into the air by the up-current I created as I shot into the sky.

I was gone before there was time to ask questions.

Job done.

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“Sorry I’m late.” I apologised as I entered the class.

As predicted, Bailey didn’t notice me.

“What took you so long?” asked Bernie, as I slid into the desk beside her and opened my textbook.

“Lost my eyeliner.”

“Oh.” Pause. “Hey, what about Bailey?”

“What?”

“Bailey could be a superhero, don’t you reckon? She looks kinda… butch. Tough. For a History teacher.”

“Oh yeah, she’s definitely Catwoman in disguise.”

“So you agree with me?”

“Yeah. Just like I agree that Eric Sanders is the next da Vinci.”

“Oh, shut up.”

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Critique, please. =]

... and there may or may not be a VD ref. in there. >.>

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That sure took an...interesting spin. Quite random. I preferred your previous one more, though!

Also, nice introduction. Are we to expect similar things in all your stories?

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