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Impulse Reality 071
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____ ____ ____
_I_R_ | || |\ \
M E | || |/____/ Oh No! People!
P A | || |\ \ ir file number 071
U L |____||____| |____| released 11.21.00
L I | || |\| | by Bor
S T |____||____| |____| we're just fucking with your mind.
E Y even_god_reads_it
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Time for english class. Time to make the death march to room 9103, Time to
take the march to the worst place that you have to go all day. Time to take
the march to english class.
You enter the room and sit down, then you look on the board. Of course, just
like every other day there is an assignment. Pointless busy work to just keep
us working while the teacher sits there and does some meaningless thing while
she looks at the clock; waiting for 1:50 to roll around.
The assignment on the board is different. It is a writing assignment. No big
deal, That's why you're here, right? English is for writing, but whats this?
You read it: "Step 6: Present in front of the class." Your heart stops, your
skin turns cold and wet. You stare at it as you think to yourself "oh no!"
over and over again. You have to speak, and just like always, you have to
choke.
Tuesday rolls around. You goto your first 5 classes, everything works out
fine, and you have forgotten. And then, the time comes. It is 12:45, you must
goto English, then it appears to you, You have to present, you have to go up
all by yourself, you have to speak.
She calls up different people. He speaks, then she speaks, and then the
he/she speaks. And finally the time has come. It is time for you. You must
get up and speak. You know you can't, but you must. You have to get up and
face the people. They have no problems with you, infact you're friends with
most of them, yet you still have this feeling, an uncomfortable feeling, a
feeling worse than death, but you must go on with it.
You get up to the podeum, you sit down on the stool. You cannot standup, your
legs are shaking, and everyone would notice. You take the seat, you're not
shaking, but you must speak. You start to speak. "Well..um...I did my paper
on uh.." You're doing horribly. Your face turns red as you try to stumble
through your own writing. What kind of a moron can't read their own paper
that they wrote? What kind of an idiot are you? You still have two pages
left, and the best you can come up with is "Well...um...?" This can't be
good.
You ramble on and on through your paper. Your hands are sweating, infact
everything is sweating. It doesn't matter what you do. You could pretend
these people aren't there, they still are though. Watching you, waiting for
you to screw up. Finally, you're on the home stretch, you ramble on and on
through the second page. Three more...two more...Finally! closing paragraph,
you stumble through the task of finishing, and getting up, looking at the
people and sitting back down. You finish, but there is silence, and awkward
silence. And once again you remember; "Oh no! People!"
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