Assignment 1: Post Here!

[naut]

Loner:

Light softly descending, grey, but not dark. Diffused sun rays cast their way across his arched, taut back. He sits entranced by the lines confidently snaking their way over the black lines in his uninviting book. His clothes seem as if they are several sizes too big, they hang off him like curtains from a rail. If he were upright he would certainly be tall, taller than most. His skin is dark, darker in the dim morning light, revealing the tones of muscle. For a moment he glimpses up to cast his gaze to the other side of the poorly illuminated hall. Pretty girls. All smiles and short skirts, giggling and talking. They walk through the sparsely populated hall, as if on exhibit, and out into the cool sunlight, past the steel framed glass doors. A smirk traces its way up his cheeks, as his eyes dance excitedly. He peers for a second longer, as if contemplating. Yet, he snaps his gaze, once more, downward to the autumn tinged pages. Intent. Scared?

Group:

Solemnly they sit, side by side. At the back of the cavernous lecture theatre of course. At first they say nothing, for what seems like several monotonous minutes. Then to break the rainfall of tension sweeping across the room they talk. Snippets of a joke can be discerned and those around them stifle rising outbursts of laughter. The aging man presenting himself at the front of the room sets his stance upright, aggressive. A thick Indian voice finds its way up through the rows and berates the perpetrators. In an instant, faux innocence takes hold and all trouble seems forgotten. A procession of slides march glacially across the truck sized screens. Accounting. The taller of the two at the back slits his wrists in jest, to a slight giggle from the overweight one in warm winter wear. Not to be outdone the large man with fair skin and a thick beard of deep ginger brings his left hand around his thick, short neck and pulls. A noose. The tall thin man, with bright emerald eyes hangs his head in shame, vanquished in their petty game of wit.

Official Role:

Dark was the look on her face. Even the soft cheeks appeared stern as she took in her surrounds. Surely she had anticipated this? She stood, with rigid posture, as if she were larger than her petite frame revealed. Clad in dark, and utterly modest business attire she tapped a foot, the left, almost rhythmically, as if in frustration. Her eyes stood deep in her round, plain face. In them lay an expression of irritation, under arched brows. My eyes wandered down to the shape huddled discreetly in the cook of her arm. A white mess of papers, folded and bent at every edge. With a sharp breath she took to stride about the room, distributing each stapled bundle to a nameless student. A groan wafted from a student retreating into the depths of his char. Even the sparkle in the wide eyes of the tall blonde girl beside me ceased. And as she stepped back to the fore of the perspiring class she smiled. A grin, with mischievous corners. She knew many would be here next semester. I was glad I was not one of them.