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Alan

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Recess. [Oct. 9th, 2010|05:24 pm]
Alan
Recess

Once the kids left the class for lunch, Kim sat on his hard steel chair
for the first time and caught his breath. The dry, stale chalk on his hands felt odd,
and he thought of moth balls, crushed and packed in his palms.

It was spring but now the blinds were shut, the lights were off,
and a chill sat on his arms like thin dust on an aged book.

Not much time. The kids would be back soon, and with them
he would have to hold his breath for another hour.

It was a good thing, at times like this, that Kim kept the vodka in his desk.
Of course, no one knew. No one at school, nor his girlfriend back home.
There was a small can of breath mints in the desk as well.
Everything was going to be alright.

He took four quick sips of the vodka and closed his eyes.
He wanted to drift away into the silence of the room, to forget about the math,
the books and all the words of the past hour.

You need a break, he told himself.
Words of old friends, rich friends that had more money and fame than him,
whom he saw at a bar last night. You should take a break, Kim. Travel or something.

He hid the vodka and dropped a few mints in his mouth and thought of where he would go. If he could go. If he could just get up and go.

But the bell, like a gunshot, brought the storm of children's voices back into the room and pierced his chest.
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