So I'm sitting here, in my Hispanic culture-inspired kitchen, blogging about the insufferable cries of the tortured 11 year-old soul that is my brother.
You see, he had received his test back from his teacher; it was a B+, nothing to stress about. His teacher -being the heartless and slovenly wench that she is- decides she needs the tests back and that her students must return them to her. My brother, now currently running rampant throughout the alleyways and crevices of the manor in search of that wretched test, is hysterical. The search for it now is pointless; yes, indeed, pointless like the pursuit towards the perfect government.There's no chance of it happening, it simply does not exist [like the limit].
I ask you, my audience, "Who would do such a thing?" Better yet, "Shouldn't the 'bitch' know for a fact that if you give a youngin back a [already graded, mind you] piece of past work, the chances are she won't ever get those back because the probability of them throwing them away or casting them aside exceeds that of actually keeping it substantially?" Does she expect us to sent out a search party for this piece of paper? Can a mere feuille de papier cause so much grief and torment in a simple household? Yes, apparently it can. It is a truly inconvenient truth that has reached not only its victim but those who live with him, as well.
He is not the same confident young man he was 24 hours ago. No, he's different. His steps are heavy with sorrow as he galumphs his way around the house. It is a never-ending sulking that masks his face, ridding it from all possible emotions. His body slumps over, like the shell of a hermit crab. He rejects his meals, for food cannot fill the empty void he feels in his heart nor can it tear his mind away from the unreachable sheet of paper. All he can do now is accept his fate. What awaits for him tomorrow? He'll have to find out.
-I should be helping him find it
Innocent Bystander.
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