To Be A Wasp At A Window
The rays of sunlight stretched across the desks in a great arc speckled with disturbed dust that was floating across the room. The sun was pleasantly warm and prickled the skin as though longing for the warmth. An idle wasp tapped on the window two seats from her left. She yawned. The summer days did that to her " to everyone " especially in History class. She felt soporific, as though she could just sit there with her head in her arms for the rest of the day, staring at that idle wasp. The insect kept tapping, not frantically, or as though it were trapped, just as though it was merely curious as to why it could not pass through the invisible shield that was the window. Her eyes lingered on the wasp for a second, then her gaze wandered up to the very top of the window, where there was a small slit between the wall and the glass. It was as though the builder had not cared to measure the width of the window properly there, or so she thought. The wasp was so near to its goal, and yet...just a few more inches and it could pass through the crack between the wall and the glass, and into the classroom.
It seemed strange, to be free and seek imprisonment " or perhaps to be in danger and seek protection? But not for the wasp. Its blindness had forsaken it to ever see past that invisible shield " of what is and not what could be. Life was like that sometimes, she mused to herself; the struggle...that pointless struggle to find the answer, and the things that elude us " forsake us.
Why did Mr Simmon have to give her a C- on that last essay she submitted? If only she had known that The Matrix was about reality and not what she had said. He always did that; showing them a film and making them decipher the meaning of it for themselves. The History teacher paused in his monotonous drone about something called a Hippocampus.
"Could someone get that darn wasp?" His gaze fell upon her. "Emilie?"
Tap, Tap went the wasp on the window, longing for that protection. To shelter in the palm of the executioner. I suppose I'm a bit like that wasp. She laughed inwardly. To struggle and be forsaken. Oh, what a cruel irony.