A World Apart (18 page)

    Francesca emerged from the thin doorway that preceded the classroom, attracting the attention of a few pupils from behind. She looked dreadful and utterly shocked like she had travelled from afar. A small boy at the back was heard sniggering but halted as he clocked eye contact with a nearby teacher who gave a look of intrigue. Francesca was always late, although this wasn’t her main worry.  She was more concerned with how she looked and whether she gave a good impression to the other children. She quietly closed the door, guiding it back to its original destination as she re-entered the classroom, trying to identify an unoccupied chair. She saw that there were a few seats at the front of the classroom so she started to walk down the centre entry to the front stage of the classroom.

    The classroom was divided into four sections, one at the back which was arranged for around fifty persons, the centre parted into two divides, revealing small chairs that narrowed to the stage area. Francesca’s heart raced as she walked down the parting, asking chair occupants if she could pass, invading their view. She heard a few mutterings as she passed but casually ignored. Francesca realised that she had disrupted the reading flow of the tutor; Mr Carl Curtis, known as the ‘Curly Curtis’, due to his afro-like hair style. He glanced and then had a double take at her, of which she saw an ounce of annoyance in his facial complexion so she quickly looked for an available seat. There to her left sat a young boy covered with acne and braces, sitting alone amid unoccupied seats. Feeling rushed, Francesca walked to the stage area and followed the way around to the front corner of the hall. On approaching the young boy she hesitated as she noticed a roar of laughter which made her look to a butch older boy standing with a threatening posture looking straight towards the boy she was about to approach.

    A few moments lingered as she saw paper and other stationery being propelled over to the desk he was sat at, turning a usual blind eye to the unprovoked attacks that they had launched. A diving pain ran through Francesca as she aimlessly watched them taunt the young boy, casting his self-esteem into the realms of the unknown. Francesca could see that they were upsetting him, which saddened her immensely although she felt an overwhelming desire for his efforts to ignore and rise above them.  

    A tear unravelled down the cheek of the boy, falling onto his pale white face and running gently down his tough skin, leaving a trail of gloom as it eventually halted. The rest of the classroom did not raise an eyebrow and were fully absorbed into the content of v-learning. The taunts died down when one of the group members whispered something in his ear and he sat down in a timely fashion. Francesca found herself standing still, when she realised that maybe now would be a good time to sit and not attract any more attention than she already had. She placed her hand onto a sodden chair back and pulled it to make way for her sit down; the metal legs screeching as the chair was moved.

    Francesca aimed her massive collection of books onto the desk, dropping some on the marble flooring, cracking the book spines as they landed, making even more of a scene, which Mr Curtis signified by giving a deeply sympathetic sigh towards her. She blushed with embarrassment and her cheeks throbbed red when she lowered herself to retract the fallen books. Once she had safely collected all her belongings, she sat down and unfolded one that displayed “torture of the past” in gold capital letters on the grass-like covering. By now her presence had settled into the background and most of the classroom was fully engaged in the droning monotone of Mr Curtis. Francesca, however had her mind elsewhere, dreaming of the outside as she gazed through the open window.

“Francesca…well?” spoke Mr Curtis, gradually getting louder and louder as she realised that he had focussed everyone on her distraction of outside.

“Oh…sorry sir, I was just…” rectified Francesca quickly, although Mr Curtis waved a finger around as if to abolish her regretful apology.

“Pay attention now, it’s not long until you all still your pre-fins and we are a week behind so we need to move swiftly and efficiently on. I won’t have time to visit this subject again so you had better listen and take notes” finished Mr Curtis, regaining his sense of power and order to the situation. Francesca sat upright to reposition herself on the seat as she tried so hard to look at the front of the class and not elsewhere. Something black caught her attention once more and she looked outside, resulting in Mr Curtis noticing as if he had been waiting for this moment for ever.

“Miss Marvel, report to my office for detention at five o’clock this afternoon” jolted Mr Curtis firmly and potently. Francesca gave a childish sigh and lent back in her chair, realising that she has clarinet practice at quarter past, with Mrs Lldm, her slightly dim-witted polish instructor who Francesca found hilarious.

“Sir…I” squealed Francesca at the top of her voice, although the velocity of her pitch scorched the surrounding pupil’s ears.

“No excuses young lady” ended Mr Curtis, clearly not interested in whatever she was going to say. Mr Curtis sat back down, taking ages to adjust himself due to his extortionate height and fragile build. Francesca let out a rather smug grin and she noticed him struggling with his knees from old age which made her feel better. She pondered for a moment on what she was going to do, resulting in her gathering her long blonde hair and forming a ponytail as she slumped onto her desk, crashing her elbows into the dark wood and then resting her delicate face in between. Francesca’s mind emptied and she felt better from the breeze of the light spring wind combing through her hair as she noticed there was only fifteen-minutes left. Looking outside and entirely away from Mr Curtis, she watched a few birds flutter in the distance, one was surprisingly an emberiza CIA, and she also noticed a small gathering of Corvus corone corone, letting out a distinctive kraa-kraa which turned a few heads in the classroom. Mr Curtis walked firmly to the window and adjusted the blinds down and released them to block out their view and restore their concentration.

“Noisy birds…lets have you paying attention to visual media shall we” muttered Mr Curtis under his breath. Francesca frowned and withheld her desire to say something so she pulled a pen pad and started to write angrily, looking scruffy which was unrecognisable to the writing recognition pad. Consequently, she spelled a few words incorrectly. The lesson shortly ended, everyone looked immensely exhausted and drained as they left the sliding doors of the classroom and headed for the school canteen. Francesca lifted her arm to view her watch, detailing she had forty minutes for dinner left, so she decided to give the library a visit before she ate.

    Making her way through the flow of hungry pupils, she bumped into people at random, knocking her back as if she were a struggling fish desperately trying to swim upstream and fight against the overpowering current. When she finally waggled her way to the deserted reception area, she turned left and proceeded down another similar walk way. Walking at a fast pace past the long window panes on her left hand side where the light beamed through. She glanced outside, noticing built-up houses and dilapidated buildings surrounding the school’s view. The library doors were open wide when Francesca approached, swiping her card on a registration desk which lit up blue and she marched through the doors, passing a few funny looking librarians.

“Hello, Franny” heckled a short plump woman with rugged hair, rose coloured cheeks, and a broad smile that showed her thick black teeth, making Francesca’s stomach curdle.

“Err…Hi Mrs Taylor” replied Francesca. She hated being called anything but her full name and she gets a little tired from hearing her say the same things every time she enters. She walked down the nearest row of books, eyeing the names and authors above the various shapes and sized books. One particular section she halted, ‘English literature’ highlighted the swinging sign above her. She extracted a play called Macbeth that seemed to take her fancy. She loved to read books on something that inspired her. Placing the books under her arms she then skipped the rest of the categories to find history books on archaeology from the nineteenth to the twenty-first Century; flicking through she noticed something that made her eye brow twinge. One half of the twentieth Century book was printed in usual text format that was consistent with the rest of the books; the other half had been written in ink and looked precariously suspicious. Francesca closed the book and placed it under arms along with the rest of her collection and began walking steadily to the desk to check the books out.

“Just a few then today” exclaimed a blonde ugly man with a bowl hair cut that shaped his cranium into that of a tennis ball.

“Yeah, just some light reading, I’ll probably be back later on” replied Francesca; skipping the need for eye contact as she felt nervous by the peculiar look she caught from the man that filled the corner of her eye. The man swiped the card she had placed on the desk; the books which he gave back to her on her exit and smiled briefly. Francesca remembered the book and diverted over to Mrs Taylor to ask her opinion on them.

“Mrs Taylor?” spoke Francesca, taking extreme care as she spoke, grabbing her attention as she looked up at her and away from the screen hovering above. Mrs Taylor waddled over towards Francesca; it looked as though she had never moved the top half of her arms, as when she walked over her arms were glued to her side; only her radius and ulna moving sequentially.

“Yes dear, what is wrong?” enquired Mrs Taylor, or Birdie as she is nicknamed by the other members of the staff. Francesca located her books that had now fallen to the depths of her satchel, as she rummaged around and finally extracted the books.

“It’s this history book miss, it seems to have pages that are written in with some kind of old ink” said Francesca; passing the book over to Mrs Taylor and turning it around so she was able to see then contents. Mrs Taylor placed the book down on her desk next to a keyboard and looked for her glasses. She is very clumsy even when she is wearing her glasses, but there is something about Mrs Taylor that made Francesca and her bond easily.

“Got em” shouted Mrs Taylor, reaching for the desk with one hand to support her elevation. Feeling hot and flustered, she slowly walked over to Francesca whilst placing her glasses on. A piece of string swung from her neck as she placed the glasses over her ears and onto her oversized flaky nose.

“Right then, let’s have a look at this old writing your on about my dear” said Mrs Taylor; slightly patronising, which made Francesca feel idiotic to question the content. Francesca watched as Mrs Taylor lent over the book and began to read the content, extracting a nearby chair as she felt a twinge of pain in her back and neck. She began reading an extract compiled by a young journalist called Lionel for the Daily District.

“Twenty-first Century Archaeology-Civil war between England and Scotland began in 2015, where a disagreement regarding ownership and power over the country initiated the war. Citizens from England were evacuated and deported to America where they stayed briefly before being reunited with their country in 2025. Parents and guardians were advised to initiate the school living programme “W.Y.S.I.W.Y.G” where their children will be educated and raised away from the surrounding atmosphere and conflict of war in order to rebuild England’s population. Estimated death toll was around one and a quarter million people, 400,000 people were injured and around 70% of the population economically unstable due to the collapse of the stock market, which is set to be reformed within seven years. Cities damaged were that of Central London, Birmingham, Derby, Coventry, Cardiff, Manchester, Newcastle, Edinburgh, Glasgow and parts of Southampton, minor damages caused to surrounding areas. 150,000 people remain missing and the numbers still continue to grow. In 2025 America launched “new London” a charity to reform Britain, which involved American troops searching England for any survivors and rebuilding. Soldiers are at present still in England and expected completion date of the project is set to be 2031, with the schools announcing a graduation date for them to go back to their normal lives by 2032 at the very latest”.

    Mrs Taylor read intently the accounts of twenty first century history; some details unaware to her. She sat up and looked directly at Francesca, scaring her as her stare was so intense that it looked as though she was going to curse her with her eyes.

“Are you ok? Do you believe it?” asked Francesca, nervously stumbling in her speech, petrified at what Mrs Taylor was going to do.

“Yes dear, sorry I, hold on a minute” said Mrs Taylor and she lifted herself quickly from the chair and walked over towards the other members of staff that were filing. A black woman with dark rimmed glasses gasped as Francesca watched Mrs Taylor mumble to herself whilst showing the book to everyone. Francesca leaned forwards in hope to get a whisper of a key word, although she couldn’t hear anything except for chattering and whispers that went on for around three minutes. Mrs Taylor made a ghastly roar of a noise which made Francesca jump and heart race as she sat up straight. Mrs Taylor walked back towards Francesca with a grim dawning expression cast upon her face; making her look unusually pasty.

“Is everything ok Miss?” asked Francesca thoughtfully.

“Yes dear. It was just that my father was killed in the war, not a day goes by when I think of him, I was only a few years older than you, working in a campsite in the Cornish area of England on an exchange visit with a few friends, I was told later that week he had crashed in the red sea and drowned” said Mrs Taylor very tearful and weak at the knees as she cast her mind back to when she was young.