Title:           The Waiting Game
Author:          BossSheep
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/KJtMXP0H
First Edit:      Saturday 14th of June 2014 03:02:23 AM CDT
Last Edit:       Last edit on: Wednesday 26th of November 2014 07:55:02 PM CDT

>You're up on a hill.
>Specifically, lying under a tree on top of the hill.
>The bark isn't particularly rough, so it's quite comfortable against your back.
>Spread out below you is the city of Canterlot; above you, an endless expanse of blue sky.
>You're Norman Normal, and right now, you're waiting.
>Waiting for what, you're not sure exactly. Just simply waiting for an nondescript something or someone.
>But none of that matters now. You're perfectly content sitting here under the tree.
>This is true peace. This is contentment. This is perfection.
>As you inhale a lungful of clean air, you feel something flat and thin brush against your face.
>It's probably just a leaf falling from the tree, nothing that can rustle these perfectly smooth, existential feathers.
>Another one. The wind seems to be picking up speed, but again, nothing that can bother you here.
>You close your eyes and inhale deeply through your mouth and before you can react, you very clearly feel another leaf fly right on in there.
>The sudden shock of what happens next brings you out of your perfect happiness and back to reality. You choke, you gag, and your spit out the foreign object.
>Somehow you ended up in your classroom. You cough, you choke, and you spit up the "leaf". Ms. Cheerilee was teaching English up front, all the students are at their seats taking notes, and you are right there in your seat in the back of the room, seated between Purple and some other girl you never bothered remembering the name of, as usual.
>Well, that's how things would be, if your desktop wasn't littered with folded bits of paper. Or if everyone including the teacher wasn't staring at you. Or if your desktop wasn't covered in spit from the coughing, choking, and hocking up of the "leaf", which also happened to be a piece of folded paper.
>Fuck, it was a dream.
>Fuck. Nirvana lost.
>Fuck. It's not the weekend.
>Fuck. Everyone is still looking at you, idiot. Act natural.
>You carefully wipe the spit off of your desk with the sleeve of your jacket, carefully moving the one of the folded papers to the inside of the sleeve as you do so for later viewing.
>"Are you okay, Mr. Normal, or do I need to have you read back to me the last 3 paragraphs we just went over on the works of George Orwell?"
"I-I'm fine, I...Just swallowed wrong..."
>6/10 Passable excuse.
>"I'm sure that's why you had your head down and eyes closed. Please pay attention in the future."
>You can just feel the noodles forming in your pockets as the tips of your ears burn. Fortunately, she's not putting you on the spot any more than that and everyone returns to the lesson.
>Still, who would choke you out of such a pleasant dream? Clearly they have no idea just how inconsiderate it was to lodge paper in your mouth hole.
>You pull the, what is assumed to be, note out of your sleeve and unfold it.
>The fucking thing is blank.
>You unfold the other pieces on your desk and give them a read.
>"Psst, wake up!"
>You open another. "Please wake up? I need to ask you something."
>Now you're confused and mildly irritated. Couldn't they have just waited until lunch when you were awake?
>You open the final scrap of paper.
>"I need to talk to you after class. -TS"
>You see this shit? You see this uncommon sense right here? You see this shit that could've waited until you were awake? This is baffling.
>You look around, hoping whoever the inconsiderate cock-gobbler is was still paying attention to you.
>Look to the right. Nothing. Look to the left. Purple is sheepishly waving to you from the next seat. God dammit Purple.
>Her embarrassment can not be matched by yours, even if her accident was almost killing you in your sleep. At least she wasn't called out by the teacher for it.
>You plant your face back on your desk and try to go back to sleep until the bell rings for lunch.
 
>As soon as the bell rang, the others shot out of their seats, and you followed lest you get stuck at the back of the line.
>As you squeeze through the doors and manage to secure your place in line, Purple and Pink manage to worm their way in behind you. It's like a Brazilian bank up in here.
>You start to speak, but you end up letting loose a great yawn in Purple's direction.
>>"Twilight, look out! He's become a zombie!"
>In her trademark over-reactive manner, Pinks tackles you to the ground rather unceremoniously.
>You groan at her as she holds you down.
>But that's all you can do. You don't have the energy to fight back.
"Dammit, Pink. I'm just tired...I was up late last night with Brad."
>The party girl helps you to your feet after apologizing sheepishly.
>"Norman, you really should be going to bed earlier. Xbox can't be important enough to lose sleep over."
>Bitches don't know 'bout your Prestige 10.
"It's not something you'd un-"
>You yawn again halfway through that sentence.
"Not something you'd understand."
>You grab a tray from the pile as the line passes.
>"What's there to understand? It's a game, right? You can play it any time you have free time."
"It's not just a game, Purple. It's digital warfare. I have a rank and Kill:Death ratio to maintain. If I don't stay at the top, someone else is going to come along and replace me on the leaderboards."
>"I'm...afraid I still don't understand."
>God dammit, Purple.
 
>After grabbing your grub, you head over to the usual table in the back of the cafeteria away from everyone else.
>It's nice being able to at least eat in peace if you can't sleep in peace.
>Eventually Brad and Nolan join you at the table.
>You give them a mild wave as they sit.
>>"You're looking a might subdued today, Norman."
>You grunt at Nolan and he just chuckles at you.
>Chucklefuck.
>Morning people.
>Ugh.
>"Bro, last night's games were freakin' Bradical."
>You hold up your fist lazily as Brad brings around the bump.
>"It was quite the journey, but we made it, Norman ol' buddy. Prestige 10."
>He looks off into the distance dramatically.
>Or it would be dramatic if "the distance" wasn't the blank back wall of the cafeteria.
>>"So you two finally hit the maximum level on Call of Duty? Whatever will you do with your lives now that you've accomplished this long-term goal?"
>You can hear the smugness in Nolan's voice.
>"Obviously we use this to pick up hot gamer chicks. Why else would we have wasted all this time?"
>Poor, innocent Brad. He still doesn't realize this was all to solely cement the fact that you are better than everyone else on Call of Duty.
>Everyone that isn't also Prestige 10 anyway.
>He's so naive about online multiplayer it's almost cute.
>Damn is he good at it though.
>>"Oh, that reminds me. Have the two of you filled out those papers from the guidance office yet? The ones about 'shaping our future'?"
>He air quotes that last part.
"What? Oh, I think that's buried at the bottom of my backpack or something."
 
>>"You really should fill that out and make sure it gets turned in to Ms. Cadance. Depending on what you put, it'll help you get into the right post-secondary schooling for the career you'd like to follow."
>>"We're in our senior year, Norman. It's time to start thinking about our lives after high school."
>"Yeah, man. Even I filled out mine."
>Brad reaches into his jacket and produces the paper.
"...Bradical Rock 'n' Roll Ultrastud?"
>"Hell yeah, brosef. I'm gonna be rockin' my future. What about you?"
"I dunno. Haven't really thought about it a whole lot, to be honest. What'd you write down, Nolan?"
>>"I specified that I'd like to start my own business once I graduate from a university with a reputable business course. I'm sure father will be mildly disappointed that I won't be taking over the family business, but I feel like I need to blaze my own path in life, instead of inheriting his."
>"That's deep, man. Real deep. You gonna eat that?"
>Brad points to the food still on Nolan's tray.
>Without a word, Nolan just slides the tray over in front of him and Brad digs in.
"I'll give it some thought. When is it due?"
>>"Three days, Norman."
"Eh, I'm sure I'll come up with something. How hard can it be?"
>You spend the rest of lunch period talking about this and that with Brad and Nolan.
>Brad continues bumming food off the trays of passersby.
>Nolan received a home-made, hand-packed lunch from his girlfriend.
>Lucky bastard.
>It was a special kind of bliss, being around friends, shooting the shit.
>Life after high school huh?
>Could such a thing really exist?
>Is it really worth thinking about when the time you're in now is so much better?
>You have the whole school year to be with your friends, yet it's the last school year to be with them.
>So much time, yet so little time all the same.
>Maybe Nolan is right...
 
[Changelog - Updated 11/26 w/ latest 3 posts]