The Last of Them Flash Fiction by Behan the Scene Lyrics
One foot in the door, two steps ahead of myself and three more hops before I get the “OK” to settle down, take two steps against the grain and one foot out into the big people’s world. Today, I plopped into my chair with a sigh of relief. But as the assurance hit me, I began to bite away at my fingernails. My classmates patted me on the back before asking, “What’s the matter? We’re, like, the big shots now. Isn’t it awesome?” I laughed, shaking my head up and down until their faces went red. I responded with a poker face when they weren’t looking. I wasn’t happy about leaving because people told me things would be more hard. I tried to hold on to my childhood like catching fireflies in a jar. The other kids got yelled at because they weren’t behaving. In our grade, we can’t go get our stuff in our cubbies unless the teacher says so. In return, we stick out our tongues when she isn’t paying attention. Sometimes we even say bad words or things that are inappropriate. But the best part is the gum we stick underneath the desks. Mrs. Rose said, “Summer is here, kids! I’ll see you all someday, I don’t know when or how, but that day will come”. Before we knew it, the bell rang and we fought to get through the doorways. Our teachers stood in one huge line, waving us goodbye.
One foot in the door, two steps ahead of myself and three more jumps before I get the *thumbs up* to settle down, take two steps against the grain and one foot out into the grown ups’ world. Right now, I’m getting an idea of what people told me along time ago. I’m starting to see a pattern turn up. By now, kids from other elementaries all crammed into this one intermediate. And these kids have discovered the life hacks to survive. The same kids who have parted into their own groups, and where the colors begin to show. This uncontrollable shaking of my legs that I do when I sit, I don’t know why I do it, but it’s become a habit. I zoned out on the inside, while it looked as if I was brainwashed on the out. I attempted to read the lips of people whose conversations I couldn’t hear. I just knew they were saying the same washed phrases, just different faces. But the bell rang, and this time, we stayed put as we fought to sign each other’s yearbooks: the ones that have certain photos scratched out with black Sharpie because some people get in their feelings.
One foot in the door, two steps ahead of myself and three more leaps before I get the privilege to settle down, take two steps against the grain and one foot out into the adult world. At this point, it all feels simulated. People have become algorithms of a rubik’s cube. With this, I turned myself around. I was able to take people out of my group of friends, and switch them with other pieces. There was people too childish to grow up, and people too “grown” to be a teenager. The navy blue themed lockers contributed everyone’s state of mind. They were dark and we were dark; that what we called “edgy”. All of that in one room was waiting to breathe, but according to the teacher, the bell doesn’t dismiss us, she does. Today, everyone turned to savages. They eyerolled, and even spit in the face of authority. The type of release us angsty students wanted had to do with exiting the building, and that we were granted.
Last foot in the door, 13 steps ahead of myself and 1 more catapult before I am awarded with the seal of approval to take two steps against the grain and one foot out of adolescence. In a few days I will graduate, walking across that stage with poise and a nonchalant step. I am now well decorated, and am a staple to both the arts of my school. My perfect attendance has been complimented with imperfect days. Each year, I reached a milestone only to have to complete another. I ran in circles inside of a rainbow tent with the other children, and shared stories criss-cross applesauce. When the bookfair arrived, your worth was based on the hardness of the cover of your book you bought. My classmates and I exchanged hypnotizing looks if not numbers. All of us felt like scholars or soon-to-be big shots with pockets either half empty or half full. I reached out for a dap because handshakes have no pith. Awaiting the final toll of the bell, we gave our predictions like gamblers for the rest of the last last day of school.
One foot in the door, two steps ahead of myself and three more jumps before I get the *thumbs up* to settle down, take two steps against the grain and one foot out into the grown ups’ world. Right now, I’m getting an idea of what people told me along time ago. I’m starting to see a pattern turn up. By now, kids from other elementaries all crammed into this one intermediate. And these kids have discovered the life hacks to survive. The same kids who have parted into their own groups, and where the colors begin to show. This uncontrollable shaking of my legs that I do when I sit, I don’t know why I do it, but it’s become a habit. I zoned out on the inside, while it looked as if I was brainwashed on the out. I attempted to read the lips of people whose conversations I couldn’t hear. I just knew they were saying the same washed phrases, just different faces. But the bell rang, and this time, we stayed put as we fought to sign each other’s yearbooks: the ones that have certain photos scratched out with black Sharpie because some people get in their feelings.
One foot in the door, two steps ahead of myself and three more leaps before I get the privilege to settle down, take two steps against the grain and one foot out into the adult world. At this point, it all feels simulated. People have become algorithms of a rubik’s cube. With this, I turned myself around. I was able to take people out of my group of friends, and switch them with other pieces. There was people too childish to grow up, and people too “grown” to be a teenager. The navy blue themed lockers contributed everyone’s state of mind. They were dark and we were dark; that what we called “edgy”. All of that in one room was waiting to breathe, but according to the teacher, the bell doesn’t dismiss us, she does. Today, everyone turned to savages. They eyerolled, and even spit in the face of authority. The type of release us angsty students wanted had to do with exiting the building, and that we were granted.
Last foot in the door, 13 steps ahead of myself and 1 more catapult before I am awarded with the seal of approval to take two steps against the grain and one foot out of adolescence. In a few days I will graduate, walking across that stage with poise and a nonchalant step. I am now well decorated, and am a staple to both the arts of my school. My perfect attendance has been complimented with imperfect days. Each year, I reached a milestone only to have to complete another. I ran in circles inside of a rainbow tent with the other children, and shared stories criss-cross applesauce. When the bookfair arrived, your worth was based on the hardness of the cover of your book you bought. My classmates and I exchanged hypnotizing looks if not numbers. All of us felt like scholars or soon-to-be big shots with pockets either half empty or half full. I reached out for a dap because handshakes have no pith. Awaiting the final toll of the bell, we gave our predictions like gamblers for the rest of the last last day of school.