Mr. Chuges was a man that didn't like going astray--he had never strayed from the normality of life and would never plan to, that's for sure. He was a man who would rather expect what would follow to having to deal with surprises and turbulances. Mundane prosaism was enough for him to be satisfied. His appearance gave out that much; mahogany, dull eyes which reflected no light, no life, looked through a pair of perfectly-squared, thick glasses. His lips were usually set on a hard line, their corners never lifting up to even fake a smile. A short, pointed beard covered the tip of his chin, giving him an austere look that made his students flinch in fear. Being wrinkled, his face was the proof he had completed at least fifty years of his life, even though none of them had been eventful. Whenever he spoke, his voice indicated no feeling, no emotion. To one, it sounded like it was emanating from a deep, hollow cell as he narrated today's Latin Lesson. He was lifeless. Moving automatically and speaking automatically, marked and condemned by his callous lack of emotion.
And this troubled Beck. It made him realize how adenoidal and blunt life really was--how much it refrained from all those glorious tales he would see printed in yellow pages when he was a young boy, often characterized by pure adventure that lacked selfishness. More often than not, Beck had wished he would be a part of those stories, accompanying his life with incredible doses of adrenaline and risk. Until recently, having believed that the world was such a place, he had hoped that this moment would come; the time he would get to live. But listening to Mr. Chuges was the proof that such tales were just that: tales.
"Mr. Olivers," Chuges turned his void gaze to Beck, his voice giving away no emotion. "Would you mind translating the text I just gave you?"
Beck looked about him, just realizing he had obviously been given a text. Running a hand through his messy hair, he acquiesced to his teacher's demands.
Beck was no stranger to the feelings that roused deep inside him. Routine, the normality of life was something he had to deal with everyday and, even though a regular course of events made most people happy, Beck found no satisfaction in it. It was unbearable--having no aim, no fate, no destiny. He would often find himself wondering whether those qualms were just a part of growing up. If so, then he did not covet to grow up and settle for the life Mr. Chuges had settled for.
The bell rang.
The corridors of the school suffocated Beck. Something about the way the walls stretched, far higher than his head, standing imposingly over him in tones of dirty viridian, the straight rows of lockets and the indifferent students who wandered aimlessly in the corridors did not seem enough. Unconsciously but deliberately, he kicked the once-pearly-white wall, marking his action with a dusty footprint on it.
Surprise followed his action when the voice of his professor echoed in the empty halls. "All birds are given wings, Mr. Olivers." Beck jumped upon hearing Mr. Chuges voice. "It's just up to them to decide whether they'll use them."
It must have been the first time Beck saw a spark in Mr. Chuges' eyes, but it quickly disappeared as his teacher passed him.
Beck smiled to himself.