The gleaming steel of the firing squad's rifles glowed dusty pink in the sunset that was dramatically dying behind me. It lingered, as if it knew it was the last sunset i'd see before- well, that part will come soon enough. Every man in the firing squad had chill, unflinching eyes. They had trained all summer were prepared to finish me with the precision of a practiced killer, their eyes even looked eager under the brims of their flamboyant sombreros. Their cracked lips twitched under dark, dense mustaches. Not charming ones, like Rhett Butler, but like the the Caterpillary clumps of hair that you find clogging your bathtub drain. Not exactly the last thing you want to see.
|See this face? This is my "You-wish-your-mustache-was-as-suave-as-mine" face. I use it alot.|
The sergeant's crackly leather boots hit the thirsty ground, stirring orange dust in the still summer air.
"Are you ready to pass on, Miss Hannah Musick?" he chuckled like a amused swine. "Any last requests?"
I lifted my chin. "Yes. I'd like a Reese's Peanut Butter Milkshake. That is my final request.Oh, and tell my family I love them."
The sergeant gestured with his hand and a small boy ran forward with a milkshake. I sipped the creamy delicious through the straw as loudly as possible. After a moment, the sergeant lost his patience.
"Enough! Men, fire!"
Before I could even react, the rifles were cocked and triggers pulled. As they fired and smoke burst from the air, I involuntarily fell to my knees. As consciousness fled and the edges on my vision faded to black, I saw a flag had burst from each rifle barrel. As I slumped to the ground, summer dying within me, one sentence surfaced in my mind:
So yes. That was my unnecessary and overly dramatic description through symbolism that today is the last day of summer. I could have just said "Today is the last day of summer", but then wheres the fun in that?
There was so real firing squad today (mom would never let me get out of school that easily) but I did go out for Reese's peanut butter shakes with a friend, our last salute toward summer. There are worst things in the world than a very heavy school year (Ke$ha, Chinease Water Torture, and...well, thats it) but it would be a shame to waste the opportunity to exploit it.
If there is one thing to demonstrate that movies aren't real, it's the workload of high school students. Alien cowboys and kung fu pandas I can believe, but the lifestyle of High School Musical students? Forget it. Like anyone has time to fall in love, conduct a musical, learn how to sing and dance, and look camera-ready while passing chemistry? Now THAT is fiction.
Enough drowning in the puddles of self-pity, i've got to go get ready for tomorrow. You know, the usual back-to-school hum drum: packing my bags, looking through preliminary lessons, ironing my prison uniform and sprinkling it with rosewater. The usual.
I WILL SURVIVE!