Disharmony

He dreads the daily trudge to his classroom and takes pains to lessen the blow. As he dons his baseball cap, sunglasses, and hoodie, a brief but fierce battle ensues, and the side against bringing the laptop along wins. He’s late again. He twirls his index finger around the touchscreen on his iPod to select a song, something loud and metallic, and he pushes the door out of his way and slouches into the crisp wind of autumn. He hunches, scowling, and kicks damp leaves in a riot of color from his path. His cell phone tells him disapprovingly that he shouldn’t have hit the snooze button this morning. Two sparrows twitter and chase each other in a dance around the tree he passes on his right. Behind his sunglasses, he squints against the morning sunlight, shoves his iPod and his hands into his pockets, and begins planning his next strategy for killing zombies in Resident Evil. The fiery trees join hands, forming a red-yellow-orange tunnel above him, in the realm outside of his attention.

Yesterday: Harmony.