Timothy's Farewell

Timothy always wore large, awkward glasses that balanced awkwardly on his petite nose, and the greasy bangs of his awkward hair covered his awkwardly droopy eyes – testaments to the sufferings he had endured. He was not an average student – he had standards, standards that he stuck to deeply. In his tiny chest beat an indomitable heart of commitment, and he loved school. No, it was something quite different – he led a diligent, devoted life, reading papers, typing papers, doing papers, and turning in papers. And testing was altogether a different matter. He never employed the same style of test taking every time he faced an exam, for each new quiz was a chance for a new endeavor. At times he would stick his face so close to the paper that his nose would smother his writings and create an unintelligible blur, while at other times he would use two pens to complete the task, alternating hands for each problem.

But never in his eight years of school had he ever thought of cheating. His mind was always wrapped around his father’s message. The old, balding man would say, “Do your best son, and all will be well.” That would be the only time Timothy would see hope in his otherwise dreary days. His normal sour look would permeate the school campus, frightening away teachers and fellow peers. But he didn’t mind. Their opinions didn’t matter. After all, he was trying his best, and all would be well in the end.

Shimmering and dazzling, Priscilla was a completely different character. She was pompous and pretentious. Much too extroverted, for Timothy’s tastes. Her golden curls and sparkling lips could charm the most hardened teachers, regardless of what words flowed from her soothing mouth. Priscilla loved to talk about her beautiful appearance, her gorgeous dresses, and her stunning intelligence. Teachers would fawn over her wondering how they had met such a fine-looking yet humble student. She was so smart that she could get through life demanding everything and supplying nothing through deceit and trickery. But most of all, her expertise in spying on her classmates’ papers surged her to the position of Most Honorary Student. The superintendent, local heroes, college scouts, and even the President of the United States himself shook her hand. She was so proud, as were her parents. “Grab opportunity,” her mother would say in a methodical manner, lying on a chair with her fingers delicately balancing a glass of wine. “With anything you’ve got – nets, chains, or whatever. Don’t let it fly away, or even worse, let someone else snatch it.”

School was cruel, and so was life. Timothy hated it, just as he was still scared of the darkness. Every day he would see Priscilla, the most agonizing manifestation in his life, taking glory for things she didn’t deserve. Her radiant shine always blinded him, but he was always confused how all the light she released never exposed her own shadowy personality. Timothy noticed that he was the only one who could see Priscilla’s true nature. Everyone else was oblivious to her underhanded behavior. He often observed her flirting with the boys to wheedle out money, sweetly tagging along with the studious to take their answers, and crying innocently to teachers as she explained her excuses for missing assignments. And the world believed her, followed her, and worshipped her. She claimed that the heavens were her throne and the earth her mere footstool. Everyone was at her mercy, chained by a leash which she commanded the steps of life, handling the very essence of human independence. It was all under her authority.

So it should have been no surprise to Timothy when they announced that year’s Outstanding Student Award. He had tried in vain to change fate, a fate controlled by the mistress Priscilla herself. When the principal called her name before the sea of students to receive the award, she gave a passionate speech about how everyone was too kind, too generous, too easily manipulated. But of course no one minded what words spilled out. All that mattered was the melodic voice that fed them. Her twinkling teeth blinded them all. The crowds just stood and cheered like mindless robots, demanding an encore performance to a show they were not even paying attention to. Timothy was surprised, but of course, he knew the ending of this story even before it had even begun. He refused to watch more and went home.

 

He did not attend school the next day, for how can a dead child carry himself to school? His father found him in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs at home, the work of a nasty fall caused by a slippery piece of paper. The source of his demise, the scrap of paper, lay gently near his broken neck, reading – “All will be well.” The old man was confused and scratched his head. He was sure that he had heard that obscure statement from somewhere.

The next day in school, the news spread like wildfire, but luckily, there was someone to put out the flames. Priscilla brightened the day with her pleasant smile, making the world spin again. “What a lovely girl,” the principal commented. “She can bring out the sun on a rainy day.” Priscilla smiled to all the other students who passed her by in the halls, and their frowns turned upside-down. The whole school seemed to be bouncing around with a mechanical joy. Certainly, the mourning of the boy’s death could wait till tomorrow. Priscilla pranced down the halls and into class, where the lecture began the same as it always had since the first day – with one desk empty.