CLOSE THE DOOR AND TAKE THE STAIRS UP OR DOWN UPS AND DOWNS DON'T PRETEND YOU'RE NEVER BEEN THERE YOU KISS M
E LIKE AN OVER DRAMATIC ACTOR WHO'S STARVING FOR WORK
WITH ON LAST SHOT TO MAKE IT HAPPEN YOU'VE WON THE ROL
E YOU'VE PLAYED YOUR PART YOU'VE BEEN CORDIALLY INVITED

james had finally succumbed. whether it be his wish not to completely get on his transfiguration professor's bad side, or simply the fact he had nothing else better to do, he had decided, why the hell not? he was going to go ahead and show up for his punishment and sit in a quiet room writing the lines, "i mustn't mouth off". really it was "must not", but he doubted his professor would through a fit over a contraction. as he considered it, this wasn't even much of a punishment. he didn't have endure the company of others, and he could smoked a cigarette freely. well, okay, maybe could isn't the word. he technically wasn't supposed to, but rules obviously didn't stop james in class ( why else would he be stuck here ) so he didn't see a reason to supply them here also.

his pale hand drew lazily across the parchment, the repeated words hard to make out. he wasn't exactly trying to make it legible, and in fact it was pretty much illegible. the words blended together, and on top of that, were smudged and slightly singed from hot cigarette ash. james tapped it off his lit cigarette and onto the paper indifferently. he didn't see an ash tray anywhere, and he didn't think of bringing one. first of all, it would look ridiculous, and second, why bring attention to the fact that he was going to smoke? perhaps it would of been a good idea, though, seeing that he'd been smoking since he'd arrived, and now was stuck with a stub between his long fingers. it would be plain rude to just drop it carelessly. but then again, who really gave a shit? certainly not james. with that thought, he flicked it across the room, aiming for the teacher's desk. ah, no go. it missed, and sailed to the floor. james blew the remaining of the smoke out of his lungs, where it trailed from his lips and into the air. the nicotine in his system kept him incredibly calm, sleepy almost and he propped his feet up on his desk, and closed his eyes. why didn't he come to detention more often? it was quite relaxing. a good break.

but it soon came to the point where he was just bored. the nicotine wore off and lines only took part of his concentration. a fraction. it was a mindless task, and he stopped halfway. everyone knew never to finish lines. it was socially unacceptable. the idea of finishing, doing what they, the authority, wanted him to do was horrific. perhaps it would have been a bit more fun with someone there. the solitude was fun at first, but his body now itched for closeness. what he needed was a party. it'd been ages since he'd gone to one. there hadn't been any good ones. he made a mental note to look for one when he got the chance. but the question was what to do now. he read his desk. yes, read it. it was etched with so many cuss words and crude drawings and "blank was here"s, that it was almost as interesting as a book. james became so engulfed with reading everything that it startled him when the door opened. he didn't even bother looking back. suddenly he was annoyed. number one, he hated being interrupted while reading, and number two he looked like an idiot. instead he focused his attention on trying to relax again, but he couldn't find the bliss he had before. gah, he remembered why he hated, hated company. people ruined everything.

TAGGED, dakota
WORDS, six hundred two